Chapter Two
The next afternoon, I sit cross-legged on the living-room floor, my back against the couch and my eyes on the television as one movie ends and another starts.
I’ve always been a big cinema buff. A love of fashion pairs well with a love of film. It’s why sitting in front of the TV is usually my happy place. But now it just feels like I’m trying to distract myself. And it’s not working.
I suppose it doesn’t help that the room is a mess.
The house is usually a mess when everyone’s home, but it’s even more so at this time of year.
Gifts and decorations are everywhere, ready to be put up or wrapped.
There are envelopes to be licked and donations to be delivered.
Some of Andrew’s luggage has been shoved behind the couch because there wasn’t any more room upstairs and people keep coming in and out, making it impossible to pay attention.
I used to love it when it got like this because it meant my brothers were home.
It meant a whole house. It meant Christmas, which meant food and presents and staying in my pajamas all day.
But now it just feels cramped, a little overwhelming, the mess doing nothing to ease my also messy mind.
Not even Love Actually is cheering me up.
I eat the last of the cinnamon cookies that I ruined yesterday (not enough flour according to Mam) and read the last text I got from Daniela. It’s three lines long about one of the wonky wheels on her new suitcase and the half-price mozzarella sticks she got at the supermarket.
I’ve read it eleven times.
I think it’s because I’m losing my mind. My excitement about her coming has increasingly morphed into nerves. And the longer it takes for her to make a decision, the worse they’re getting. It’s just that everyone seems so convinced that she’s going to accept the program here in Ireland.
But what if she doesn’t?
The thought makes my head spin and not in a pleasant way.
Because if she doesn’t, then I’d have to follow her.
There’s no other option. Even just a few weeks apart makes me miserable.
I can’t imagine what months would look like.
Years. And then what if she gets offered a job after she finishes her program?
I promised myself I wouldn’t try to influence her. That I would support her no matter what. But I’m starting to think I should plead my case a little. Only what to say beyond please please please and all our stuff is already here?
I plait and unplait my hair as Keira Knightley gets married in what must be a very cold church since half the guests are wearing coats.
I’ve seen this movie a hundred times, but I’m still not bored of it, watching as she walks back down the aisle and gets surprised by the band.
Everyone smiles as “All You Need Is Love’ starts to play and it’s weird that it’s a wedding and there’s a guest in a T-shirt and jeans and again, so many coats? But I suppose it’s …
Huh.
I grab the remote, scrolling back a few seconds to watch the scene again.
And again. And again. Until it’s so obvious that I feel a little stupid.
Until finally, I know what I have to do.
It’s not enough to ask her to stay. I have to show her how much I want her to.
That’s what every romance story has, isn’t it?
Every movie. Every book. A grand gesture.
A special moment. Something leading to the one thing everyone wants.
A happy ending.
I scramble up, grabbing a notebook from under one of the piles of wrapping paper as footsteps sound in the hall.
I look up just my dad stops in the doorway, patting his hands dry with a towel.
He always does that when he comes in from the farm.
Takes off his shoes and washes his hands with the special soap Mam makes for him.
Special hand cream, too. With lavender from the garden.
He always smells of it. I can’t go past the plant without thinking of him.
“Hannah,” he greets me.
“Sean.”
“Why have you taken over the living room?”
“I’m planning a grand romantic gesture so I can impress Daniela.”
“All right.” His eyes flick to the screen and then back to me. “And you’re doing this after your chores?”
“Yes.”
“Which includes cleaning the bathroom.”
“Yep.”
“And signing your mother’s cards.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then carry on,” he says in that same even tone and leaves me be. A second later, he reappears. “Did you and Daniela break up?”
“No.”
“So why are you—”
“I’m going to prove my love to her so she’ll stay in Ireland.”
“I see.”
“Women like gestures,” I tell him, and he nods thoughtfully.
“They do. Well. Tidy up when you’re done.”
“’Kay.”
He leaves me alone again, and I look back at the screen. Okay, well, I definitely can’t afford a band.
But some people can.
I grab my phone and text Christian. He lives in Dublin and works for some ridiculous holiday rental company where everything costs a gazillion euro.
Despite the fact that he’s the most annoying of my brothers, he’s also the youngest and, therefore, the one I was automatically closest to growing up.
Even though sometimes I did want to strangle him.
Is that hot tub cabin you guys went to still available?
His reply comes seconds later. The man really is addicted to his phone.
You can’t afford the hot tub cabin
Family discount
You still can’t afford the hot tub cabin
What can I afford?
You’re an arts student. Nothing
My mouth drops open.
I literally made your girlfriend a whole freaking dress and if you don’t come up with a solution in the next ten seconds, I’ll tell her you’re being mean to me
There’s no reply for a long while. Then my money app dings.
An early Christmas present. And you still can’t afford the hot tub cabin
“What are you smiling at?”
I look up as Andrew comes into the room and collapses onto the sofa behind me.
“I scammed Christian out of a hundred quid.”
“Nice.”
I sit up, crossing my legs as I twist around. “Can you do a photoshoot of me and Daniela?”
“If you give me a hundred quid,” he says and I’m about to tell him he’s not helping when the phone starts to ring, which makes Polly bark, which makes Mam scold her, which makes Dad have to yell when he answers it. Hasn’t anyone ever heard of indoor voices?
“How can I be expected to think in this house,” I say, turning the television off.
“Hey,” Andrew complains. “I was watching that.”
“Then turn it back on.”
“You have the remote!”
I do. I leave it halfway up the stairs as I head to my room. The one I can barely get into. The air mattress is folded in a heap outside the door, ready to be blown up, and I have to climb over both that and a suitcase to get inside.
I gather all the clothes spilling out of my closet and shove them back in again before putting my mannequin in the hallway and dragging my bedside table out with it.
It’s the only way the mattress will fit.
My room is the smallest bedroom in the house because of course it is.
I mean, it’s also the nicest because it’s mine, but I can already feel how cramped it’s going to be with Daniela’s stuff.
I push the bed as tight as I can against the wall and then plonk down on it, staring up at the ceiling and the faded marks where my glow-in-the-dark stickers used to be.
This room won’t help my plan. It’s not exactly screaming you mean a lot to me. Neither does this house. Daniela won’t be here an hour before Mam will have her peeling carrots in the kitchen. I just wish there was something I could do.
“For what?”
I glance up, startled, to see Molly in the hall. “What?”
“Something you could do for what?”
I stare at her. “I didn’t think I said that out loud.”
“You were mumbling.”
“Who was mumbling?” Andrew asks, slipping past her. “Was your room always this small?”
“Only with you in it,” I tell him, but he ignores me as always, poking at my make-up. Molly lingers where she is but keeps her eyes on me. Whatever she sees makes her pause.
“We need a moment,” she says to Andrew. “Go away.”
He starts to smile before it drops. “Oh, you’re serious.”
“Yes. Leave.”
“But I’m her brother.”
“Exactly. We need to have a girl chat.”
“I can have a girl chat,” he protests, but she grabs his sleeve and tows him to the door.
“Five minutes,” she says, and he frowns.
“Fine.” He points a finger at me. “I’ve got to get more stuff down from the attic. But if a ghost takes me on an adventure through Christmases past, don’t yell at me that they didn’t take you.”
Molly closes the door after him and perches on my bed, her hands clasped in her lap. “All right,” she says. “What’s going on? You’ve been in a funk since I got here.”
“It’s because I’m in love with my girlfriend,” I tell her. “And one day, I want to marry her in a castle in a really big dress and then grow old together and die. I’ll have to die first because my life would be unbearable without her.”
Molly nods, used to me by now. “And that’s a problem?”
“No. The problem is that what if instead of any of that, she decides to move away and we try to make it work, but we can’t and then we break up and I’m so miserable I start putting poems I wrote online?”
“Right.” Molly just blinks. “Okay, start again.”
I sigh. “I don’t want her to move away.”
“And have you told her that?”
“Of course I have! But I don’t want to force her. I want her to want to be here and this Christmas is my last chance.”
“For what?”
“For us,” I say, propping an arm into the mattress to sit up.
“For her to realize that what we have is rare and special and perfect. I want to do something memorable. Something that everyone will talk about. That will be passed on to our children and our children’s children.
Like when you and Andrew got engaged and you ran away. ”
“I didn’t run aw—”
“And you just started sobbing in the hallway. And you—”
“I remember,” Molly interrupts, flustered. “It was an emotional moment.”
“But that’s what I want. I want to make Daniela cry with how much she loves me.”
Molly bites her lip and turns to sit cross-legged beside me. “Why don’t we work on getting her a really nice gift,” she begins, and I collapse back down.
“It needs to be special. I could like … I don’t know, throw her her own personal Christmas festival. Or hire a flash mob.”
“That seems like a lot of work.”
“I could get a hundred thousand candles and line them along a path.”
“To where?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Me?”
“I don’t think your parents would like that,” she says. “And neither do I because that sounds unsafe.”
“Molly, I really need you to work with me here.”
“I think you’re overthinking it. It doesn’t need to be that big.”
“Yes, it does,” I groan. “I need to show her what we have together. I need to—”
We both jump as an enormous crash sounds from the hallway.
Silence descends and a second later, Andrew’s voice calls from the other side of the door.
“Someone tripped over the air mattress.”
Molly rolls her eyes and goes to open the door as down below the dogs start barking all over again and, as I reach for a pillow to scream into, it hits me. In all the chaos and the noise and the people of Christmas, I’ve got it.
“I know what I need,” I say, rising to my feet. “I know what will make her want to stay.”
Molly looks back as Andrew stands beside her, rubbing his elbow. “What?” she asks warily, and I smile.
“Privacy.”