EPILOGUE
Dear Liam,
It’s been almost a year since you died, and just in case you’ve missed a few things happening down here on Earth, I thought I’d write with an update since you seem so fond of letters.
First of all, Barb wants me to tell you that you’re still a real son of a bitch for dying, and she hasn’t forgiven you. In fact, she plans to hold it against you for the rest of her goddamn life. Her words, not mine. As you can see, she hasn’t changed one bit. She did, however, start a new knitting group that’s really taken off. It was actually Linda’s idea, but we don’t mention that. Inishglass now has its own chapter of Knitted Knockers, the organization that made Barb’s prosthetic breasts! Ten of us meet every Thursday morning at Stitches and Bitches. So far we’ve donated over fifty prostheses for breast cancer patients and survivors. Thanks to your list, with my new hobby, I get to do good things for other people. And I’m not half-bad! Though Barb still says I’m only one step above shit, which is actually quite the compliment, coming from her.
And speaking of Stitches and Bitches, I officially have a job! I’m their “design specialist,” which is just a fancy way of saying they pay me to organize the store and decorate their front window every month. But word got around the island, and I’ve become a sort of home-edit consultant. I’m scheduled out through the summer. Turns out, most people don’t like organizing their houses. I know! Crazy! Apparently they find it overwhelming. Briggs says he always knew my control-freakish nature was really a superpower. He thinks I should grow the business off the island, to Cork and beyond. We’ve been throwing around a few names. So far, I like Mae I Help You the best. Isla’s boyfriend is designing me a website and everything. But we’ll see. There’s enough to do here for now.
And don’t worry. I haven’t neglected the Moorings. It’s doing better than ever. Thursday night karaoke has been a huge hit! Practically everyone on the island shows up! It’s become a sort of community event. Derry thinks we should put a playlist on Spotify of all the locals’ karaoke songs, so tourists can follow it. I couldn’t believe he even knew what Spotify was, but as you know well, people will surprise you. And the Irish Times wrote a whole article about the #irelandsmostwantedpotato debate! The journalist loved my pierogi. She also loved Briggs, so the debate continues.
The Thatch isn’t doing half-bad either. Briggs started an “art walk” on the first Friday of every month so people can exhibit and sell their work at the pub. You wouldn’t believe all the underground artists on this island! But again, people will surprise you.
And speaking of surprising people, you’ll be happy to know Eoin is gone. He left the island after I decided not to sell the pub. Word is he quit the practice in Cork, too. No one knows where he’s gone. I heard a rumor he’s in LA, but I have a feeling no matter where he is, he’ll leave again soon enough. I never did get to the bottom of why he did what he did. I think it was all about money. He wanted me to sell so he got a cut of the deal. Briggs thinks it was pure revenge. He wanted me to sell the Moorings to screw the Thatch, payback for Briggs siding with Aoife all those years ago. Aoife thinks Eoin felt left out, and showing up at the party was his way of throwing a tantrum. (I think she’s being too nice.) Barb thinks some people are just assholes, and we shouldn’t care what their motivation is because that only feeds their ego. The more we talk about him, the more power he thinks he has.
I think we’re all probably right in some regard. But as much as I want to hate Eoin for what he did, I don’t. In fact, he may have saved Briggs’s life, considering the fallout from that night forced Briggs to have heart surgery. So in the end, I’m grateful. Though if I never see Eoin again, it’ll be too soon.
And guess what? Sonya and Melanie are engaged! Their wedding is next fall in Chicago. A proper city wedding with a big ceremony at Fourth Presbyterian Church on Michigan Avenue and a fancy reception at the Field Museum. Briggs and I already have our tickets booked. And let me tell you, does that man look good in a suit. Hot damn! I didn’t think we’d make it out of the store (but I won’t go into those details in this letter).
And Maryann and Keith are coming to Ireland this summer! They’ll be here for the Annual Football Rounders Grudge Match. I thought living an ocean away from each other would be hard, but it turns out technology is awesome (when the Wi-Fi is working) and we FaceTime as much as we can.
Hugh is coming back for the game as well! WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND. Briggs and I almost fell over when he told us, but apparently being an adult is super fucking sexy to women. According to Hugh, if he had known that, he would have grown up years ago.
And Aoife just came back a few weeks ago, too, after spending the winter in India on a meditation retreat, more mindful than ever. She was positively radiant. Something tells me her destiny isn’t on Inishglass, but for now I’ll take all the girls’ nights I can get with her ... just without the wax.
Now for an update on Briggs. No, I’m not pregnant. Maybe someday, when we’re ready to take that step. For now, he’s busy working on the art studio. After he sold his parents’ home, he wasn’t sure what house to buy on the island. And I suggested he not buy a house at all but add on to the art studio, since he loves it so much. He took the idea and ran with it. The addition should be done at the end of the summer. But not to fear, I’m keeping your apartment. The popularity of the island is only increasing, and we need as much summer help at the pub as possible. My plan is to house seasonal workers there for free. I thought you’d approve.
Which brings me to another bit of news with Briggs. We’re getting married! The proposal wasn’t anything extravagant, just the two of us one night at the art studio, him painting and me watching. He looked at me and said, “Marry me,” and I said, “OK,” and he said, “When?” and I got out my planner and flipped to November and said, “How about my birthday?” and he said, “Perfect.” Then he pulled his mom’s wedding ring out of a drawer and slipped it on my finger. It fit perfectly.
The whole island is going to shut down for the wedding. No tourists allowed all weekend. We’re doing the ceremony at the Thatch and a bigger reception at the Moorings. Barb is officiating. And of course, there will be karaoke.
I’m sure you’re wondering how we’re going to keep up the feud, but it turns out, people don’t really want Romeo and Juliet to have a tragic ending. The story is so much better when it ends happy. Tourists have as much fun trying to snatch pictures of Briggs and me together as they did when we were feuding. We’re all over social media, and it’s a boon for the pubs! But of course, we’re still fighting. Just last week, I plastic-wrapped all the toilets at the Thatch, just to remind Briggs who’s boss. And get this—some Hollywood producer was just out here, talking to us about our very own reality show. Can you believe that? I don’t think we’ll do it, but it’s fun to consider. The people in Inishglass would make quite the story! Can you imagine Barb on TV?!
One last thing about the pub. I thought it needed a small change on the outside. I hope you don’t mind. As a reminder to anyone who walks in the red door, there’s now a sign that reads ENTER LAUGHING.
Which brings me to the main reason I’m writing this letter. I know you wanted me to sell the pub, and I appreciate what you said in your last letter. But living in a big city doesn’t mean you have a big life, just like staying in a small town doesn’t make your dreams tiny. I know you wanted me to explore the world, and I still might, but I’ve realized that what makes a life big isn’t the number of stamps in your passport or the size of your hometown (or village). It’s love. The more you have, the more you share, the bigger your life gets. So thanks for the fatherly advice, but in proper kid fashion, I didn’t take it. Thanks to you, I am living the biggest life on the tiniest island. And it’s perfect.
Love,
Maeve
PS. Tell Niall we miss him, but I’m glad he’s finally home with you.