Chapter Twenty
Twenty
Outside, night had fallen more completely, the sky a starless, inky black.
Maybe there was no hope of seeing stars around here with the neon glow of some of the shops, the fronts of all the pubs and bars lit up to welcome people in.
The streets were already busier and rowdier than when Eamonn and I had first arrived, and I had to weave around groups of people and couples holding hands.
I did feel bad, leaving him like that. It was a rude thing to do.
But it was better to cut it off, I figured, to not cause any more damage than I already had.
Maybe in a roundabout way, I was helping Eamonn reconnect with his brother after all.
Not because I had any real relationship with him or because I’d come here with that express purpose, but because now they could share notes on what a weirdo I was.
Could that be the reason all of this had happened?
Some cosmic force wanted to reunite the brothers, and this whole adventure had been in service of that?
It didn’t seem fair, that I’d be the one who’d have to go through a traumatic event for that to happen, but I couldn’t help but think of the Becfola story.
Women were banished or punished, wasn’t that the way it went in fairy tales?
But no, I couldn’t think like that. The cobblestone streets were still wet from the rain earlier, reflecting the greens and reds and blues from the surrounding lights.
It really was so pretty, like something out of a fairy story in the best way.
The image was somewhat disturbed by a group of frat-looking guys who were drunk and yelling outside one bar, several with ludicrously tall green top hats on their heads.
But it reminded me of that conversation back in the cathedral, how sometimes you had to take the gift shops and the tourists along with the stained glass and stone pillars.
How maybe it was all part of it. I felt like I couldn’t afford to be cynical about those things anymore, not when I’d be thrilled to be just another tourist, enjoying a night out in a cool new city.
The embassy would open Monday morning, and if I could somehow make it until then, maybe that was all I needed. I didn’t want to be Becfola, disappearing so far into another realm that I forgot what I’d even set out for in the first place. I had to get back home.
In the meantime, what I really needed was to get inside, because I was regretting my decision to leave that jacket behind more with each passing step.
My gauzy sleeves were barely any protection against the chilled air, and I longed for pockets to put my hands in.
I longed for that feeling of Eamonn’s hands around mine, that quick friction as he’d rubbed life back into my skin.
There was no shortage of pubs similar to the one I’d just left, many with live music spilling out from their doors every time someone opened them to enter or leave.
But I doubted I’d be able to get away with sitting at the bar and not ordering anything, and I couldn’t imagine awkwardly standing around in a crush of people trying to look like I belonged with them. I kept walking.
The idea of continuing to read a thousand-page book you admitted you barely understood because a character wiped a bit of snot on a rock was just absurd.
But I wished Eamonn would consider taking a class, one solitary literature class, not because he needed a degree or to make him smarter or get him a different job but just because I felt like he’d really enjoy it.
He’d said he wasn’t the best student, that he hadn’t applied himself back then, so I bet he hadn’t allowed himself to take any pleasure in reading something closely and having a place to talk about it.
He could write a whole essay on his precious James Joyce booger, and I bet he’d actually have fun.
But that was the kind of thing I couldn’t tell him anymore, because I’d walked away. It was the kind of thing I had no right to tell him anyway, because who was I and what was I to his life. What was I to my own life, at this point.
As I passed one restaurant, a woman standing outside the door happened to turn her head at the exact right moment and blow vape smoke directly into my face. When she saw what she’d done, she immediately looked stricken.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s all right,” I said, because I knew she hadn’t done it on purpose.
“It’s a bad habit,” she said, tucking her vape pen back inside her jacket pocket. I liked her style, between the leather jacket and the effortless T-shirt and jeans under it and the orange-tinted blush on her brown cheeks. “Where are you from?”
I was getting used to this question. It must be my accent—she had one, too, actually, a little Irish but mixed with something else. I also knew better than to answer America because that part was already obvious. “Florida.”
She made a face that almost made me start laughing. “Well, what brings you to Dublin?”
I should be more used to this question, have a readier answer to it. Not something as ridiculous as fairy research, but just claim some vague vacation or trip. It wasn’t like anyone would know I wasn’t telling the whole truth.
Instead, I let it freeze me so long that she just kept talking. “I’m from Brazil, originally,” she said. “Came here for school and never left. It’s a fun city, yeah?”
“It is,” I agreed, and when she wanted to know what I’d done so far, I listed all the landmarks I remembered Eamonn taking me to.
“Damn,” she said. “You’ve had a day. And all by yourself?”
“No,” I said. “I was with…I had someone.”
If she thought the way I’d answered that question seemed weird, at least she didn’t comment on it. She just pursed her lips in a good for you kind of way.
“Well, we serve the best picanha in town, in my personal opinion,” she said, gesturing back at the restaurant. She must have worked there—either on her way out or in for a shift, or on a break. “If you were looking for somewhere to eat.”
I thought about my boast to Eamonn that I was good at doing things alone.
I was, generally. I liked to think that if I had just been on a trip all by myself, I would’ve happily taken this woman up on the suggestion, seeing it as a fun impromptu adventure after a busy day.
But even aside from the fact that I had no money, and all the other usual things holding me back…
the idea of being alone wasn’t all that appealing right now.
“I just ate,” I said, grateful I could be truthful about that, at least. “But I’ll keep this place in mind for the future, for sure.”
I thought more about the exchange as I kept walking through the crowded streets, hugging my arms close to my body.
What brings you to Dublin? There had to be some purpose to my being here beyond just an opportunity to do some free, highly stressful travel.
I’d had the thought back at the pub that Eamonn’s relationship with his brother could be the key to it all, since that was the one point of connection.
I still couldn’t believe I’d go through all this to help two strangers, especially one I didn’t even like.
Maybe it’d be different if I’d met Eamonn first. I could see wanting to travel space and time if it meant I’d ease even a fraction of his pain.
But that hadn’t been how it was. So if I was on this journey alone, then what was I meant to take from it? What was I meant to do?
There was a place on the corner with the door propped open, multicolored lights strobing out, looking more like a dance club than one of the many pubs and bars I’d been passing.
Another thing Eamonn had encouraged me to do alone more—dancing—if I enjoyed it so much.
It was hardly a grand purpose, but at least it was something.
From the way people seemed to be walking in, it didn’t look like there was a cover charge, and I doubted I’d get carded.
The music pulsed through me the minute I stepped in, vibrating through my chest and rattling my teeth a little. Although maybe that was because they’d started chattering from the cold, and it took a few minutes for the warmth of the club and the crush of body heat inside to get them to stop.
As far as respites from the cold, this was pretty perfect, though.
There was too much going on for anyone to even register that I was there alone, not dancing or buying a drink but just standing off to the side.
There was too much sensory input for me to even register much.
I couldn’t think about Eamonn or Dublin or the strangeness of my current predicament; I could only feel the bass pounding up through the floor.
“Excuse me,” a guy said, and I moved, figuring he wanted to get by. But instead he laughed, grasping my arm hard enough to stop me. “I said, are you here with anyone?”
Okay, maybe someone had registered that I was alone. From his accent, the guy was American, too, with floppy gray-blond hair and a flushed, eager face, like he was already decently drunk.
“Yes,” I said, hoping to discourage him.
If Mari was there, she’d know the perfect way to shut him down.
Or if she sensed there was some potential—if he hadn’t come across as such an immediate creep—she’d be the one elbowing me, reminding me to live a little, give something a chance.
I missed Mari. I wished she was here with me right now.
“Really?” he said, leaning in more until I could smell his breath. Yup, definitely drunk. “Because I just saw you walk in.”
“I have to find the bathroom,” I said abruptly. “Excuse me.”