Chapter Forty
Beckett
“Okay Beckett, I’ve got an important question for you,” Callan says, his dead serious expression over my laptop screen, where I’ve got FaceTime open.
“Fire away,” I say, assuming he’s going to ask about my flight details so he can pick me up from the airport tomorrow .
Tomorrow. As in, I’m supposed to get on a flight tonight.
It came so fast.
Way too fast.
“When you get back on Irish soil, will you be getting yerself a spice bag or a fry first?”
Eoin rolls his eyes spectacularly at Callan, like he’s been mortally offended. “Forget spice bags, you dose, he’s clearly going for a Supermac’s.”
“I’d get a wee gravy chip from Grainne’s, so I would.” Aoife licks her lips.
“Wise up, all of you,” Niamh says, hand on her chest like she’s clutching imaginary pearls. “He’ll be wanting a fish supper.”
“Spice bag,” Callan insists staunchly.
They all stop bickering long enough to swivel their heads to peer at me like an expectant line of meerkats.
“Well?” Aoife demands.
“Honestly, all I really want is a proper cup of tea. The tea here is shocking.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, and I realize it the second it leaves my mouth, as chaos inevitably ensues, all four of my siblings yelling over each other about the “disgrace” of America having bad tea, and how they could have shipped my poor, deprived self an extra-large box of Barry’s Gold Blend if I’d only asked.
If there’s one rule for the entire island of Ireland, it’s that a cup of tea is appropriate in all circumstances and can cure most ailments, up to (and sometimes including) murder.
Cold? Warm up with some tea.
Heartbroken? Sure, tea will cheer you up.
Committed a heinous crime against humanity? Whack the kettle on.
So, the thought of not having tea as a magic catch-all is beyond comprehension to the rest of the McCarthys. Although right now, I’m painfully aware that no amount of proper Irish tea could soothe my aching heart at the thought of leaving Keeley.
Last night on the fire escape was painful. It physically hurt me to hear about her mom leaving her as a child. After she went through that—and then having her long-term boyfriend leave her for another woman—I can totally understand why she was so upset.
I can even understand why she says it has to be this way between us. Why she shut me down when I told her I want to make our relationship last past the summer.
Not that it makes it sting any less.
Or makes it feel any less wrong that I’m just supposed to walk away after that.
This morning, she’s going to see her Gramps at Silver Springs with Ezra—he apparently hasn’t been well for a couple of days. I wanted to come with them, but it felt a little inappropriate to ask. So, I told her I’d meet her later, after I’m done packing, to say goodbye.
I paste on a smile and address Niamh, “I’ll have all the Barry’s tea I want in a couple days.”
Aoife narrows her eyes at me. “Will you, though?”
“Well, seeing that I’m due to get on a plane and fly home, I’m going to go with yes,” I say patiently, pointing to my neatly packed suitcase and guitar case on the couch beside me.
“Ach don’t tell me that’s still happening,” Callan groans.
“Glad to hear you missed your big brother so much that you’re over the moon excited for his homecoming,” I reply, all sarcasm in an attempt to veil the fact that I am trying (and failing) not to be offended.
“Course we miss you, you big eejit,” Eoin says. “We just thought you weren’t coming back.”
“We assumed you were calling us today to tell us that,” Niamh adds, wagging a finger at me. “I told this lot when you refused to get me that Oprah signature that you were too busy kissing on that American girl next door. But I forgive you because I’m happy you finally found someone who’s willing to kiss your sorry self.”
“I’m not sure how to respond to that,” I say.
Niamh shrugs. “‘Thank you’ would do nicely.”
“Also, what makes you think I’ve been kissing the girl next door?”
“Because you light up like a bloody blowtorch every time you talk about her,” Callan says.
“I haven’t told you that much about her.”
Every time I’ve caught up with my family, I’ve merely filled them in on the things I’ve been doing.
Keeley just happened to be a big part of many of those things.
“Catch yourself on!” Aoife cries. “You’ve been walking around for the past two years with a face like a slapped arse on you, and the second you met this girl, you’re suddenly grinning from ear to ear like the Joker.”
“Keeley and I spent a lot of the summer together,” I say slowly. “But we’re from opposite sides of the Atlantic. I have a job and a family back home, and she has a job coming up here in Boston. We’re both leaving.”
I’m just repeating the facts of why it apparently has to be this way. Maybe if I speak them aloud, they’ll seem more believable.
It doesn’t work.
“Beckett Patrick McCarthy,” Mam interrupts, striding into the frame out of nowhere.
“Hi, Mam.”
“Hello, son,” she practically harrumphs. “Now, I have just one thing to ask you.”
Finally, someone who wants my flight information so I’m not stuck taking sixteen buses back to Mayo from Dublin airport.
“Yes Mam?”
“With all due respect, my dear boy, have you lost your ever-loving mind?”
“I—” I stare at the screen as Mam claps her hands and orders my siblings to skedaddle.
“It’s my house, Mam!” Aoife protests.
Mam puts her hands on her hips and stands to her full Irish Mammy height of about five foot nothing, looking scarier and more intimidating than a six foot five Viking in the process. “Do I look like someone who gives a flying rat’s behind about whose house this is? Out with you, the lot of you!”
My siblings make a hasty retreat, which is smart of them.
I’m smug for about half a millisecond before the wrath is directed at me.
“So?” Mam demands, hands still planted firmly on her round hips.
“Mam, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the fact that we’ve been over the moon to see you happy after watching you miserable for so long. And now, you’re planning to walk right back into your miserable life as if this summer has taught you nothing!”
“Miserable’s a harsh word,” I say with a forced smile.
Mam doesn’t return it. Instead, she levels me with a look. “It’s true. I know how close you were to your gran, but after she passed, you retreated into yourself where nobody could reach you. Since you’ve been there in Serendipity Springs, it’s like you’ve been brought back to life.”
“I know, Mam,” I say with a nod. “I have been. And I’m sorry I was so closed off. I should have been more present. When I get back, I promise things will be different.”
“Would you ever quit, Becks! Sheesh. For the love of all that is holy, I’m not asking for an apology. I’m asking you to see that it’s a good thing to choose yourself sometimes. To do what’s best for you. Your whole life, you’ve done nothing but put us first, sacrifice your own desires to help your family. And son, I appreciate that more than you could ever know.” She pauses, gives her head a shake. “But I wasn’t kidding when I said you needed to take some time this summer to get away and see how different life could be for you if you’d only just let yourself live it. You’ve been rotting away doing nothing for far too long.”
“I have a job you know, Mam.”
“You hate that crusty old job!”
She’s right. I do.
“You’re totally wasted at that school, and you know it.”
I hate to admit it, but she’s right again.
“When I get home, I’ll quit,” I promise, realizing as I say it that it’s true. I will. I think I already knew it was something I needed to do when I got back.
“Or, you could just not come home at all.”
I frown. “But… I need to be there.”
“Why?” she demands. “If you’re quitting the hoity-toity job, then what’s your reasoning here, son? Because I’m all ears.”
“Aoife’s baby’s on the way,” I say, but even to my ears, it sounds like I’m grasping at straws.
“PLANES EXIST, YOU UTTER EEJIT!” Aoife’s yell comes from offscreen, confirming that my siblings may have left the room, but they’ve absolutely been eavesdropping this entire time.
“Wow, tell me how you really feel, Aoife,” I say, but I can’t help it—I’m smiling.
“We don’t need you to take care of us, Becks.” Mam’s eyes soften. “For a long time, I know that you focused on putting us first, put your own happiness aside to look after everyone else. But guess what? You’ve been gone half the summer and we’re all still standing.”
“Barely,” I joke.
Mam glares at me. “Hush with that. We don’t need you to be here to take care of us, Beckett. We just need you to be happy. And this Keeley clearly makes you happy.”
Mam’s words are sweet. Sincere. And they remind me that my family loves me. No matter where I am or what I do, they want the best for me.
“She makes me very happy.”
“Are you in love with her?”
“I am.” I nod again. “And I know she loves me. But I don’t know if that’s enough.”
“I swear, sometimes I feel like I’ve raised a bunch of halfwits!” Mam’s voice changes to match her fiery eyes. “Of course that’s not enough! Love isn’t just a feeling, it’s a commitment. A decision. Something you need to fight for. You can’t just sit there on your laurels, you need to fight for her, son! Don’t run away. Stand strong and fight for what fate has put in your path. The gift of love that’s been given to you. Don’t let history repeat itself.”
“What do you mean?” I frown at her slightly blurry image on the computer screen.
She gives me a pointed look. “I think your Gran spun you wee ’uns fairy tales and superstitious stories and folklore galore because it was easier, sometimes, for her to live in fiction than it was in fact. It’s my belief that your Gran had a good and happy life, but that she didn’t face up to some hard realities, and this caused her some regrets.”
Hearing this surprises me. I always thought that my gran lived with no regrets, always wore her heart on her sleeve… but knowing that she and Douglas broke each other’s hearts when she left, Mam’s words make me realize that Gran made a choice, and that choice had consequences.
“I don’t want that for you, son. While I totally understand that we all have to do what we have to do to get by, I encourage you to live your truth, Beckett. Fight for whatever makes you feel something real.”
“Thanks, Mam,” I say—the most sincere thank you I’ve ever uttered. Because she’s right.
I love Keeley.
I want to be with Keeley.
I choose Keeley.
And I’m going to do everything in my power to show her that. To fight for what I know we have.
“We love you, Beckett,” Mam replies. “And I know you always like to quote your Gran saying what’s for you won’t pass you , but I came up with a new version for you to consider.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask.
Mam smiles. “When fate gives you what’s for you… don’t let it slip away.”