35. Finn
THIRTY-FIVE
Finn
PRESENT
It’s been too long since I’ve been home.
I realize this the second I walk into my parents’ grand estate and see my mother walking down the grand staircase in an…evening gown?
What the fuck?
“Mam?” My voice is hoarse, and my eyes are probably bulging out of my head. I’m finding it hard to breathe because the last time I was here, her wardrobe consisted of tracksuits and robes.
Now, her hair is gathered in a graceful bun. Wisps of gray and silver are still woven into the natural brown, but it seems to suit her. The harsh blond she once had in my youth now seems garish in comparison to this softer new style.
“You look?—”
She lets out a lyrical laugh as she takes the last few steps to greet me in the foyer. “What are you doing here?” she asks, her tone even and her voice clear.
She’s sober.
“I came to see you and Da,” I reply, still feeling a bit dazed.
“Well, that’s nice of you, Finney. Come sit with me and chat?” she says, taking my hand and leading us to the sitting room on the left. It’s the same room where Ash and I solidified our relationship, and somehow, that seems fitting for what I’m about to tell her. She smooths out the pale pink beaded skirt of her dress, and I watch in wonder.
“How—”
She smiles. “I’ve been doing a little bit of—what did she call it—oh, yes. Soul searching.”
My brow furrows. “Who said that? What are you talking about?”
“Your Aisling, love. She and I have been spending quite a bit of time together. Didn’t she tell you she’s been coming to visit?”
I feel the ground shift beneath my feet. “What?”
“Oh, now that doesn’t surprise me in the least. She said she’s been worried about how much time you’ve been putting in the office.
“I—” I’m speechless. Utterly speechless. “She comes here? Here?” I press my pointer finger into the cushion of the couch cushion like an utter arse. “Since when?”
“Since your da’s stroke, love,” she answers plainly. She’s even wearing makeup. It highlights her healthy skin and bright green eyes. She doesn’t just look like the woman I remember; she looks even better. “She popped in a week or so after and offered to accompany me to the hospital or make me dinner. She’s a wiz in the kitchen, that girl. Says her mam taught her.”
“She’s brilliant,” I affirm. It’s just one of a million tiny things I’ve learned about her in the past six months. “So, you two just…hang out?”
She laughs. “I don’t know why you seem so surprised. I’m a delightful person to spend time with, I’ll have you know. Where do you think you learned all those manners?”
“Charm school?”
“Oh, off with ye and your charm school.” Her laughter echoes through the room. I don’t remember the last time I heard her sound so happy.
“You look grand, Ma.”
“I feel grand.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you through all this. I know it’s been hard.”
“It has,” she admits, her expression grim. “Spending time with Aisling and talking with her about her mother has made me realize just how much grief I was experiencing.”
Guilt washes over me. “I can’t imagine what it’s been like with Da so sick.”
“No, you can’t,” she agrees. “But I don’t think I could either. I essentially lost him, and that was hard, but it was the life that crumbled after his stroke that was far worse.”
“What do you mean?”
She takes my hand and squeezes it. The gesture makes me feel small again. “Being the wife of Mr. O’Connell is all I’ve known. For decades. It’s a role I’ve played flawlessly year after year, one I was so good at that even I didn’t realize how awful it was.”
“When your father fell ill, it felt like the spotlight that had been cast on us throughout our entire marriage suddenly shattered. All my so-called friends stopped inviting me to events, and the charities I volunteered for no longer needed me. Without him, I became just an outdated accessory that no one wanted.”
“That’s absurd,” I say. “You’re a Larkin. Your granda once owned half of Ireland.”
She offers a halfhearted wave with her other hand. “It doesn’t matter. It’s water under the bridge anyway.” She gives me a sad smile and sighs. “It’s taken me a long time to say that. I’ve been in mourning.”
“That’s normal, I think. Your husband nearly died.”
“Sure,” she agrees. “But I think most wives mourn the life they shared with their husbands. I was mourning the life I could have had without him.”
“You mean, if you hadn’t?—”
She must realize what she has said and amend her words. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean you. I love being your mother, Finn. I’m sorry if that came out wrong. Please know I would choose this life a hundred times over if it meant getting you out of the deal. It’s just that without all the usual distractions in my life to keep me busy, it became clear just how depressed I was. But I felt guilty at the same time because who thinks like that when their husband is upstairs suffering?”
“A lot of people,” I offer. “I think it’s perfectly normal to reflect on your life, Mam. Especially after going through something so traumatic.”
“See, this is why you and that girl are perfect for each other. That’s exactly what she said. She should consider a career as a therapist if her history aspirations don’t pan out.”
“She spoke to you about that?”
“Oh, love, she speaks to me about everything.” She gives me a wink. Oh, that’s all sorts of fucked up. Adding that to the list of things I will be discussing with Ash when I get home. We do not overshare with my mother.
“I’m glad she has had the chance to visit and get to know you.”
“Me too, Finney. She’s a special girl.”
“She is.” I nod. “She really is.”
“She told me how you two met,” she goes on. “On one of your tours?”
“Practically love at first sight.”
“And you still let her go? I thought you were a smart fella.” She gives me a soft smile. “A girl like that doesn’t come around every day, you know?”
“I know, Ma.” I lean back on the sofa, dragging my hand along my dress pants. “I thought I was doing the right thing by letting her go like that.”
“And now? What’s the right thing to do now?” There’s a protective tone in her voice as she interrogates me about my intentions for my girlfriend. It’s oddly endearing.
“That’s why I’m here,” I say. “I came to a decision tonight.”
“Okay, and what’s that?”
“Effective tomorrow, I will step down as CEO and president of O’Connell Tours.”
* * *
I still fucking hate this room.
The sharp scent of antiseptic and the cold air make me want to turn back and bolt for the door, but I came here for a reason.
After I dropped the bomb on my mam and told her I was stepping down tomorrow, she had a few things to say.
I expected that.
What I didn’t expect was to be shaken to my core by the words that emerged from her lips.
Knowing what I know now may actually make me hate this room a little more—or at least the man lying in it.
The walls are still a stately blue. The ornate crown molding stands in stark contrast to the industrial hospital bed, making the comparison almost laughable.
I take a seat in the high-backed chair in the corner, probably as old as the house. The heavy brocade upholstery is worn and desperately needs replacing, but that’s likely why it’s in here—lots of foot traffic and all.
“Hi, Da,” I say, unsure if he can hear me. His last stroke took nearly everything from him. His doctors say he’s lucky to be alive.
Lucky.
He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling with a feeding tube shoved up his nose. I doubt anyone would consider this lucky. But I didn’t come here to ponder his quality of life. Coming here and saying my piece. It’s all for me.
“You know, one of the first things I did after I took over was a full remodel,” I begin. I lean forward with my elbows on my knees and gaze at the floor instead of his soulless eyes. “Some might say it was strategic. The young son swoops in and wants everyone to know he’s in charge. But really, it was just a necessity. The place desperately needed an upgrade. The wiring was shoddy, there were carpet stains older than me, and it was so dark that the overall mood felt dismal.”
I remember walking in there for the first time after my father’s stroke and questioning whether the place was truly as bad as it seemed or if it just felt that way because I was so depressed.
Turns out it was just that bad.
“So, I had the whole place renovated. The lobby, every conference room, even the loos. Everywhere except your office.”
I glance up. I’m not sure what I’m expecting. A reaction? But no, he’s still in the same position as before, so I resume mine. “It’s been two and a half years, and it looks exactly the same, down to the very last crystal decanter.”
I fucking hate those decanters. It’s not the sixties anymore, and this isn’t Mad Men . “I’m sure a lot of people have wondered why I haven’t changed it. Maybe they think it’s a way of honoring you. Maybe they assumed I was clinging to the memory of the man I remembered, and in a way, I guess I am. But it’s more so I don’t forget every rugby match you missed, every family vacation you skipped, and all the other shit never showed up for because you were in that office, putting the company first.”
I let out a pained laugh. “And I thought that was commendable in a way—all that hard work and whatnot. It kept the doors open, and the employees paid, but I was the one paying the cost. Mam was the cost. So, yeah, I guess I kept that fucking office the way it was as a reminder of my choice.”
And it worked. Every day I walked into the depressing, dark office, I remembered the pain, anger, and resolve in Ash’s voicemails.
I’d chosen and thought I’d have to live with that for the rest of my life.
Until I walked into a conference room and discovered my future waiting for me.
I rise to my feet and stare down at the man I call father. It’s an honorary title at best, not one he’s earned. He only seemed to pay attention and take an interest in the role when it affected him. Looking back, I can see now why I acted out so much; it was the only time he ever noticed me.
God, I was such a cliché.
“Because of you, I always thought I had to choose. One or the other—duty or family.” I shake my head in disgust. “Yeah, fuck that, old man. I choose both. Just like you should have.”