44
The next day we are back in the same place, but the room is set up quite differently. The tables have been moved to the back of the room, replaced by rows of folding chairs facing the bar top.
Stacks of books lined the sides of the bar, with a space in-between for Niall and I to stand. To the right of the bar is a cardboard portrait of Michael, with a quote from the book on the bottom.
In the end, it was his love that burned the brightest. Breaking the moon in half.
It’s ten minutes until we open, and twenty-five before the event begins, when we noticed the line forming outside the book pub.
“Holy shit,” I say, glancing around the door. The line is wrapping around the side of the building.
“I’ve never seen something like this at nine o’clock in the morning. Certainly not in Temple Bar.”
I take Niall’s hand in mine, looking down to notice the matching bands on our hands. After the party yesterday, Leo and Anders took Hughie out for ice cream while Niall and I went to the jewelers. We fell in love with a pair of braided silver bands that were showcased in the window.
We decided to buy them right then and there as our engagement bands. We would get them engraved with something on the inside of the band, right before the wedding, to signify them going from engagement bands to wedding bands.
I had told him, when shopping for the bands, that it didn’t need to be some grand gesture, that there isn’t a set process or expectation for who proposes when it’s two guys. That I was fine agreeing on the bands and making it official without the hoopla.
When we had come home to find Leo and Hughie playing one of his new games on the couch, I wasn’t expecting the screech that came out of Hughie, pointing at our hands. “This is the best day ever!”
“It’s time,” Niall says, moving towards the door and unlocking it. The people start shuffling in, filling the seats in and slowly the space surrounding them. “I don’t think I’ve ever spoken in front of a group even half this size before.”
I rub the inside of his hand with my thumb, reassuringly. “It’s not that bad. I do it almost every day with my students. I can take most of the talking, if you want. You can jump in and add things wherever, and just take anything questions directed to you.”
When it’s one minute to go, Irene gives the crowd a warning and quiets them down. Niall and I take our spots behind the bar, looking out at the crowd. Seeing friends and family, a lot of our frequent customers, and…
“Oh my god.”
“What,” Niall asks, leaning in close.
“You see that woman in the yellow jacket, towards the entrance to the bakery area?” Niall nods, looking but not drawing attention to it. “That’s Michael’s mother.”
“I thought her and Michael were estranged,” Niall says, filling each of us a glass of sparkling water.
“They are. I haven’t seen her in, like, twenty years. Has to be close to that because I know she’s never been to the condo, and I don’t recall ever seeing her during college. She has a lot of nerve showing up here.”
Irene stands in front of the bar, facing the crowd.
“Thank you for coming to Books and Brews for today’s author event.
This is kind of a unique situation, where your host is both the owner of the venue and one of the authors of the book.
But I will let them speak to the book we are here to learn about, Breaking the Moon.
So, without further delay, Daniel Pierce and Niall Quinn! ”
The crowd bursts into applause as Niall shuffles his note cards. I had started to prepare speaking points, but I felt if I couldn’t speak to Michael and his work from the heart, it would feel disingenuous.
“Thank you everyone for coming today. For those who don’t know me, my name is Daniel Pierce.
Standing next to me is Niall Quinn, owner of Books and Brews.
On my left, here in spirit, is Michael Knoll.
Michael is, was, my best friend for the better part of three decades.
We met when we were kids in school, I think we were six or seven at the time.
We became thick as thieves over the years and stuck by each other’s side ever since. ”
I take a breath, looking out at Michael’s mother.
“That was until two years ago when Michael was walking in our town back in the States, and was struck by an automobile. It was after a town event that Michael and I were co-chairs of and, normally, he and I would go out after to celebrate a successful event. This time, however, I had made alternate plans. And Michael died from being struck by that car, or truck or whatever it was. A part of me will always feel guilty, that maybe if I had stayed with Michael that night instead of going out on a date, that things may have turned out differently. He certainly wouldn’t have been walking that same route, at that same time alone.
But I know guilt can eat someone alive, and in time I’ve learned to not blame myself. ”
I take a sip of my water, now realizing I wish it was something stronger.
“But, if not for Michael, I wouldn’t have met Niall.
Niall and Michael were something that started as, for lack of better words, internet pen-pals?
But subreddit comments led to phone calls, which led to FaceTiming two to three times a week.
Which, being Michael’s roommate, led to Niall also becoming part of my life too.
We both owned bookshops that were multi-functional, Michael’s and mine also serving baked treats and Niall’s also acting as a pub.
We would bounce ideas off each other, and eventually our two shops synced up and essentially offered all three. ”
“His bakes were always better,” Niall says, playfully punching my shoulder. “I’m sure any of our regulars have noticed the improvement of the bakery over the past year.”
“But Niall also introduced us to a number of Irish treats we never would have even thought to offer at our shop.” I look over at Irene, who is nodding.
“But after Michael died, I needed a change. And, luckily enough, I had already accepted a temporary teaching position at Trinity. I packed very minimally when I left the States, but there was one thing I made sure to take with me. And that was Michael’s manuscript.
Michael had been working on a book for probably close to a decade, but there were sections that always tripped him up.
Or maybe he was afraid to put his work out into the world and was intentionally procrastinating finishing the novel. ”
“So, to honor Michael, I decided that I would finish his novel. To finally give it the treatment it deserved. And what Michael had left behind was a great story, one packed with drama, and action, and a world filled with not only melancholy but also happiness.”
“But,” Niall says, scanning the crowd, “writing a novel takes a village, especially when it started as someone else’s. Sometimes you need to bring in outside viewpoints, help smooth out those wrinkles you can’t seem to flatten out.”
“You’ll notice that the cover has a lot of names on it.
Yes, Michael is listed first because the work is his.
But I’d like to take a moment and acknowledge the other names on the cover, the others who helped finish the story.
Hughie Quinn, Delilah Walsh, Samuel Doherty, Noah Byrne, and Lily Kelly. Please stand up.”
We hadn’t told them we were going to acknowledge them, to make them a part of the event. The room bursts into applause. Hughie is taking it all in, waving to the patrons. The Trinity kids, however, look slightly embarrassed or awkward. I shoot them a smile.
“This group wrote the ending of the book for Michael, the last five chapters. Hughie being the one who came up with, what I believe the New York Times, called “a twist no one saw coming, but hits you like a freight train.” These five deserve the same, if not more, praise than any contributions Niall or I made in finishing the story.”
Niall laughs. “But people think writing a novel is hard? Try pinpointing the correct title for it.”
I nod. “He’s not wrong. But when I went home for Christmas after my first few months in Dublin, back in my and Michael’s condo, I sat in his room for the first time since his death.
I took in everything that was him, including the mess of Post-it notes across his desk.
It was, on one of those notes, that gave us the title of the book.
He had Breaking the Moon all set to go the whole time, but just never attached it to the actual manuscript. ”
“Lucky find, I might add,” Niall adds, cheersing me with his glass.
“But I think I’ve done enough talking. Niall is going to read us all a brief excerpt from Breaking the Moon, I think somewhere a few chapters in.”
* * *
I understand how authors develop carpal tunnel, a hazard of the job.
It’s not the writing or typing, but the constant motion of signing and personalizing the book at signing events.
Not only were Niall and I adding ours, but I was stamping Michael’s signature below ours as well.
I had found an old check he had written me, and Niall had come up with the idea to turn the signature into a stamp.
We also had Hughie and the Trinity kids join us in the signing line, Hughie appearing to love every second of it. I noticed he’s been drawing a little picture after each signature, each slightly different than the last. But always the moon in one of its phases.
We had five hundred copies of the book for the day’s event, thinking we would have a backlog to sell in the store. Once the line clears out, there are only about two dozen books left between the display and the box under the table.
People have hung around, shopping and mingling, and I’m thankful Irene offered to man the register. Because, the last person in line…is Michael’s mother.
“Hello Kathleen.”
“Hello Daniel. And, nice to meet you Niall. What you boys have done for Michael, it’s…extraordinary. He always loved to write, since he was very little. You remember his notebooks full of stories, how he would love to read them out loud like his own little open mic.”
“I do,” I say, cracking my knuckles, “I also remember his father berating him, calling him a pussy and, if I recall correctly, a faggot on multiple occasions. Because his son chose to write stories than go play soccer or baseball, or whatever Paul wanted him to do instead.
Any glimmer of happiness that was on Kathleen’s face drops. “Paul was not the best—”
I put my hand up to stop her. “No. You will stand there and listen, because I’m going to say the things that Michael should have been able to for years.
” Before I can get up, Leo drops a pint in both mine and Niall’s hands.
I take a large sip, then lean in closer.
“You were also at fault, at fault for being a fucking terrible parent. You sat there and let Paul do that. I think, the least you could have done was take Michael’s side and console him behind Paul’s back.
But, instead, you also went no contact with Michael when he came out. ”
“I couldn’t—”
“Again, no. It’s not that you couldn’t, you wouldn’t.
You chose not to. Your child was in pain and you chose to stay with that prick instead of doing what was right.
I know, if I were in your shoes, I would have taken my child and left.
It’s not like you weren’t financially capable, you didn’t depend on Paul.
Hell, I bet you made more money than he did and you just let him piss it away gambling and drinking, and on fucking Pokémon cards. ”
I take another sip of my beer. “You had twenty years to make the slightest attempt to right things, and you couldn’t even fucking do that. And it seems a bit farfetched to keep blaming Paul, no? That dickhead died, what, six or seven years ago at this point?”
Kathleen, who has finally gotten the hint, just nods. Her eyes are darting around the room, now realizing that the remaining event attendees are all now fully invested.
I lean back in my chair, look at Niall and let out a sad chuckle. “Now Niall, tell me. If Paul was the cause of all this trauma, the catalyst of the rift in the family, who’s been dead for over half a decade—”
“You said you haven’t seen her in over twenty years,” he says, quietly.
“If Paul’s dead, then what stopped you from going to your own son’s funeral?”
There are several audible gasps. The look on Niall’s face, figuring it out mere moments before I uttered the words, says it all. He goes to say something but is interrupted by Irene appearing at his side.
“Your business isn’t welcome here.” Irene, staring down, reaches into her purse and pulls out a few Euro notes.
She slams them on the table, before ripping the book Kathleen is holding out of her hands.
“And you have no business reading this book. Your son created a beautiful story that you don’t deserve to read.
Now, get out of this store before I personally kick your arse out the door. ”
Kathleen gets up, ignoring the money on the table, and walks out the door. The room feels like it takes a collective breath, and I take the cue to lean back in my chair.
“What a gobshite, that woman.”
“Mum!”
“Then you come up with a better descriptor.” Irene sits down in the remaining empty chair next to the table.
The customers have started to lose interest and have gone back to shopping.
“Daniel, I’m very proud of you. That took a lot of courage, to say those things.
In front of an audience, nonetheless. I bet you’ve wanted to say something for a long time. ”
“Part of me thought it might disrespect Michael, to talk to his mother like that. But then my brain just kept going back to what a shitty childhood Michael had. How he spent almost all of his time at my house to avoid his dad. And, I guess his mom too. And my brain went into protective mode and just…let go.”
“Lucky Mum jumped in, because I never would hit a woman but—”
“I could have,” Irene says, gesturing towards Anders. Anders hurries over, a bottle of Bushmills and three glasses in his hands. He pours out three drinks, sliding them to each of us.
“Irene, I don’t really care for whiskey.”
“Not something you should say in these parts, but you’re going to share a drink with me. Especially since,” she points at my left hand, “it seems you are going to be family soon.”
I look over at Niall, taking his hand in mine. I raise my glass, meeting Irene’s and then Niall’s across the table. “I guess I can drink to that.”