Chapter Twenty #2
He was calling something else after me as I weaved my way through the crowd, headed toward the back where I assumed the restrooms were.
I really did need to go, so it wasn’t a bad excuse, but I also needed any reason to remove myself from that situation.
Only once I’d already gone to the bathroom and washed my hands did it occur to me that it was possible he’d be waiting for me when I came out.
I washed my hands again, trying to buy some time.
Just then, a group of three young women came crashing through the door, all laughing and talking over one another.
They looked like any set of college girls out on the town I’d ever seen, their long hair styled in bouncing curls at the bottom, their dresses short and tight, their skin covered in shimmer that made their arms sparkle as they gathered around the sink to touch up their makeup in the mirror.
“Oh my god,” one said as her friend accidentally shoved me to one side. “Ashley, that woman is trying to wash her hands!” She made direct eye contact with me in the mirror. “I am so sorry, she was raised in a barn. Like, a literal barn.”
The one who’d spoken did have a pretty pronounced drawl, so I imagined they were all from somewhere in the South.
It was amazing, what just hearing that accent did to make my homesickness flare into something almost unbearable.
I thought of the way Eamonn had gently teased me about my y’all earlier, the way it had sounded coming out of his mouth.
“Where are y’all from?” I asked, slipping into it easily.
“Georgia,” the woman said. “Just east of Atlanta. What about you?”
“Florida,” I said, giving her a smile. “So not far.”
“I love the beach,” Ashley said, frowning at the mirror before taking out a lipstick and reapplying it in confident strokes.
“We went for spring break last year, but this year we wanted to do something different, so that’s why we’re here.
What better place to spend Saint Patrick’s Day than Ireland, am I right? ”
I wished I’d come here for a similar reason. That I was able to just be delighted by the shamrock cutouts in shop windows on Grafton Street, the greenery draped all around Temple Bar, and enjoy the holiday. But of course it only reminded me how different our experiences were right now.
“The color of that dress is so gorgeous,” the third woman said to me. “What is that, purple?”
The woman who’d initially addressed me looked me up and down, taking in the dress. “It looks more blue to me,” she said. “But I agree, it’s stunning.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it so fervently I had to repeat it.
I was struck by such sudden love for these girls, who didn’t even know me but wanted to validate me in a dingy nightclub bathroom.
They were just a group of friends traveling together, trying to have a good time, and they were openhearted enough to allow me into it for even the briefest moment.
I thought again of Eamonn back at that statue of Molly Malone, the way he’d played up his accent and gotten the crowd into it just to make sure everyone had an experience to remember.
This from the same man who’d barely wanted to stand next to me at a bus stop, clearly not wanting to get involved.
I really missed him. Which was silly, because I’d only just met him.
“Would you do me a favor,” I asked, “and tell me when you go back out if you see an older blond guy hovering near the bathroom at all?”
“Some guy bothering you?” Ashley demanded, and I could tell from the way she said it that she would absolutely fuck a guy up for less.
“No, no.” To be fair, he’d only spoken a few words to me. And okay, put his hand on me, which I hadn’t appreciated. “I just thought it was better not to take any chances.”
“Tell you what,” the first woman said to me. “Come dance with us. We’ll protect you.”
“Oh,” I said. “That’s really okay. I—”
I wasn’t a confident dancer, for one thing, despite all my talk of wanting to get back to it. I enjoyed dancing, in the right circumstances. But I definitely didn’t have what it took to keep up with a group of college girls who’d traveled to a foreign country with the express purpose of partying.
“Ooooh,” Ashley said, grasping my arm and already leading me out of the bathroom. “Yes, dance with us! Us girls gotta stick together.”
There was no point in protesting any more, so I let them drag me out into the mass of sweaty, moving bodies, the song playing not one I was familiar with, but in a way where it didn’t really matter, because the beat was pulsing and easy to get ahold of.
“Hands in the air!” one of the women shouted over the music, like this was an interactive experience and I had to follow the directions. She was so good-natured about it, though, I couldn’t help but laugh and do as she said.
That had always been one of my issues with dancing. What did you do with your hands? Your arms? My go-to move was to hold my fists up by my chest, moving my shoulders, but then I could often feel how tense I was and got self-conscious, because that seemed like the opposite point to dancing.
I tried to copy what the other women were doing, my hands in the air, my hips rolling, but I felt so stupid and awkward while doing it.
“Don’t think,” one of my new friends yelled. “Just move.”
It made me feel worse, actually, to know that she’d clocked my discomfort and was responding to it.
But then they were all just dancing, laughing, and allowing themselves to momentarily grind against someone next to them, spinning away and dancing with each other again.
I could see that they really didn’t care what I did or didn’t do. They were just having a good time.