7. Finn
SEVEN
Finn
PRESENT
I am usually one of the first to arrive at the office and one of the last to leave. Rian once told me I would fit right in with all the workaholic friends he made in the States. After I told him to fuck right off, I explained I was just leading by example. Growing up, my father was never around. He was always here. So why should I be any different?
Rian had just transferred back to Dublin after a two-year stint in Seattle. To say the return was unwelcome would be an understatement. At first, my best friend hadn’t been thrilled with the idea of moving to America, but he went anyway and did what he did best. He adapted and made the most of things.
And then he fell in love.
He met Robyn at an IT mixer sponsored by his employer, and they got along right away. After that, I thought I would lose him to the States forever, but about a month ago, he called and said he was coming home. When I asked what happened, he said things just didn’t work out.
Poor bastard.
Tonight is the first time we’ve both had free time to meet up, and we’re hitting the pubs. It couldn’t come on a better night. After the day I’ve had, a few pints with my best mate sounds stellar.
But before I head out, there’s one thing I need to do.
The salty smell of the ocean hits me as I get closer to my childhood home in Blackrock. The hotel where Aisling’s tour started is just a stone’s throw away from here. Back then, I remember walking the streets of Dún Laoghaire, trying not to think about my parents being so close. Now, it’s the opposite, and I’m trying not to think about that damn hotel and all the memories it will bring back.
Pulling up to my family home always stirs up a mixture of emotions. It’s where I grew up but also where my father essentially threw me out. It’s both comforting and a colossal source of anxiety, mixed with a bit of shame and a touch of guilt.
This was once a beautiful home. My mom loved to entertain, and when the sun was shining, she’d let me have huge pool parties with my friends during the summer. Now, as I walk through its grand doors, it feels more like a glorified nursing home.
I don’t bother knocking. The in-home nurse would chastise me for it anyway. Your da needs his rest , she’d say. Pretty sure the man didn’t even know the meaning of the word before his stroke.
My mam greets me at the door, still in her silk dressing gown and slippers with a double shot of whiskey in her hands. Her once perfectly styled hair hangs loose and limp around her shoulders. Deep brown and silver roots that would have once made her cringe stand in stark contrast to the pale blond hair she’s had since I was a baby.
“Finney, love. You’re home!”
“Just stopping over to see how things are with Da,” I tell her.
“Oh, good,” she sighs. “Same.”
“Right.” My mam has two moods since my da’s stroke: drunk and happy or sober and sad. Thankfully, I haven’t seen the drunk and happy mood often enough to warrant a problem, but that doesn’t mean I’m not worried.
The sober and sad mood isn’t good either.
“How have you been lately? Keeping up with your clubs and charities? Seen any of your friends?” I ask as I follow her into the kitchen, watching as she drains her glass.
I don’t need a crystal ball to guess what she’s going to get.
“No,” she says, heading for the open bottle of whiskey on the marble countertop. My eyes dart to the label. God, that bottle must be worth over a thousand euros. I don’t know why I’m surprised. She has no concept of money. For most of my life, I didn’t either. “I don’t know what we’d talk about, and besides—I need to stay here to help with your father.”
We have around-the-clock in-home health care, so I know that’s a lie. “What do you mean you wouldn’t know what to talk about? They’re your friends?—”
“They’re your father’s friends’ wives,” she interrupts me, the clarity in her voice suddenly breaking through the haze of the booze.
“I didn’t realize there was a difference.”
“It’s complicated. It doesn’t matter.”
Before I can ask what she means, she scoots me out of the kitchen to visit with my father. In her rush to shoo me away, she seems to have forgotten to mention the physical therapist because as soon as I finish climbing the stairs, I’m greeted by a cheerful “Hallo!” as we nearly bump into each other in the hallway.
“Your da and I just wrapped up,” she informs me. I can’t seem to remember her name. Cora? Caila? Fuck. “Patty’s on her break, but he’ll probably fall asleep in minutes if he’s not already.”
Perfect . Wasn’t planning on staying long anyway. “Okay, thanks a mil.”
She heads off to her next client, and I pass the closed door that leads to my childhood bedroom. It’s exactly how I left it the day I went to university—like some weird teenage tomb. I keep telling Mam to turn it into another fancy guest room or a yoga studio, but she refuses.
The smell of disinfectant and rubbing alcohol assaults my senses as I enter my parents’ en suite. It has been entirely taken over by medical equipment since we moved him in. My mam sleeps in a guest suite down the hall.
My da is in the giant hospital bed with his eyes closed. His right eyelid flutters open the second I step inside, and I can’t help but feel the mixture of disappointment and guilt knowing my visit has just been extended.
The stroke affected not only his speech but also impaired much of his left side. Physical therapy has helped some. He can hold a pencil between his fingers, but forming letters is challenging. He seems to understand more as time goes on, so the doctors think it has more to do with motor function than memory.
“Hi, Da.” He gives me a slow blink and looks away. Although he can’t speak, his words are loud and clear. Yeah, I’m not too thrilled to be here either.
Let’s get this over with…
* * *
“How are you liking it?” I ask. Rian and I have settled into a cozy corner of the pub. It’s a new favorite since all the places I used to frequent were pretentious as fuck. And although I live in a swanky apartment and have a fancy job, I’m not that guy anymore.
As I lean back in the booth, the worn leather creaking beneath me and my best friend sitting across from me, I feel a bit of stress leave my body. Even with all the noise of the pub surrounding us, this place, with its dark green walls and low ceilings, soothes an ache in my chest. Or maybe it’s the lad in front of me doing that. “Is it hard to be back home after so long?”
“No,” he answers firmly, taking a sip of his ale. “It’s a relief if I’m being honest. I wasn’t cut out for it long-term.”
“Is that why you and Robyn didn’t work out?”
He gives a slow nod and leans back. “When we started talking about moving in together, she asked if I ever thought I could see myself staying there permanently. I wanted to say yes, but I just couldn’t. Seattle is great, and if I had to choose a place to settle down in the US, it would be there. But it’s not where I want to be.”
“And I’m guessing Robyn didn’t want to move here?”
“She attended university in Seattle and started working for her employer right after graduation. Her family is in Washington. It’s all she has ever known.”
“So, you just broke up, and you applied for a transfer?”
He shrugs. “There was a bit more to it than that, but it really just came down to the fact that there were too many complications. So, yeah.” He shrugs again, but this one seems almost painful, as if he’s carrying extra weight on his shoulders. “Fuck it, you know? I’m done with relationships. And women. Anyway, how’s work?” The blank expression on my face must say it all because his brow raises in alarm. Or maybe morbid curiosity. “What? What did I say?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, staring down at my half-empty pint of Guinness. “It’s just been a crazy fucking day.” I pause before adding, “I walked into a conference room today to welcome four new hires, and Aisling Farrell was one of them.”
His eyes widen. “Aisling Farell, as in the Aisling Farrell?” I nod. “Was she—” He stumbles over his words. “Did she know you were the?—?”
“The CEO?” I offer, and he nods. “Fuck, no. She was completely shocked to see me standing there.” Shocked, betrayed ,and pissed .
“And you didn’t know she was being hired?”
“What the hell do you think?” He raises his hands, feigning defeat. “I trust my staff to hire competent people. I’m not a micromanager.”
“Shit, Finn, how does that woman just keep showing up in your life?” he asks, but it feels more like a rhetorical question because who the fuck knows? At one point in my life, I thought it was sheer dumb luck that we found each other after that night in the street, but now? Torture, maybe? “What is she doing in Ireland anyway? Has she been here the whole time, or did she just come for the job?”
I had been trying to figure that out all afternoon—the reason Ash would move to Ireland. I ignored everything else on my desk this afternoon as I went over every detail in her employee file, combing through her résumé and personal data. “I think her mom died,” I finally tell him.
“Shiiit—wait, you think? You’re not sure?”
I sigh. “She was vlogging.” This is public information. It’s not technically wrong to share it with Rian. I push aside the guilt digging into my side, knowing I’d dug up all this while looking through her personal file. “She and her mom were traveling, and she shared their journeys on YouTube.” I don’t mention that it’s one of the reasons Nora hired her or that I planned to go home tonight and watch every single video since I ran out of time at the office. “About six months ago, she stopped posting, and in the comments, one of her subscribers noted that they’d messaged her, and Ash had replied that her mom was sick and they were no longer traveling.”
Rian already has his phone out. I assume he’s looking up her YouTube channel, but when he asks, “Where was Aisling from? Chicago?”
“Quincy. Why?”
“And her mom’s name was Deidre?”
“Yes. What are you doing?”
“I found her obituary.” He slides the phone over. I forgot how fucking savage he can be with a piece of technology in front of him. They don’t pay him a fortune for shits and giggles.
I look down and see the image of Aisling’s mom staring up at me.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. So, it was true. I’d assumed as much, but seeing it in black and white was heartbreaking, especially knowing how much Ash loved her mom.
I read the obituary. She passed away three months ago. Cancer. However, the part that really stood out to me was the ending: “Deidre is survived by her daughter, Aisling Farrell.” That’s it. No one else is mentioned.
“So, what are you going to do?” Rian asks as I silently slide his phone back across the table. He takes it and puts it back in his pocket.
“Nothing,” I answer. “She’s an employee. I’m her boss.” Boss’s boss’s boss, I chant in my head, like the distinction makes some sort of difference.
He gives me an incredulous stare, his brows rising so high they could touch the ceiling. “The girl of your dreams just happens to fall back in your life—again—and you’re just going to ignore it? Ignore her?”
“She’s not the girl of my dreams.” But even I know that’s a lie. “She’s just a girl I once thought—” was the one? I don’t finish the sentence. I can’t. “No, too complicated. It doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to date anyway.”
He eyes me wearily and sighs. “Okay, but do you have time to finish a couple more pints?”
A grin tugs at my lips. “Definitely.”
“What about wingman duty? You still up for that?”
“I thought you said you were done with women?”
“When did I say that?” he scoffs.
“About ten minutes ago,” I remind him. “You said you were done with relationships and women.” He finishes his ale and gestures to the waitress. “Relationships, definitely. Women? That’s just crazy. Now, come help a lad out. I need to get reacquainted with my homeland.”