Chapter Four
Aidan
On the way to Cara’s Cafe for a late breakfast, I catch myself replaying scenes of the woman from yesterday. The rest of my shift went by as usual—same folks, same drinks. Perhaps in the delirium of boredom, I made Marissa up. A figment of my imagination. Anytime the pub door opened, a sliver of hope pierced me thinking it would be her.
Life has felt lonelier of late. Michael’s gone—the one-year anniversary of his death in May hit that fact home. I’ve remained single since Mary and I broke up after he passed, and Cara’s so consumed with wedding planning and the cafe that she’s barely got time for Yaz, much less me. My focus has remained on the pub and keeping Mam and Da on good terms, and I’ve done little else. If I had made up some dream woman yesterday to pass the time, I wouldn’t be surprised.
At least Da hired a couple new bartenders so I don’t have to come in every bleedin’ day. With the extra help, he could take time off for himself. Spend evenings with Mam, which they need. Then maybe we can try to get back to some kind of normal, the three of us, and maybe I can pick back up with my life.
For now, though, I have best man duties for Cara. Pre-wedding errands, hen party planning, all of it—including dining today with that half sister of hers.
Conversation hums as I walk into the cafe. “Hello, you. Right on time, too.” Cara greets me with a warm smile and walks over for a hug. “Testing out an original recipe and the timer just beeped.”
“Smells class.” I get spoiled in the culinary department by having a best friend who can cook and bake like Cara. She enjoys testing new recipes on me and Yaz, and we never complain.
Cara bounces back toward the kitchen, and that pep in her step means she is giddy. Things must be going smoothly with this Juniper woman. Having female friends in her life is a sore spot for Cara, so getting to reignite that bond with other women—a half sister no less—means a lot to her.
“Here he is,” Yaz calls out in her low, velvety voice. “I was singing praises to Juniper about how you’re keeping me and Cara sane through this whole wedding planning process. This is Juniper. Juniper, Danny.”
The person sitting at the table is not Juniper, though. She is the woman I’ve had playing on repeat in my mind since yesterday. She’s Marissa, from the pub. Marissa, the American girl, is Juniper?
“You told me your name was M-Marissa,” I sputter.
“They met already, remember?” Cara says to Yaz, setting a mug of coffee down for me. “Hey, you didn’t find a passport lying around, did you?”
“Your name’s Juniper?” I’m far too confused to smile at this lucky second encounter.
A rich red rushes onto Marissa’s—Juniper’s—cheeks.
“Fair play to you,” Yaz says. “Never give your real name to a man in a bar. And this one? Can’t blame you.”
Cara cackles, and I send her a withering look.
“You two’re hilarious,” I say, deadpan.
A timer dings from the kitchen, and Cara recruits Yaz to bring the meal out. Juniper squirms in the booth, smooths out her skirt, and fiddles with her hair. I sit down beside her, marveling that she’s real and here, right in front of me. I didn’t think I’d get to see her again.
“You dashed out before I could call anyone,” I say, baffled over her behavior yesterday.
“Yeah. I needed to find my passport, and it wasn’t at the bar, so I went back to the station to look.”
“I was trying to help.” A beat passes as nothing but the instrumental background music flows between us. “I’m Aidan, by the way. Danny for short. Nice to officially meet you, emphasis on officially.” I extend a hand, and hers fits into mine like a key in a lock. “What is it you said your name was?”
“Look, I’ve never traveled abroad before, and I wanted to stay safe. I wasn’t sure—”
“No, makes sense. But if you’re after a kidney, there’s plenty of folks back in America you could’ve contacted.”
“I’m not here harvesting organs .” She blushes again—a striking pinkish tint like sunset. Judging by how the corner of her mouth angles up, she understands I’m teasing her, but she continues explaining herself anyway. “I got off the train literally five minutes before we met, and you were a total stranger. I had no idea you knew Cara. It’s not suspicious that I wouldn’t tell you my name.”
“It’s not not suspicious.”
“Dan, stop giving her grief,” Cara says, emerging from the kitchen while performing a balancing act of plates. “Make room. Your first meal out on the town.”
“This is the finest food you’ll find in all of Ireland,” Yaz adds, and Cara feigns embarrassment with a chuckle. “It is! Juniper, she’s worked so hard on opening this place, and she pores over every detail of what she serves here.”
They settle in across from me and Juniper, and I take in the spread. The cafe’s got to serve some classic breakfast foods to appease the folks who only ever want something traditional, but Cara works innovative flavors into quiches, pastries, and salads. I don’t know how she decides which ingredients to pair together, but whatever she whips up always impresses.
“So what did you get to do yesterday?” Yaz asks.
“Not a lot,” Juniper says, her attention flitting to me. “I was pretty jet-lagged and passed out on Cara’s couch the first chance I got.”
“After eating here, there’s not much more to explore in town,” I say as I scoop up food with my fork.
“Not true. The pub,” Cara says. She turns to Juniper to add, “Danny’s da owns the place.”
Juniper quirks her brow at me in what looks like surprise.
“Ooh, maybe you and I can stop in tomorrow night,” Cara suggests to her half sister, a glimmer of hope hiding in her dimples.
“Sure. It’d be good for me to get to know the area where you live, the places you like to go. That sort of thing.”
“That’s right. You’ve an assignment.” I pierce the egg on my plate and the yolk runs a vibrant yellow. “How’s that work? You do interviews or something?”
“No, it’s more casual than that. The piece is a narrative personal essay. My site’s branching out and wants to publish more of those, kind of like The Atlantic or The New Yorker .”
“ The New York Times has those too, I think,” Yaz says to Cara.
“That’s the dream.” Juniper’s face relaxes into a smile, like a flower blooming in spring.
“What will you write about?” I ask.
“My experience,” she says, using her utensil to usher the potatoes side to side on her plate. “Not every day you find a relative halfway across the world.”
When Cara mentioned the assignment, I found it odd for someone to work on something so intimate. Perhaps it’s not much different than people posting their lives on social media, but I don’t understand that, either. Their story is extraordinary, though. Cara wanted to do a DNA kit for ages because she’d always wondered…what with her da not being around. When she got her test results with zero close matches and a handful of extremely distant cousins—which must’ve been years ago—she sulked for a solid week. But the message from Juniper changed everything. New family discovered an ocean away, two sisters who never realized the other one was out there. No wonder the site Juniper writes for wants to hear about them. And since she speaks about her writing with passion, like she genuinely cares, I have a hunch my best friend is in good hands.
The conversation shifts to the wedding—every decision, big and small, that’s gone into the upcoming nuptials. What cake to eat, which flowers to hold, which song to dance to, what plates to use. How in the world they’ve planned all of this while Cara also opened a cafe and Yaz continued to work her way up to partner at the law firm is beyond me.
“We hired a day-of planner, thank goodness,” Cara says, “because otherwise I’ve no idea how we’d manage. But until then, we’re on our own.”
“Keep your mind on the honeymoon.” Yaz wraps an arm around her fiancée and plants a kiss on her temple.
“Where are you going?” Juniper asks.
“Sardinia, but—” Cara replies at the same time Yaz says, “Isle of Man—”
“Well yes, Isle of Man the few days after the wedding,” Cara explains. “What all the bridal magazines call a minimoon. Then, April next year, we’ll be off to Sardinia to sit on the beach and consume too much pasta and wine.”
Juniper laughs again, a chime like church bells. “What a dream.”
“Have you been?” Yaz asks.
“Um, no.” Juniper’s attitude goes from open to something more guarded. “Neither place. They both sound nice, though.”
“Oh, speaking of the wedding.” Cara digs in her back pocket and pulls out a folded-up piece of lined paper, offering it to me. “Before I forget. Sure you don’t mind taking care of these things?”
“Positive. Consider me your errand boy.”
“Wish my brother had that attitude,” Yaz says, chuckling into her orange juice.
“Thank you,” Cara says while I look over the list of tasks she needs help with. “I’ll bake you all the apple cakes you could ever dream of. And the air bed?”
“Gave mine away. Remember?”
“It’s fine,” Juniper says to my friend. “I’ve slept in worse spots. Your couch is perfect.”
Cara gnaws on the cuticles of her thumb for a moment before her eyes light up. “Can Juniper stay at yours?”
Juniper’s head whips to me, and I let out a strangled “What?”
“Say no if you’d rather not,” she says, “but Yasmine’s mam is staying at her house, which means no room for me there. And rather than have you on the sofa, perhaps you could go to Danny’s. If—” She looks back at me with pleading eyes. “If that suits you?”
“Oh, um—”
“I’m totally okay on your couch, really,” Juniper says. “I don’t want to be in anyone’s way.”
“Not possible. You’re welcome to stay with me, but that thing is a rock. You must be sore in twenty-five new places this morning.”
Juniper hesitates. “That’s probably from the plane ride.”
“I want you to be comfortable, and he’s only down the road. I’ve no clue where that air bed has gone, and I’d like to host you, but his guest bedroom will be better.” Cara flips her attention back to me. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. Wedding brain. That good with you?”
The thought of Juniper under the same roof as me sends something like panic coursing through my veins, but I can’t pinpoint why. I keep the spare room tidy, and no one’s staying there. She’s my best friend’s sibling, so I should extend the same kindness to her as I would to Cara. And based on how Cara’s awaiting my answer with her hands clasped in prayer position, I’d lighten some of her load.
“Sounds good to me.” I give Juniper a no-big-deal kind of shrug.
“Yeah, I don’t mind.”
“Brilliant. Thank you, Danny.” She kisses my cheek as she stands up to prep for the lunch rush.
Juniper and I head out with a long list of to-dos, which now includes moving her things over to my house. As we exit the cafe, I glance down at the list. The last item reads: Take care of Juniper!!
Juniper picks up a box of cereal and examines the back. With her staying at mine, we make a stop at the supermarket so she’ll have some food around the house. She tosses some healthy-looking bran flakes into a shopping basket hooked on her arm and continues walking.
“Have I successfully convinced you I’m not on the hunt for a kidney?” she asks.
“For now. Never thought of myself as so intimidating that someone has to give me an alias.”
“You’re not intimidating,” she says as the corner of her mouth lifts.
“Your question from the pub makes more sense, though. About change, and about not feeling ready for it.”
She falters while reaching for something on the shelves, and her cheeks flush. Clearly, she’s put on a brave face coming to Ballygrá, but the reality of the situation is a shock. It certainly was for Cara.
“I understand. Cara’s been a wreck this whole week over meeting you. If I gave you a hard time about the name thing, it’s only because I’m looking out for my friend.” After how quickly some people in her life ghosted her, I have to, although Juniper’s level of street smarts is what I’d expect of someone from New York.
“You didn’t tell me your dad owned the pub.”
“Unimportant.”
“And you introduced yourself as Aidan, not Danny.”
“That’s a common nickname, I’ll have you know. Not as much as Marissa is for Juniper, though.”
“Okay, ha ha.” Her response oozes sarcasm, and she gives a dry laugh. “Call me June. Juniper’s fine, but to most people, I’m June.”
“All right, June,” I say, tasting her name on the tip of my tongue. So full and juicy for such a short and simple word. “Sorry about your passport not turning up.”
“I was careless.” She adjusts her grip on the basket, struggling under the weight of the food she’s picked.
“Here.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Her arm brushes mine as I take the basket full of groceries, and the brief contact shocks me with awareness. “Anyway, I can get a replacement passport if needed, but Cara knows a few people who work for the train. Fingers crossed somebody turns it in soon.”
“Cara’s good like that. Always has a person to call. Plus she’s a solid friend. Be warned, her natural talent for baked goods will ruin you for all other pastries. But if you had a choice of all the sisters in the world, you chose right.”
The supermarket owner, Mrs. Abernathy, peers over the newspaper as we approach the counter and removes her dainty silver eyeglasses. She paws around the tabletop for our items without looking at them, drilling her attention on me and June with an overenthusiastic smile. The wrinkles in her cheeks fold like velvet curtains.
“Danny! Lovely to see you, m’dear.”
“You too, Mrs. Abernathy. How’s things?”
“Oh, always the same for me. I like you poppin’ in here. How’re your mam and da?”
“Grand.”
She leans over the counter. “I told them at the memorial, and I’ll tell you again now. Anything you need, anything at all, you tell me and Edwin. Don’t be shy about it.”
“Will do.”
“Miss that lad. And nights at McCarthy’s? Not the same.”
My body has tensed, so I give a terse nod. Everyone adored Michael, his easy smile, and how he made them feel like his best pal. But it’s not just the pub that hasn’t been the same since his crash—nothing has.
Mrs. Abernathy picks up each item one by one, entering the price on the keyboard with a clumsy clink of the plastic keys, but something seems to distract her. Or rather, someone. “An’ who might you be, sweetheart?”
“I’m Juniper.”
“Oh! An American girl,” she says with a combination of intrigue and approval. “Well, Juniper, I’ll tell you, this one here’s a keeper. You’ll never meet a more gentle gentleman in your life. And you two look the part together.”
“Mrs. Abernathy, June is—” I explain while June says, “I’m actually—”
“I noticed you having a glance by the yogurts, and I’m glad you found someone, Danny. After that last lass of yours—oh, what was she called?”
Please make this stop. Mrs. Abernathy won’t, though, and bulldozes me with the name.
“Mary! That was her.”
Christ.
“After Mary, I saw how down you were. Sulked around town, and you were doing your best, but it was a sad sight altogether. Now to see you out and about with someone warms m’heart. How’d you meet?”
“We met yesterday, at the bar,” June interjects amid the rambling. Mrs. Abernathy’s mouth falls open, wordless—something I’ve never seen from her before.
Before the old woman shares any more of my humiliating romantic history at the till, I make introductions. “Mrs. Abernathy, this is Juniper Martin. Remember Cara’s half sister she was telling you about? This is her.”
Cara mentioned June to a few of the more talkative residents of Ballygrá, expecting the natural flow of gossip from one nosy person to the next to spread the news. Somehow, that news failed to reach Mrs. Abernathy, or she outright forgot, and we stand in an uncomfortable silence as she mentally puts all the pieces together.
“Oh,” she chirps. Something’s clicked, and she comes back to life. “Why didn’t you say so, love?”
This unfolds into a fifteen-minute Q&A. Lucky for me, Mrs. Abernathy only cares to talk to June—and lucky for June, the questions don’t probe too deeply. Where did she grow up, how does she like Ireland, and is she seeing anyone?—Pennsylvania, lovely so far, and no. I pull June out of there before Mrs. Abernathy asks for her unabridged life story, or worse yet, tells mine on my behalf.
We step into the brisk early-afternoon air, both of us holding paper bags of groceries. I want to say something, anything, but what I’ve got is even more embarrassing than what Mrs. Abernathy has already divulged—like how Mary and I called our relationship off ages ago and I’d long gotten over her, or how I most definitely wasn’t ogling June in the yogurt aisle.
“She’s a chatty one, isn’t she?” June asks.
“She can get carried away.”
“No, she’s sweet. She’d make a talented writer. The curious type.”
“Don’t give her any ideas. A gossip column is the last thing we need here.”
“When Cara said Ballygrá was small, I didn’t realize just how small she meant. Must be annoying living somewhere where everyone knows your dirty laundry.”
“Sometimes.” It was certainly a pain in the arse just now. “I’ve grown used to it, but you’re right, you can’t keep secrets for long in a place like this. Heaps different from New York then, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” June walks on the ledge of the pavement like a gymnast on a balance beam. “More anonymous. I’m never weighed down by anyone’s baggage or worried about what they think of me. Except for Mike.”
She throws out his name like he’s someone in our social circle, a lad we hang out with on weekends sometimes.
“Who’s Mike?” I don’t care, but June told Mrs. Abernathy she didn’t have a boyfriend.
“My corner bodega guy. He’s great. Teddy bear, born and raised in the city, and he knows pretty much everything about me. My comfort foods, my work drama…and he always stocks my favorite stuff. Chocolate, wine, tampons. Things like that.”
“Ah, now that’s what you should lead with. I’ve run the tampon errand for Cara before, and it’s not a task for the faint of heart.” The path ends, and we stroll side by side on the springy grass of the road shoulder. “You could say living in Ballygrá is the same as living in a town where everyone, including Mrs. Abernathy, is your bodega guy.”
She laughs again, one of those energizing laughs that brightens me up from the inside out. June tucks a stray strand of hair past her ears, and I wish I had my camera on me. My brain works like that—I see images in the making as I go about my day. Fleeting moments of life I have to choose between experiencing for myself or capturing forever behind a lens. Without my camera, all I can do is enjoy this sliver of space and time.
That night though, as I wash and dry my face, I keep thinking about that little sliver. Christ, I really should stay on task. June’s my best friend’s sister. She’s here to visit Cara for her wedding and then she’ll head back to the States. I don’t need to get some schoolboy crush on her.
“Did I leave my necklace in here?” June stands in the doorway, and somehow the whole house feels more full with her in it. More interesting.
“Mmm.” I dismiss that thought and scan the counter. Behind the soap holder is a gold chain and pendant, and as I hand her the jewelry, the softness of her palms heats up my arm.
“Good night, Aidan.” She gives me a quiet smile before turning to walk to her bedroom.
“Night,” I finally call down the hall.
All I have to do is treat June like I would my best friend, and everything will be fine.