Chapter One #2
“None of the work and all of the reward. I respect that.” She shoves half the brownie into her mouth, holding up a finger.
“ Waif ere ,” she says around the slice, which I take to mean “Wait here” and I watch curiously as she opens a drawer in her own desk opposite mine, pulling out a Chicago Cubs teddy bear.
“It’s for the baby,” she says. “So your sister can raise her child right.”
“Gab! You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know, but I’m nice.” She lingers as I tuck it into my suitcase, fitting it in beside all the other food and the few pieces of clothing I’m bringing home with me. “How is that all you’re taking?”
“It’s just for a few days.”
“Yeah, but it’s Christmas,” she protests. “What about presents?”
“I give most people money as a present. They expect it and they want it.”
“That doesn’t seem very Christmassy.”
“And yet I remain everyone’s favorite relative.” I straighten, mentally going over the most important things. Clothes, wallet, tickets. Keys, passport, phone.
“You good?” Gabriela asks when I finally look at her.
I nod. “And if I’m not, it’s too late. I’ll be on my phone if you need me. And I’ll be online from tomorrow. And—”
“ Goodbye , Molly,” she says, pushing me out the door.
“Bye,” I say automatically. “Happy Christmas, I guess.”
“It’s good that you sound so miserable when you say that. Really gets me in the festive spirit.”
She waits with me until the elevator comes, waving cheerfully as she eats the other half of her brownie.
It takes an age to get down, stopping at every other floor before we hit the lobby.
Outside, the surrounding skyscrapers tower above me, the streets full of people heading to restaurants and bars and clubs.
At least at this time of day, it doesn’t take long to catch a cab, and in no time at all I’m speeding west across the city, aiming for the interstate.
The snow falls thickly around us, gathering in a way I’m still not entirely used to even though I’ve lived here for years.
I was still a teenager when I arrived and thought myself incredibly grown-up even though I was scared shitless.
I spent that entire flight wondering if I was making a giant, expensive mistake, but any doubts I had vanished as soon as I stepped off the plane.
I knew as soon as I did that Chicago was my city.
And I was lucky that it was. There’s no predicting it sometimes, what calls to you and what doesn’t.
But in the same way house-hunters can walk through a front door and know instantly whether or not the four walls are for them, I knew as I settled into my life here all those years ago that this was where I belonged.
It’s a gut instinct. A feeling.
Or maybe it was fate.
My parents assumed that after college I would move back to Dublin, but it never even occurred to me, the excuses rolling off my tongue whenever they asked.
Summers were spent with friends and boyfriends.
College was followed by law school. Law school by work.
And alongside it all was a life I built from scratch.
An apartment to call my own, friends I adore and a city I now know like the back of my hand.
I love the parks and the festivals and the beaches.
I love the architecture and the people and how easy it is to get around.
I love how I have some of the best food in the world right outside my front door. And I love that it’s all mine.
Even now I think my family still expect me to return to Ireland. But how can I? This is my home now. And I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
So I’ve been thinking…
My sister’s text comes through as we near the airport, followed by a series of emojis that she likes to punctuate every message with.
Oh no .
Instead of you coming here for Christmas why don’t the two of us bail and get the first flight to some Greek island?
I don’t think they’ll allow you on a plane this far along .
I’ll wear a very big coat . They’ll never know .
Zoe is eight months pregnant and due in early January. I think my parents are even more excited than she is about it, and recently made her move back into their house so they could fuss over her.
A couple of carolers came to the door earlier , she continues now . Dad tried to be funny and requested Hotel California. Mam gave them some leftover packets of M&Ms like it was Halloween.
And people wonder where I get it from. I can already picture how the next few days are going to go.
The big family reunions (yes, it’s hard work, no, I’m not married yet) and the smaller dinners at home where the four of us awkwardly carry out our strange version of Christmas.
Mam will go to bed early and Zoe will slip out to meet a friend and Dad will corner me in the living room and ask the same gruff but well-meaning questions about my retirement plan and the insulation in my apartment building and whether or not I took his advice about investing in a good toolbox, because he doesn’t really know how to talk to me anymore but still wants to try.
Every year it’s like the four of us are halfheartedly acting out something we saw on television, and more and more I wonder why we bother to pretend at all.
My phone buzzes as a photograph comes through of my very small, very single childhood bed, made up with blankets that I’m pretty sure my parents had since before I was born.
#Glamour , Zoe writes underneath, and I sigh, mentally apologizing to my poor back muscles. I’ll need to book a massage as soon as I get back here.
Traffic slows as we near the airport, but at this time of year, I suppose I should be grateful we get there at all, and I tip the driver as I get out, checking in my suitcase and keeping my laptop bag on me.
By the time I make it through security, I have zero time for delays and head straight to duty-free like a woman on a mission.
“Excuse me,” I ask, stopping the nearest worker with a lanyard around their neck. “What’s the worst-selling perfume you have?”
Five minutes later I leave smelling like an obnoxious concoction of pop-star-branded scents, with one sparkling pink bottle swinging from the bag on my wrist.
Eventually, I get to my gate, weaving through tired, disgruntled families and solo adults staring into space until I spy a dark-haired man sitting hunched over a National Geographic .
I can’t see his face, but I can picture his creased brow as he reads, the way he mouths every other word even though he swears he doesn’t.
For a moment, I just watch him, and then I take a step and then another and another, and with each one, I feel the world outside slowly slip away.
No more worries, no more planning, no work, no nothing.
I’ll have to deal with it all when I get back.
Hell, I’ll probably have to deal with it when I land.
But not right now. It’s the one time of year when I put my work second.
I’m smiling when I reach him and don’t hesitate as I reach forward to pluck the magazine from his hands.
“Excuse me, sir,” I say as he rears back, startled. “I think you’re in my seat?”
Andrew Fitzpatrick’s shocked look disappears as soon as he sees me. He grins up at me with those hazel eyes as if I’m the best thing that’s happened to his day. I know he’s the best thing that’s happened to mine.
“Hey, stranger,” he says, leaning back against the chair. “Fancy seeing you here.”
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