Chapter 19
Callahan has only been to Ireland a handful of times as an adult, but was still able to give me some suggestions for the little town we are staying in.
I had to fight the urge to invite him every day until I left.
Now that I’m here, I’m still not sure of that decision.
It’s been two weeks since our first date, and though I’ve only known him for about six months, he has somehow become an anchor in my life.
So much so that even in these small moments, I think of him.
“Why are you staring off into the distance like your man went to war?” Farrah asks, waving her hand in my face.
“I’m not.” I smack it away, focusing back on her.
“Oh my god! You’re thinking about him.” Her voice, still too loud in a crowded bar, gets some stares. Not that we haven’t been being stared at all day anyway. That and fawned over for our accents.
“Stop it. I was actually thinking about this restaurant he recommended.”
“That still means you’re thinking about him.” She rolls her neck and pouts her lips.
“If there is anything I have been thinking about lately, it’s my dad.”
I pull out the cards and deal a hand of Canasta. She shifts our drinks to the side to make more room.
“What about your dad?”
“Something Callahan said.”
I’m able to play on the first card, and that makes her brows furrow. Taking a deep sip of her Guinness, she licks her lips.
“When I told him about my mom, he asked where my dad was in all of this.”
“Hmm,” she mumbles, not looking up from her cards.
“What?”
“I don’t want to fight. You’re only here for five days.”
She lays down her cards, opening her side and making a canasta. I look to see what she played to be careful what to discard.
“Just say it.”
“I always thought the same thing. Even my parents didn’t like the way your mom spoke to you. I know you really love him, but I don’t understand why you aren’t mad at him for his part.”
I lay down a seven, which was a mistake. She picks it up and lays down a set of four of them. Now she only has five cards left in her hand.
“It’s not that I’m not mad at him. Or that I wasn’t, I should say. It’s just that I see him as a victim as much as I am.”
“Yeah, but he was an adult. You didn’t know any better. He did.”
I down the rest of my pop, taking a pause in this conversation. Before we continue, she gets up to get herself more beer and a shot of whiskey.
Thanks to my friendship with Rowan, I can shoot the liquor like a pro. Farrah, on the other hand, makes a face every time she takes one. I wish I could be joining her, but doctor’s orders say I can’t drink.
“What do you want me to say?” I throw my hands up.
“I don’t want you to say anything. I just thought you should know I agree with him. But it’s not black and white. These are your parents you’re talking about.”
She is able to play all of her cards, ending the round. I tally up our scores on a napkin and redeal.
“I didn’t tell him the end part about what happened after she left.”
“Why not?”
“I thought it was enough for me to say my mother made me hate myself. I didn’t know how to put into words that she also made me feel like I can’t rely on anyone ever again.”
A group of guys approaches our table, looking ready to devour us. We wave them off before they can even open their mouths. Farrah holds up her hand like her wedding ring should say enough.
“That’s information you can tell him in time. If there is time. Are you seeing him now?”
“Yes. While my concerns are valid, I don’t think they are enough to put this off any longer. I’m jumping the gun anyway. I can’t have kids, and if we did use my eggs, those babies would be damn near albino.”
“Facts,” she says.
We play the next round silently, just laying down cards and drinking. By the time we start talking again, it’s too loud for us to hear each other.
With her early call time, and my urge to explore, we go our separate ways after. It’s still light enough that the streets are busy with people, but the stars are out above us.
All the buildings are older and more reflective of what I expected of Europe. Somehow untouched by the times, and reminiscent of a different era. I feel like I’m in a period drama. It’s gorgeous, and this is just a small piece of the entire country.
Farrah is filming in the hillside, so I get to spend my days watching her work in the beautiful, natural world untouched by civilization. I have only been here one day, but it reminds me of the video game Motherland.
Everything here reminds me of something I have always imagined, making me feel like I’m experiencing the world I play in games.
Outside of working, my traveling has been limited since college, so I have only ever dreamt of all the places I would go.
Now it seems only fitting with the change in my life that I start to make my other dreams come true.
Maybe that is what I need to be thinking about for my future. I have spent my twenties chasing a fame and vision I had when I was six. I wanted to let that little girl get everything she wished for, but what about the woman? What is it that I want now?
Passing a cafe, I at least know I want a coffee to top off the night. I let the server talk me into getting a few scones as well.
As I settle by the window and take off my coat, there is only one thing I can think of to make this night better.
“It’s 10 a.m., right?” I ask, unsure if I got the time difference correct.
“Yes, love.” The deep timbre of his voice mixed with his accent feels so familiar.
“I had a sip of Guinness for the first time.”
“Did it put hair on your chest?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s hot.”
“God, you’re so weird.”
I take a sip of my drink, my wide spread mouth struggling to close around the edge.
“I’m weird? I’ve been shopping for a clown costume for you. I might have to wait until Halloween.”
“If you are taking requests in the meantime, I’d like to see you as a lumberjack.”
Honestly, he would fit into this movie that Farrah is in perfectly. It’s a historical romance about an American Black woman falling in love with an Irish farmer. He could be the wavy-shirted, bearded man who grunts more than speaks. But the idea of her kissing him instead makes me very upset.
My phone dings with a picture of him shirtless holding a drill.
“Hope that will do for now.”
I pull down my top a little and send back a picture of my chest. It’s not the best sexy selfie I’ve sent, but it’s the best I can do in a public place.
“I’m at work, woman.”
“You started it, man.”
This gets a sort of growl out of him, expressing his frustration. I feel as frustrated as I can right now in my current not-horny state.
“What do you think of my homeland so far?” he asks, changing the subject.
“It’s beautiful. I can’t understand why your dad left.”
“He did it for my ma. She came to visit her grandparents, and they met at the store. It’s all history from there.”
“Yeah, but it sounds like she could have gotten her citizenship here.”
“Well, he wanted the American dream and all that jazz. But Finn was born there. Bring it up, and you’ll never hear the end of how he is the only true Irish one out of the lot of us.”
“That must suck.”
“I think about moving there sometimes just to one-up him. Bring my old lady with me and start a family.”
“You think I’d move here?”
“I think you just admitted that you’re going to be my wife.”
Fuck, I mouth, while slapping my forehead.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, it was inevitable.”
“I have to go. Thanks for talking.”
“Hey. You are going to that restaurant I suggested, right?”
“Yeah, we’re going tomorrow.”
“Okay, call me after.”
I agree and then promptly hang up. Finishing off my scone, I try to figure out what the hell has overcome me.
“I don’t know why my character keeps grabbing at her bosom every time that man speaks,” Farrah says, stomping over to me while holding up her skirt.
Her boobies are a little on display despite the fact that this is supposed to be the 1920s.
“I think you’re killing it.”
“Well, I think that the people in the wardrobe department hate me for my suggestions.”
“Making friends wherever you go.”
She smacks my arm, knocking me back a little.
“Let me change and then we can leave.”
She trudges off to her trailer, and I just stand there looking at where they are filming. Sheep gather in groups around the farm. A horse is tied to a post, and in the background of it all are rolling green hills. It’s a fantasy novel come to life.
I take a big breath and try to exhale everything I have been carrying with me. This brief moment away from all the chaos feels like the most healing I have done since I was diagnosed. I’m regretful when we have to leave.
Today we’re visiting the restaurant Callahan suggested, and I’m so excited when we pull up out front. It’s a cobblestone bed and breakfast on the corner of the street that is so damn adorable. The red sign is extended off the building on a pole and reads Jack’s.
As soon as we walk in, the warm smell of baked bread hits us alongside a subtle whiff of rosemary. It’s got the low lighting of chandeliers and wood tables spread out in the small space. Next to the bar is a desk with a woman standing behind it.
“Checking in, or grabbing food?” she asks, her plump cheeks red and lifted.
“Just food,” I say, walking over.
“Oh, Americans. How grand. Please tell me you’re Monty?”
“Uh.” I look behind me to Farrah, but she just throws her hands up.
“Yes,” I say, turning back towards the woman.
“Pat!” she screams. “She’s here.”
She comes from behind the station and wraps me in her arms, swaying back and forth.
Before I can pull back, a big-bellied bald man with a large grin walks out of the back and joins in on the fun.
They squeeze me so tight it’s like they think I’m trying to escape.
Which I can’t. I can barely breathe while in their arms.