16. Maeve
Maeve
The last time I stood here in St. Brigid's, I married a stranger.
I'm back in the same pew section, surrounded by an entire crime family, watching my husband’s three-week-old nephew be baptized.
Baby Sean does not appreciate the sacrament. He announces this at a volume that rivals a jet engine, his tiny fists swinging at the priest like he's settling a debt.
"That's it, lad," Lorcan murmurs beside me, low enough that only our pew hears. "Never let a man pour water on you without a fight."
I do a double-take when I see Cara's shoulders shake. Her silent laughter is like treasure.
Lorcan’s brother Declan and his wife Saoirse stand at the font as godparents. When the priest hands Saoirse the baby, something in Declan's harsh face softens considerably. It’s like granite melting into goo.
The baby’s father, Cillian, is the head of the family, the one whose mere name makes grown men in my old neighborhood lower their voices in fear. He stands behind his wife, Nora, with his hand on her shoulder, looking at her like she’s the sun in his sky.
I came here braced for monsters. I keep not finding any.
Afterward, when the family spills out into the side hall, the wives descend on me.
"Maeve." Nora, a woman with hazel eyes and a warm, open smile, reaches me first, both hands out like we're old friends. "I've been dying to meet you.”
Declan’s other two sisters-in-law come to stand beside Nora.
I look between the three of them, waiting for them to size me up, find me lacking, and turn up their noses. I can handle it. I’m used to it.
But it doesn't happen. They just smile welcomingly.
"Okay, important business." Nora leans in. “Wednesday afternoons, we O’Rourke wives have a standing date—coffee, gossip, the bookstore on Clark, then lunch and more gossip.”
“We expect to see you there since you’re one of us now,” Saoirse says.
“And bring the juiciest gossip you can,” Prudence adds.
These three women want to drink coffee with me on a Wednesday for no reason except that I'm family now.
I’m flattered. I can't remember the last time I was invited somewhere that wasn't a work shift or a school meeting. I genuinely cannot remember.
"I'll think about it," I say.
"That's a yes," all three of them say, in unison, and then look at each other and burst out laughing, and God help me, I almost join them.
Across the hall, Kathleen is helping Oisin devour a plate of cake without most of it ending up smeared on his face and clothes. Cara sits beside them, munching on a sandwich.
And Jamie… I locate my brother and stop.
He's with Lorcan. Not near Lorcan, shooting him glowering looks. He’s trailing half a step behind as Lorcan moves through the room shaking hands.
As I watch, I notice Lorcan keeps folding Jamie into the brief conversations, introducing him as his brother-in-law.
Jamie's mirroring Lorcan's stance. Hands in pockets the same way. Chin at the same angle.
My stomach tightens. Because I know what this family is. The men in this room are criminals. And my fourteen-year-old brother is currently mimicking a made man.
That should terrify me. It should. But Cillian, the most dangerous man in Chicago, currently wears his son's spit-up on a suit that probably costs more than an average car. Declan holds his baby nephew like he’d tear the limbs off of anyone who dared threaten the child.
Ronan looks at Prudence like she’s the moon in the sky.
My father carried a badge for twelve years. On the right side of the law. Task force, commendations on the wall, the whole nine yards. Yet I never saw him display so much as an ounce of the type of love and loyalty these men show.
I’m suddenly wondering if maybe the lines I drew my whole life were always in the wrong place.
"You've got the face again." Lorcan materializes at my elbow as Jamie saunters off toward the dessert table. His finger hovers near the crease between my brows, not quite touching.
He hands me a plate—cake, finger sandwiches, fresh vegetables, crackers, hummus, and a few types of cheese.
"Good day?"
I look around the hall. At my siblings, fed and safe and folded into a large Irish family as if they belong. At the three women who just drafted me into their coffee clutch like I belong.
"Weird day," I say. "Good weird."
"That's the family motto. It's on the crest. In Latin, of course."
Later, as we’re preparing to leave, Nora catches my arm, baby Sean asleep in her arms.
“Don’t forget Wednesday,” she says. "I'll call you.”
I open my mouth to do what I always do. To explain about the four hundred reasons why my life doesn't have room for such things, and settle on one. “I have work at the pub.”
"Your boss says you have Wednesdays off." Lorcan doesn't even look over from wrangling Oisin into his jacket. "Your boss is extremely generous. Handsome, too."
Nora grins and squeezes my arm. “Wednesday, then.” She wags a finger. “No excuses.”
Walking down the church steps into the cold with Oisin on my hip and Cara beside me, the realization lands on me quietly.
I don’t have to decline.
Not because of work. Not because I can’t afford bus fare. Not because I’d need a sitter. For years I've been so far underwater that having any kind of social life was impossible.
Now, I can just... go.
The realization is dizzying.
"You're smiling," Lorcan says, watching me over the car roof.
"I'm not smiling."
"You're beaming. It's so blinding I may need sunglasses.”
I turn my face away so he can't see that he's right.
Only one day left of our deal. And for the first time, I’m wondering what my decision will be when the time’s up. Will I stay or will I go?