Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sam
The word choice is notable, but it’s the feeling at the table, the way the energy in the room shifted from light and jovial to something heavier and bittersweet that tells me I’ve taken them all somewhere they didn’t want to go.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up hard memories.” My fingers knit together, and guilt skitters across my shoulder blades. I’m already so clearly out of my depth with this family, and now I’m pressing on bruises I couldn’t see.
Finn cracks up. “I’m worried you think he’s dead. He’s not. He’s just in the military. The only one of us who’ll make it to twenty years.”
Relief whooshes out of me as Mary and Connor both scramble to clarify.
“My gosh, I’m sorry. We just miss him so much,” Mary explains, her smile chagrined.
May pats my arm. “I probably should’ve told you that ahead of time. My bad.”
I feel Grant’s eyes on me, but I don’t look. I’m not sure I can take whatever judgement or irritation he’s flinging my way. “I’m so glad. I mean, I’m sorry you miss him, but I’m glad he’s okay.”
Something flickers across Connor’s face that gives me pause, but it disappears. “He’s one of our middle boys. Number three in the line.”
Finn adopts a fancy British accent. “He’s third in line for the Ryan throne.”
“Hey now,” Connor tuts after him.
Finn grins. I am beginning to suspect this is the way he responds to almost everything.
“Don’t mind the momentary meltdown over a British throne reference. You may have noticed we’re fairly proud of our Irish heritage. Mom’s family immigrated to New York, then here, and my dad’s side made their way here even before her people did. No idea why they wanted to live out here, but—”
“The land. And the mountains. And the lack of city stink, I imagine.” Connor raises a glass to the table and everyone else, as though this happens often, raises theirs, too.
I’m hoping no one noticed my flinch when he said the words, “city stink.” I know he’s not talking about me, but I can’t help but see this as one more way I don’t actually belong here.
They’re all so welcoming and lovely—well, everyone but Grant, I suppose—but they don’t know my roots.
They don’t know I’m from a city, and I grew up poor, and my mom was a woman who traded on any and all assets she had, and there weren’t many she could carry in her pocket.
May breaks my spiral when she rolls her eyes and redirects. “Anyway, if you didn’t notice by the names, then now you know.”
“Can I do it?” Lily jumps up and slides into the space next to her dad, then climbs into his lap.
“Go ahead, then.”
His voice is low and warm, his gaze full of affection and even what I might call delight. It’s so pure and genuine, my breath catches just to see it.
Have I ever seen any man look at anyone like that? I doubt it. It’s doting and so besotted with adoration for his daughter, I ball the napkin in my lap between my hands for fear I’ll lose it over this whisper of a moment.
“So my dad is the firstborn, and he got the only English-y name, Grant. Grant Liam Ryan.” She pats his wrist like she’s consoling him, and everyone laughs, even Declan, who sits next to Grant.
“Thanks, Lil.”
“Then comes Auntie Eirinn, and her name is literally after a goddess and Ireland the country, so that’s really cool.” She grins over at her aunt, who sits on the opposite side of Grant.
Eirinn, whose energy is calm and steady, smiles down at Poppy with more familiar delight for this little girl.
It’s precious. She’s got pretty medium-brown hair cut to the shoulders and everything about her seems natural—I’d bet she isn’t wearing makeup and her clothing is unremarkable, but she’s incredibly beautiful.
“Auntie Eirinn is married to Davis and I don’t know about his name, but he isn’t a Ryan so it’s not his fault it’s not a cool Irish name.” She makes a face, and again, everyone laughs.
“Thanks, Lily.” Davis’s smile is wide and loose, and from what I’ve experienced thus far, the guy is instantly likeable.
She nods imperiously. “Auntie Eirinn and Uncle Davis have Saoirse. We call her Sisi and she’s fourteen, and Rowan, he’s… I don’t know, like twelve or something.” She shrugs her shoulders and everyone chuckles.
“Uncle Cormac is next. He’s the one we save a spot for.
I remember seeing him a lot in North Carolina but only once since and I was still little.
He looks a lot like my dad, but quiet and a little sad or something, but I don’t really know.
” She waves her hands in a baffled gesture, unaware of how she’s hit the exposed nerve running down the center of the table.
“Then comes Uncle Declan. He’s a doctor and Uncle Finn calls him Decky.” She cracks up behind a little hand. “But Dad said Uncle Dec doesn’t like it, so we shouldn’t join in.”
Finn slumps. “Man. Shown up by a six-year-old!”
Grant’s big palm comes up to cup the back of her head. “Who’s next?”
Her eyes widen and she slowly turns and beams at Finn.
“Finny! He’s the baby boy.”
Grant laughs full-out at this, and Declan smiles with teeth. Eirinn is leaning in toward her husband but abruptly straightens and keeps her eyes forward like she’s just remembered something, and May stretches an arm behind me to nudge Finn’s shoulder saying, “Aw, baby boy!”
He preens under the attention, clearly very comfortable with the role of youngest brother.
I do not allow myself to feel the swoop and drop in my chest when I witness Grant’s laugh and full smile. It’s more than a little paralyzing the way he’s so soft with his daughters. It’s a completely different side of him I never would’ve imagined.
“And then, last but not least, is Auntie May. Her full name is Maeve, but we call her May.”
Everyone claps, clearly charmed, and I’m no different. Lily’s hair is bright blonde and her eyes are a dark brown that feel soulful, somehow, despite her age.
“And you, Lil? Tell us about your name.” Grant’s soft words quiet the table again.
“I’m Lily, and my sister is Poppy. My mom’s name was Julia, and she was obsessed with flowers, and she named us after her two favorites.
My dad was Brad. We have an extra middle name that’s Hollis because that was our mom and dad’s last name.
They’re not Irish, but we have Ryan at the end now, so that’s still special, and Dad says being a Hollis and a Ryan makes me and Poppy the most specialest.”
My throat cinches tight. Connor and Mary’s eyes are shining. I make the mistake of glancing at Grant and swallow hard at what I see there.
He wears this look of pride and love and devastation so plainly, I have to look away and blink past tears or I’ll end up crying right here at the table, and that’s too much. I don’t even know him or his girls, so why am I crying?
Grant hugs her, dipping to drop a kiss to her head, and I manage to clear my throat and say, “Those are really special names, Lily. Thank you for telling me.”
She hops out of Grant’s lap as though she hasn’t just skewered the whole room and takes a bow. Instantly, the mood lightens, and we all give her a round of applause.
“What about you?” she asks, before she returns to the kids’ table.
“Sam.” I shrug. “Short for Samantha. Decidedly un-Irish, I’m afraid.” At least I don’t think so. I don’t know much about the genealogy of my family, but I think we’re mostly English with a mix of other things, like many people whose family has been in the States for longer than anyone remembers.
I won’t tell them how being an only child was not only lonely, but there’s a weird part of me sitting here feeling sore and more than a little bit broken as I witness how beautiful and supportive and fun this family is.
It’s so far from anything I ever had. It’s something I dreamed about while reading The Boxcar Children—well, that and the blueberries and milk cooled by the stream.
“Aw, sorry. Maybe you can be a Ryan someday!” She pats my shoulder, then skips away.
I will my cheeks not to heat, but Finn slings an arm around my shoulders and says, “All I’m saying is I’m single.” He follows this with a gigantic, exaggerated wink.
Everyone laughs and Eirinn throws her napkin at him, nailing him in the face.
The conversation moves on from names and origins, and I fall into the moment so fully, I forget I don’t belong here, that I’m not part of this family.
Even with my meaningless name and the ache in my chest for what Grant and the girls have been through still there.
An hour later, everyone has helped clear the table, wash the dishes, and before it’s all completely done, Mary shoos me, Grant, and the girls out the front door. “He’ll take you home. You all need rest.”
May catches my eye and I give her a nod.
I might’ve been relieved to avoid coming over with Grant earlier, but I can admit I built it up too much in my head like a loon.
I’m safe with him, and though it’s wild to think that with such clarity, it’s not just a thought.
I know it on a gut level. But I couldn’t stand to show up because he ordered me to.
Call me Belle refusing to go to dinner after the Beast shows up and growls at her. Me, too, girl. I’d rather starve.
But it wasn’t that bad, of course, and I’m feeling a touch embarrassed for blowing him off without a word.
We may not like each other all that well, but we’re finding our way toward something cordial, at least. I’ve been too quick to find his declarations not just frustrating, but bossy and downright demanding in a way they simply aren’t.
After seeing him in this context and getting more of a sense of what he’s been through, I think I get it.