Mismatched

by Elle Casey

  “No problem, I’ll have it to you as soon as my office opens. The wire will be done first thing. We’ll be in the air tomorrow early, so feel free to fax the documents to my office. You can send the original by mail there too, if you don’t mind.” I hand him one of my business cards. “Thanks for all your help.”

  “It was my pleasure.” He smiles, shaking my hand. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay in our fair country.”

  “I really have.” I give him a genuine smile. “I’m going to miss it, actually.” I’m not just bullshitting him, either. There’s a lot of Irish flavor in Boston, but nothing beats the real thing. Images of Donal dance in the back of my mind.

  Erin nudges me, breaking up the fantasy reel I’m playing in my head. “Okay, time to go. We have a lot of packing to do.” She nods at Mr. O’Mooney.

  As we walk out the door, his words float out behind us.

  “May brooks and trees and singing hills, join the chorus too, and every gentle wind that blows, send happiness to you.”

  I look back and hesitate, caught up in the poetry, but Erin pushes me along on my back. “Keep moving, sister. No more dawdling. I have a business to build.”

  I smile and walk around the far side of the car. “Erin’s back.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, baby. I’m back and the world better look out.” She gets in the car next to me and claps her hands together once with a sharp crack. “Have I told you the plans I have for Monday nights at the bar?”

  “No, you haven’t.” I’m grinning from ear to ear. This is the Erin I know and love; she’s confident, excited, and making plans for her future. No more wishy-washy whiney baby.

  Erin’s hands are animating her words. “Okay, so this is what I was thinking…”

  I let her words wash over me and nod in all the right spots. Her enthusiasm carries us both all the way back to Mrs. O’Grady’s place and up to our room where we slowly pack our cases and wind up our lives in Ireland. The entire time she talks, I wonder if I should try to see Donal one more time before we leave in the morning.

  Erin’s words break through my reverie. “We should drive to Dublin tonight, right? Then we won’t have to worry about the car not making it and missing our flight.”

  I nod. That solves my dilemma. We leave here whenever we’re done packing and spend the day and evening with Erin’s family in Dublin. That makes way more sense than hanging around here and one or both of us bumping into a guy who we’re supposed to be trying to forget.

  “Yes, that’s a great idea. Let’s do that.”

  Erin walks to the door. “I’ll just go tell Mrs. O that we’ll be checking out today.”

  She disappears down the stairs and I continue packing. My heart is heavy with feelings I know can never amount to anything. I’m a lawyer and I live in Boston. There is no home for me in Ireland, even though I’m pretty sure I’m going to be leaving a piece of my heart here.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ERIN

  “DID YOU CALL YOUR MOM and tell her we’re coming?” Ridlee’s squinting at the snaking line of traffic ahead. “I thought the M5 was supposed to be a freeway,” she mutters leaning even closer into the windscreen.

  “It is, and the word is motorway, hence the M in the name.” I dig around in the pocket of my jeans for my phone. “I texted her.” I pull it out along with a couple of used tissues — debris from my secret bawling session in the loo this morning over he-who-shall-not-be-named.

  “Who?” asks Ridlee.

  I almost recoil in horror. Can she actually read my mind? “What?” I ask all flustered.

  “Who did you text?” Ridlee’s frowning at the traffic jam ahead of us now, oblivious to my distress.

  “My mum, Ridlee. My mum!” I say it sharper than I mean to.

  “All right, fine, don’t get your panties in a bunch.” She gives me a queer look. “Screw this. We need to find another route. We’ll never get there if we have to wait for this to clear. Type ‘alternate route’ into the GPS.”

  I scroll through my messages — nothing from Mum, but then that’s not unusual ‘cause she’s not very good at texting. She refuses to join the 21st century and make use of the predictive text function on her admittedly ancient Nokia, which we all call her Blokia on account of the fact that she rarely has service.

  After battling the worst gridlocked traffic I have ever seen we finally nudge our way into Dublin. It’s been a long drive and I’m extremely grateful to get out of the tiniest car in the world. After parking the Bambino in the driveway of my parents’ house we untie Ridlee’s luggage, which has miraculously remained fixed to the roof of the car. The house is in complete darkness, and I’m beginning to wonder if I should have put more effort into decoding Mum’s text.

  “They do know we’re coming, right?” Ridlee’s half dragging, half wheeling her fancy luggage over the gravel drive.

  “Well, I told her we were.” I sound way more certain than I feel. I skip ahead a bit to let Mum know that we’ve arrived. Don’t want to catch her in her curlers or half dressed or something. “That’s strange,” I whisper as I walk back toward her from the front porch.

  She stops dragging her luggage for a minute and stage-whispers, “What’s strange?”

  I put my finger to my lips and whisper my response. “Shush! The front door is open. I think we’ve been robbed. Or…,” this I don’t even want to imagine, “…maybe they’re still in there.” We cling to one another. “What do we do?” I mouth to Ridlee.

  She digs around in her purse and takes out her hot pink pepper spray. It has the word ‘Knockout’ written down the side. She positions it between her index finger and thumb and nods at me. I get in behind her, using her as a human shield. We tiptoe into the house.

  There’s a strip of light coming from under the door to the kitchen. I elbow Ridlee who shushes me loudly.

  The light goes out. We freeze.

  She moves first.

  I don’t want to go toward the light. I’m starting to think that we should just go outside and call the police. I’m too scared to leave, though, so I just shuffle forward behind Ridlee. We approach the kitchen through the dining room.

  The door opens and a large dark cloud comes silently toward us, slowly but deliberately. My mind tries to make sense of what’s happening but arrives at no logical explanation.

  Ridlee switches on the dining room light.

  Mum, Dad, Miley, Geraldine, all my cousins, and what looks like half the neighbourhood stand there blinking at us in the sudden brightness.

  “Surprise!” my mum stage whispers, just in time to avoid being maced by Ridlee. Everyone is grinning at us.

  I’m lost, and quite shaken. My heart is thumping in my chest. Ridlee is frozen, mace still at the ready.

  Mum smiles and takes the mace out of her hand, nodding toward my granny, Dad’s mother, who is sitting in the corner propped up in an armchair. “We didn’t want to alarm Granny so we did a quiet surprise.”

  “Jesus Christ, Mum!” I almost yell as Ridlee and I expel the breath we have been holding.

  “Don’t take the name of The Lord Our God in vain, Erin. Welcome home, girls! We decided to have a little send off for ye.”

  She ushers everyone forward and we spend the next five minutes thanking the neighbourhood and his mother for the wonderful surprise. Somehow Ridlee regains her presence of mind enough to do her benevolent, “Go raibh mait agat. Thank you!” as though she has again landed on Mars and is addressing tiny Martians.

  “Ah, Mammy, you’re awake!” says Mum going over to my granny. “Will ye have a little porter?”

  Granny nods and smiles.

  “Jack!” Mum calls to Dad. “Get Mammy a porter.” She turns back to my granny and speaks in a very loud, clear voice. “We’re having a little party for Erin and her friend, Ridlee, Mammy.”

  I hover behind my mother, ready to go in and pay my respects to Granny when it’s my turn.

  “Who?” croaks Granny, her hand to her ear.
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  “Erin! Your granddaughter!” says Mum on her knees now and leaning into my grandmother’s good ear.

  “For Jesus’s sake, Una, I know my own grandaughter! What did ye say her friend’s name was?”

  “It’s Ridlee, Granny,” I say, laughing and leaning down to kiss her.

  Mum gets up and busies herself getting drinks and nibbles for everybody.

  “Ah, Erin, darlin’, there ye are. Sure, ye get more beautiful every time I see ye. I wouldn’t know ye if I passed ye on the street.” She cups my face in her hands.

  “Don’t worry, Granny, ‘cause I’d know you.” I stand up and turn around looking for Ridlee. “Rid, come meet my granny!”

  Ridlee is at the other side of the room, drink in hand, talking to Mark Bolan, an old boyfriend of mine. She’s cocked her ear to tune in to whatever it is he’s telling her, so it’s probably a fortuitous time to drag her away.

  “Hello! Lovely to meet you, Mrs. O’Neill,” she says taking one of my grandmother’s hands in both of her like Princess Di or Mother Theresa.

  “Lovely manners,” says Granny appreciatively. “The Yanks always have lovely manners. Except for Una — she’s gone native, more Irish than the Irish, or so she keeps sayin’ anyway.”

  I laugh at my grandmother, still sharp as a tack at ninety-eight.

  “So, your name’s Ridlee, is it?”

  “That’s right,” says my friend, on her honkers now.

  “As in Scott?” asks Granny.

  “Same pronunciation, different spelling.”

  “I love that film Alien. Wasn’t it him that did that, Jack?” Granny’s addressing my father who has just joined us. “T’was indeed, Mam.”

  “It’s all about motherhood, ye know,” she tells Ridlee, in a conspiratorial tone. “No-one ever talks about the dark side of motherhood, Ridlee. I thought it was a very brave film.”

  “Another porter, Mam?” asks my father.

  “No, no, no. I’d better not, Jack. At my age.”

  “What do ye mean at your age, Mam? Sure you’re fit as a fiddle. Just a small one. Go on,” he cajoles her.

  “Ah, go on then. You’re a terrible influence.”

  My dad nods at Uncle Miley who pours his mother a generous porter and brings it over.

  She takes a sip, smacking her lips appreciatively. “Now, Ridlee, tell me all about yerself. Where were ye born?”

  I push a nearby footstool toward Ridlee who is embarking on her life story and she places her petite derrière on it without releasing Granny’s hand.

  I smile and turn to Dad and Uncle Miley who are both looking at me expectantly. I take a sip of my wine. I’ve decided to take it easy with the booze. In fact, both Ridlee and I had hoped for a quiet night tonight, so we’re both on wine, which we consider to be a fruit drink.

  “What?” I ask, worried I’ve done something wrong, or haven’t done something.

  “Well?” prompts Miley.

  I raise my eyebrows and jut my chin out. “Well, what?”

  Dad and Miley exchange a look. “Did ye get that thing sorted out?” asks my dad, being as direct as he can be.

  “What thing?” I decide not to play along; they’re doing their Goodfellas act and it’s making me nervous.

  “The thing, with the bar,” says Miley. “‘Cause we’ve found someone who can get yer man to sign whatever papers or contract ye want him te, if ye know what I mean…” He nudges my dad for effect.

  “God, no! Jesus, stop the pair of ye! It’s fine. Papers signed. Deal done.” I take what I consider to be a more refined sip of my wine this time.

  They both look at me confused.

  “Ridlee sorted it.” I tip my glass in my friend’s direction.

  Both men raise their pint glasses and toast loudly, “To Ridlee!”

  Everyone stops talking at once. Only Ridlee’s voice can be heard as she tells Granny, “Well, cheerleading can be very physically demanding.” She looks up and around the room wondering what the reason for the sudden silence is.

  “To Ridlee!” cheers everyone in unison.

  My friend smiles uncertainly.

  “And all who sail in her!” says a lone voice from the back of the room.

  “Jaysus, but there’s always one gobshite,” mutters my dad to Miley and me.

  “Oh, Erin, I forgot to mention,” Uncle Miley says, “your mum asked me to look into flights for you girls and I did. I know a fella who works at the airport and I was able to upgrade your two tickets, business class to Boston, flying out tomorrow.”

  “Fantastic, Uncle Miley! Did ye get a good deal?” I’m excited about the upgrade. This is my thank you to Ridlee for coming with me and for getting the bar business sorted.

  “Indeed and I did! There is one small thing, though,” he says oh so casually, which causes a tightening in my gut.

  “What’s that, Uncle Miley?” I ask, cautiously.

  “Well, they’re a little short staffed on this flight, and I told them that you were also in the service industry and they wondered if you might help out a little here and there on the flight, just serving drinks and that.” He takes a swig of his pint but I can see he’s hiding a smile.

  “You’re pullin’ my leg, Uncle, aren’t ye?” I ask, playfully.

  “Now, that would be tellin’,” he says walking off to find Aunty Ger.

  “Dad? He’s joking, right?”

  “Don’t look at me.” My dad disappears into the crowd after his brother.

  “Great. I get to do a bit of slaving in the sky while Ridlee sips champagne,” I mutter darkly. “Can’t wait!” I drain my wine and go in search of a proper drink.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  RIDLEE

  THANK GOD, UNCLE MILEY WAS just messing with us when he said we’d have to help serve drinks on the flight. I knew he had to be kidding. Surely you need some sort of FAA license to do that. I lean back in my business class seat and soak up the ambiance. This is so much better than coach. Are these seats heated or is my ass just on fire?

  I realize I’m sitting on some sort of down blanket wrapped in plastic and pull it out, letting it drop to the floor by my legs. I’m not sure how much sleeping I’m going to be doing on this flight. We had a fairly early night, all things considered. The party ended pretty abruptly after Erin’s grandmother got wasted, started singing Irish ditties with cuss words in them, and then her false teeth fell out and landed on the floor. Erin was mortified, but I thought it was pretty awesome entertainment. I’ll never forget Ireland or Erin’s family in particular. I love those people. They threatened to come visit us in Boston and I was all for it. I even offered up my apartment, and Uncle Miley seemed particularly interested in its square footage.

  Erin sighs heavily, breaking into my floaty, happy mood.

  “What?” I ask, already bored with whatever her answer is going to be. She’s been bound and determined to be miserable, ever since we had that conversation about Michaél being on the opposite side of the table in this business deal. I don’t know why she can’t just shake it off. We got the proof that the contract was signed, and I made sure the money was transferred, so it’s a done deal. Now she can realize all her hopes and dreams. You’d think she’d say thank you instead of moaning and groaning all day and night.

  “Nothing.” She sighs again, this time even more dramatically.

  I open one eye and look at her. She’s staring at her phone, scrolling, scrolling, scrolling.

  I snatch it from her hand before she realizes I’m paying attention.

  “Hey! Give that back!”

  “Not until I see what’s got you so upset.” I quickly scan through the texts. They’re all from Michaél, of course.

  Where r u?

  Did u leave?

  I need to talk to u.

  Why didn’t u tell me?

  I hand it back to her and join her sighing parade. “Erin, just delete his number off your phone and don’t text him back. Please?”

  She’s mumbling. �
��It just seems so cold.”

  “It’s not cold, it’s business. There is no temperature for business, it’s neither hot nor cold. It’s just the way things are.” I wiggle a little, trying to bury myself in the seat more. There’s so much butt room in this chair, I’m in heaven. I could fit two of me on this thing.

  “I don’t like that kind of business. I prefer the kind where you’re friends with the people you deal with.”

  Now I open my eyes more fully, staring her down. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “No. I’m not, actually.”

  A recent memory floats to the front of my mind. “Soooo, you’re saying your best buds with the guy who delivers your soda syrups?”

  “I was.” She sticks her chin out in defiance. “Until he tried to rip me off by a half-dozen boxes.”

  “And then what happened?” I nod, waiting for it.

  Erin realizes too late she’s been schooled. “Nothing. Much.”

  “Right. That’s funny, because I recall a shouting match, a threat of bodily harm with a baseball bat, and then a letter, written by yours truly at your behest, reminding his boss of all the legal ramifications of his employees short-changing clients on their orders.”

  “It had to be done. That guy was a criminal.” She looks away.

  “Of course it had to be done, no one’s arguing that. But the problem with making your vendors your best buddies is they tend to think they can rip you off when times gets tough.”

  She looks at me sharply. “When did you get so bitter about the world, hey?”

  I close my eyes again, refusing to be goaded into a fight. This is typical Erin; she’s sad so she picks fights with the ones she loves. Her misery definitely loves company, but I’m not in the mood today. Ireland was good to me. I’m going to keep enjoying that feeling as long as I can.

  I answer when I know my tone can be controlled, even, and calm. “I’m not bitter, I’m a realist. I see it over and over at work. If you’re naive, you get taken advantage of. The world is a scary place, so you have to be tough. No one is your friend. They’re all just business associates.” I sigh to slow myself down and open my eyes, tilting my head to look at Erin. “I’m not saying it never works, because obviously there’s you and me; we’re friends and we do business together. I’m just saying it’s probably not worth the risk in most cases. And with Michaél? It’s completely risky. You totally fell for him in like, what? Two days? He could destroy your business in a month if you let him.”