Chapter Twenty-Five
Aidan
I can’t sleep. June haunts my every thought, and I toss and turn the whole night. I still smell her on my pillow, so I doze on the couch instead, unsuccessfully.
When I get up the next morning, I set one goal for myself: don’t think about her. The June I know doesn’t exist. So I’ll do whatever I can to forget her—to forget the beauty mark on the left side of her neck and the jingle of her laugh and how her fingertips are always a little bit cold and need warming up.
June should be at the Dublin Airport by the time I head over to the pub for my afternoon shift. Not that I’m thinking about her.
I grab my camera and head to the one place in Ballygrá where I can be alone. As I round one of the willow trees at the grove, I’m evidently the man with the worst luck in the world. Of all people, Mary’s here, sitting in the same spot where June and I found Cara the morning of her wedding. I’d turn and make a quick getaway, but she spots me. She waves my way while holding onto a flower with half-plucked petals.
She shakes her head in disbelief. “Of all the places.”
“Nice to see you, too.”
“You shouldn’t sneak up on a woman like that.”
“I didn’t sneak. Didn’t figure anyone’d be here.” Kicking a few pebbles toward the stream, I slide my hands into my pockets. “Where’s Heath?”
“Headed back early for work. I’ll go back in a couple days. Some time with the family and I’m ready to scream. Mam nitpicking. Da glued to the telly. It’s nice to escape.” She contemplates something and then scoots over to make room for the both of us. “Wanna sit?”
Mary and I don’t know each other anymore, but she’s also not a stranger. Deep in my heart, I’ll always care about her, so I stroll over and have a seat.
“Strange, sitting here together,” I say into the excruciating silence, and she chuckles.
“Look at us.” She knocks her shoulder into mine. “I miss this spot.”
“How’s Dublin?”
“Different, but nice. I needed more to keep me busy, and between work and friends and Heath, there’s always something. I’m happy there.”
“Glad to hear.”
“How was the wedding?”
The wedding. I will forever associate Cara’s big day with June. Memories of watching her from across the room, how adorably nervous she was for her speech, and holding her hand for the sendoff. Will I ever reach a point where Cara mentions June in passing and I don’t care?
“Grand.”
“You could make an effort here.” She heaves a sigh. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“I’m the most predictable man in the world, aren’t I?”
She scoffs. “That’s classic you, going for self-pity.”
“It’s not self-pity, you’ve just said yourself—”
“You’re always the martyr.”
“Yes, I played such a victim after you cheated on me.”
“I needed to talk to someone, and he was there.”
“How convenient.” Rage boils inside me. “My brother did die, so forgive me for not being there for you.”
“I never said not to grieve Michael. But we moved back here together, first for a few weeks. Then months. Then more months. What happened with your parents was consumin’ you, and if you’re not careful, you’ll wake up your da’s age, runnin’ that pub.”
I can’t quite argue there. The blinders on my situation have come off, and I reflect on those last few months of us. She put her life on hold and moved back here, and she attempted to get me to find light at the end of the tunnel. In some ways, I understand her seeking emotional support from someone else, even if I don’t agree with it.
“I am sorry.” Her apology comes out gentle and sincere. “For everything.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, then lean forward with my elbows on my knees. “Me too.”
She crosses her arms from the chill, and I’m near-blinded by the glimmering diamond on her left ring finger.
“Shite,” I say. “That’s a rock if I ever saw one.”
“I—” She fiddles with the ring which looks to be one size too large. “He proposed this weekend.”
“Congrats,” I say, and an honest happiness for her bubbles up in the background of my heart. After what we went through, I’ll always want the best for her.
“Thanks. Complete surprise, but a good surprise.” Mary twists the ring around her finger in circles, clearly still getting used to it. “What about you? How’s your girl? You two looked smitten at the florist.”
“It’s nothing.”
“You may as well have pasted on googly eyes. I stopped by the pub Sunday looking for you, and your da told me you’d taken her on a trip. Anyone can piece that one together.”
“I offered to show her around. Trip was rubbish, though.”
It was the best three days of my life.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“You seem a bit down about it.”
“I’m grand,” I lie.
Mary toys with a hole in her jeans and turns to me. “My mam said it seemed soon. The engagement. On paper, I guess we are moving fast. But all the things that felt so uncertain before for me, with Heath, they make sense. I can’t marry him fast enough.” She meets my eyes and shrugs. “When it’s right, it’s really right.”
“I’m getting relationship advice from my ex-girlfriend.”
She laughs and nudges me with her shoulder. “A friend.”
I look at my feet, despondence taking over me. “I’m not a very good judge of what’s right anymore.”
My parents come to mind—how they struggle with each other each day, and how I’ve failed to help them pick up the pieces of their marriage through the heaviness of grief. Nothing with them feels right. And I think of June, or the June I thought I knew. Maybe I ought to have given her an honest chance to explain herself, but I can’t. Not after seeing how she hurt Cara, and not after her lying, over and over to me. What happened between us turned into something so wrong, and I’m not sure how to get past that.
But the alternative—getting over June—sounds impossible.
“Don’t overthink it,” Mary says.
“It’s what I do best.”
She snorts a laugh and gets up, kicking the tip of my shoe. “I should head back. Catch you later.”
“Congrats again.”
“Thanks. I hope you get what you’re after.” She walks a few steps and throws the last words over her shoulder. “And if it’s right, don’t let it slip away.”
I don’t get any decent shots, which doesn’t surprise me one bit. If I’m not ruminating over the talk with Mary, I’m failing miserably at my goal of not thinking about June. Before too long, I head back to work for another thrilling shift at the pub. I wipe down the already clean-looking bar top. Glasses are stacked, the register’s set. Whoever closed last night deserves a raise.
Two muffled voices come into earshot—one with a familiar ring and the other one new to me. They grow louder, climbing up the basement stairs that lead to the larger supply room.
“There’s another of these down there that needs to be brought up,” my mam’s voice instructs. “Oh, Danny. You’re here already.”
“I’m on every Tuesday.”
“Yes, of course. Wasn’t sure if you’d be coming in on account of…” Her voice grows quieter as she becomes more and more unsure of what to say. “If you need the day off…or you need some time for yourself, then—”
“I don’t.”
“Well,” she says, squeezing me on the shoulder, “s’good to see you.”
A buff gentleman walks toward me and places a case of wine on the counter. “Hey there, I’m Oscar.”
“Aidan.”
“Thanks for covering for me the other night.”
This is the lad who got food poisoning. What he lacks in common sense, he makes up for in sheer brawn. His handshake alone dwarfs me, and he could lift me over his head with one arm, easy. Still, his affable smile and warm demeanor leads me to believe he’ll do well slinging drinks.
“Since you’re here, Oscar can switch between shadowing you and popping into the inventory closet to work with me.” She hesitates. “He’s training as our new general manager.”
“You’re the general manager,” I blurt out, as if she forgot.
“Oscar’s got plenty of experience as a GM.”
“So’ve you.”
Her hands fall to her thighs with a soft slap as her irritation gets the best of her. “Let’s have a chat in the back,” she offers. We step into the office, and I shut the door behind us.
As I chew the inside of my cheek, I rummage through every question I have. Why are you doing this? Why have you given up trying?
“I didn’t want to bother you while you were off,” she says. “But I planned to tell you this week.”
“So the separation means everything? Not just from da but from the pub as well.” From me , I almost say, but I bite my tongue. “You’ve plans to stay with Aunt Bri again?”
“Not sure yet, Danny. We still care about each other. And nothing stops us caring about you. But neither of us wants to be unhappy.”
“I knew you were sad. Didn’t realize you were unhappy.”
“I don’t know what I am most days.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “Losing Michael has been—” She chokes on the words before powering on. “The death of a son has…well, it’s about killed me.”
I exhale and wish I could pace, but the confines of the back office suffocate me. “The other day, I realized I forgot how his laugh sounded. No matter how hard I thought of him, it wouldn’t come to me.” That devastating realization kicks up the dust of emotions like they’re fresh—the despair, the hurt, the anger. I rub my head a few times to calm down. “I’m hurting too.”
My mam slumps in a chair. She shifts left and right on the cushion, like she can’t quite get comfortable, and then finally rests both hands in her lap.
“I’m wrecked from holding it all together,” I admit, taking the seat next to her. “I’m tired of trying to keep what’s left of our family together. Of being the parent, having the weight of us three on my shoulders, and knowing I can’t carry enough. I just want my mam.”
“I know, Danny. I’m so sorry. No one needs to mention how I’ve been failing spectacularly with this whole motherhood thing.”
Hearing her admit this cuts like a knife and also stitches the wound. She’s trying her best, and it’s not been enough, but at least she recognizes it.
I glance around, and oddly enough, I wish Da were here. As much as my da and me fight, he’s a rock I can weather the storm with, even if he’s a pain in my arse too. I can count on him.
“Michael is everywhere to me. I see him every place I look in this town.” She twiddles her thumbs, one chasing the other chasing the other. “He’s walking down the road to visit mates of his. He’s dropping by the house, looking for leftovers. And he’s at the pub most of all—pouring pints, wiping the counter, clapping along to the live music.” She faces me for the first time in our entire conversation. Her cheeks shimmer with tears. “You say you can’t remember his laugh. But there must be something wrong with me, something broken inside, because I just can’t move on from losing him.”
“But you haven’t lost me.” My voice is hoarse. “You’ve a son right here in front of you, but I may as well be invisible.”
“Oh, sweetheart. I see you, I see…” She pulls out a hanky and runs it under her nose. “I see everything you’ve done for us. But I don’t think this is something we can rush.”
My mam looks broken. Like all the fight has gotten sucked out of her. If I could be furious with her, I would. All this time, I assumed she was dwelling on Michael and not allowing herself to move on. But I’m starting to understand that it’s not because she doesn’t want to—it’s because she can’t.
And the same way my ex pushed me, I’ve done the same with Mam. Deep inside, something cracks, because maybe taking shifts at the pub wasn’t me doing my folks a favor. For good and bad, doing that kept me close to Michael.
“We’ve changed.” My mam reaches up to a locket around her neck and worries it with her thumb. “All of us have. Your da and I are trying to figure out how to move forward, and that means life’ll look different, that’s all.”
I absorb what she’s saying, nodding along. “It’s strange. I’ve been hanging onto the one thing that I thought would keep him alive and keep us all together.”
“What’re you hanging onto, love?” Her brows furrow in genuine concern.
“This. The pub.”
“Oh, you.” Her head bobs with a knowing nod, like she suspected as much. “You’re a good lad wanting to do right by your family. Nothing wrong with that.”
“I hoped if I gave you both enough time, we’d…sounds daft now. We’d go back to normal. Just…back to before.”
“Perhaps your da and I aren’t the only ones who need time.”
My vision becomes muddled, and my eyes burn with realizing what I’ve been holding onto. “I miss him.”
“Me too, love.” She lets me rest my head on her shoulder as tears slide down my face and onto her shirt. We sit like that until the wave of sadness washes over, both of us sniffling less and less.
“Don’t fret yourself about.” Mam musses my hair. “You’ll have us, always. But you’ve got so much life left to live that you shouldn’t be afraid to let go of the past and chase after your future. You heard from uni?”
“No.” Confusion ripples through me, and I whip my head to her. “How’d you know?”
“Cara let slip at the wedding. One too many champagnes for the radiant bride.”
I chuckle to myself. “Doubt I’ll get in.”
“You’re too young to be so cynical.” Mam scoffs and grabs both of my hands in hers. “I’m going to tell you something your father should have said a long time ago.”
“What?”
“We’re lettin’ you go from the pub.”
I roll my eyes. “Hilarious.”
“I’m serious, love.”
After studying her face, I can tell she’s absolutely serious. Her mouth rests in a straight line, and her eyes urge me to go. But my previous lofty plan of striking out on my own—the one June convinced me I could achieve—seems like an impossible feat.
“We want the best for you, and we agree it’s not here at the pub.”
“You’ve discussed this?”
“Of course,” she chuckles. “He loves you and wants you to be happy. And Michael, he would too.”
I stumble over my own thoughts before blurting out, “But what am I supposed to do?”
“Anything.” She cups my face, a palm on each side. “Live life. Who knows, that camera of yours might lead you somewhere. But whatever you choose, only come back when you need a fresh pint.”