by KT Webb
“Right, okay, but you do work at the dairy,” I emphasize again.
Molly waves me off, “That’s beside the point. I’m an administrative assistant. I work for the dairy, but not at the actual dairy.”
I can’t help but giggle at her classifications. Molly is her father’s administrative assistant. Her father is Chief of Operations for Molloy Dairy. It’s like a stereotype wrapped in nepotism and tied with a bow. I’m glad the family has continued to play a vital role in operating the family businesses, even if Molly sees it differently.
“Take Patrick, for example, he and his brother own a bookstore in Tullamore,” Molly says.
“You must mean Patrick number two.”
Molly looks over at me with her eyebrows knit together, “No, I mean Patrick Molloy, our cousin.”
I nod, “Yeah, that night I met you guys at the pub, I referred to him as ‘Patrick number two’ in my head to keep him and Baldwin straight. Now that I know Patrick number one has a different last name, it’s much simpler.”
Now it’s Molly’s turn to laugh at me, “You’re something else. Don’t you have popular names in America? Names that are used over and over again because they’re culturally significant?”
“Culturally significant? No, not really. Patrick is the name of a saint. In America, people name their kids after movie stars and inanimate objects. Of course, there are exceptions, but as a whole, there isn’t a name I can think of that has cultural significance to America.”
“Inanimate objects?”
I nod, “And directions, sports channels, food, not to mention the weird made up shit that people view as trendy.”
“America is strange,” Molly says as she sighs and shakes her head.
“You have no idea.”
We fall into a comfortable silence as we watch the Irish countryside blur past us. By the time we reach Belfast, I’m beyond ready to get out of the car. It’s early afternoon, too late for lunch, too early for dinner, but it’s the perfect time for coffee and shopping. Thankfully, there is a Starbucks in the Castlecourt Shopping Centre. Molly takes us there, and before too long, we’re lost in a blur of boutiques and specialty stores.
After day two in Belfast, I’m already ready to go home. I know I should be present and have fun with Molly, but all I can think about is Gannon. No matter how many times I tell myself to knock it off and have fun with Molly, my mind wanders back to the moment we almost shared on my couch. Do I really have that much of an effect on him? I already know how he makes me feel, but that doesn’t mean he’s inclined to feel the same. In Dublin, he was like a yo-yo; one second, he was close to me, and the next, he pulled away. That was months ago. Since then, I’d like to think we’ve gotten to know one another better. We kissed in the storeroom at the pub, he helped me with my hair while I was injured. I know I’m not the only one feeling something grow between us.
I have my laptop open to write a blog post. I can’t help but pause as I think about what I should write. There is no way I should start posting about feelings, not when I haven’t had the chance to talk to Gannon about any of it. And yet, my best posts come directly from the heart.
To Grandpa,
Thanks to Molly, I’ve explored more in Northern Ireland. Belfast has a rich history, and I’ve loved our adventures here. We visited the Titanic Belfast museum. You know how much I’ve always loved researching all the little pieces of the tragedy that befell the ship and its passengers. This was one of the most amazing places I’ve ever visited. Everything I’ve learned about Irish history has left me awestruck, but the Titanic had an impact on the whole world. The exhibits at the museum were so immersive it almost felt like I was actually on the Titanic.
Though I’ve had a great time, my mind has often been elsewhere. I keep thinking about you and the relationship you once had with your family. You would have loved Molly. Her grandfather is one of your youngest brothers. I imagine he would have been relatively young when you left home. Anyway, from what I’ve learned about him, I wish you’d had the opportunity to know his family. Molly is more like me than anyone I’ve ever met. We have a similar sense of humor and see many issues the same way. I’m enjoying this time with her.
Love is a strange thing. I’ve hardly known Molly and some of the other cousins I’ve gotten to meet for more than a few months, but I already love them. My time in Kinnitty has proven to me that there are different levels of love within a family. These people didn’t know me at all, yet some of them have welcomed me into the family without batting an eye. But, the longer we are in each other’s lives, the more that love evolves.
Family may be blood, but blood doesn’t mean we will be a part of one another’s lives. It’s been a harsh realization for me considering the fallout with Maeve and my parents. Of course, I still love them. But I’ve come to realize that I can love them from afar.
The positive interactions with our family here have outweighed the negative. I’m beginning to wonder if there was really only one brother who had an issue with you. He’s done quite a lot to make it evident that I’m not welcome here. From a pub confrontation to a broken hand, and his most recent attack was aimed at Molly. I can handle people wanting me to go away, but I don’t know if I can accept that my friends and family will be at risk by merely interacting with me. Maybe some time I’ll find a way to communicate with him that doesn’t end in violence or anger.
I’m beginning to believe there’s more to this than just the fact that you left and maintained ownership of the estate. Roald has a lot of focused rage, and it comes from a place of jealousy and perceived betrayal. I can only hope that no one else gets hurt because of their association with me.
With love,
Blake
I surprise Molly with tickets for a bus tour that takes us all over Belfast to show us the musical history. It’s right up her alley, and there’s a goofy grin on her face the entire time. After wandering around the city all day, we decide to take a night out on the town. After having a few drinks at the hotel bar, we head out in search of some karaoke. I can’t remember the last time I sang in front of anyone, but I’m confident I won’t notice the people after a few more shots. Molly is giddy at the idea of us singing together.
“I bet you have a great singing voice,” Molly tells me as she practically skips down the street.
Many years in musical theater, state choir, and the occasional karaoke concert have prepared me for this, but I haven’t performed in a long time. The more I engrossed myself in advanced studies, the less time I allotted for the arts. My parents wanted me to apply myself to the subjects that would lead me toward a lucrative career. That’s right, Blake Molloy, disappointing her parents since 1998. They made it a point to let me know just how useless my degree would be when I tried to find a job. So, to prove them right, I never really looked for a job.
I’m sure they saw my refusal to follow their plan as a middle finger lifted in their direction, but it had more to do with what I wanted. No matter how much my parents wanted me to become an investment banker or something else that would require me to do far too much math and have far too little fun. I hate math, and I hate the idea of having to be cooped up in an office all day. Writing has always been my passion. Thankfully, they couldn’t refuse to fund my schooling because Grandpa Molloy took care of a trust fund for each grandchild. Grandpa never saw me as a disappointment. He supported my dreams more than my parents know.
“Blake, I signed us up for a song,” Molly says with a devilish grin as she hands me a shot.
“You better hope I know it,” I reply, raising the shot glass for us to clink them together before swallowing the alcohol in one mouthful.
“Do you know Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl?”
“Do you know anyone who doesn’t know that song?” I retort.
Molly thinks about it for a moment, “My niece. She’s two.”
I laugh and head to the bar to grab another drink for each of us. If I’m doing this, I’m going to be d
runk enough to have vague memories of the event. I manage to drink a whiskey and two shots before they call our names. Shit. My heart is pounding in my chest as Molly drags me toward the stage. We each hold a microphone as the lights start dancing around with the music.
By the time we finish singing, we’re both giggling. Molly signals for two more whiskeys to be delivered. She’s already going through the song list to find another song. While we pour over the list, two men approach our table.
“Hey there, ladies,” the first one begins.
“No,” Molly shuts him down with a hand to his face.
“We just came over to tell you how great you were. Can we buy you ladies, a drink?” Guy number two asks.
As far as men go, they’re pretty damn sexy. Both tall, perfectly sculpted and dressed in casual clothes. T-shirts hug their muscles in a way that makes me want to reach out and poke them.
“We already have drinks, move along,” Molly waves her hand dismissively.
I release a snort when neither moves. Both guys stand and stare from Molly to me as though we’re speaking a language they’ve never heard. I’m lost in a fit of giggles as they continue to stare. Molly narrows her eyes at me, a silent admonition for my lack of give a damn.
“How about you, lass?” Guy number one directs his question to me.
“She’s my lesbian lover,” Molly says without looking at either of them.
Now I’m rolling. I know the alcohol is adding to the hilarity, but I can’t help myself. When the guys finally walk away, I think they’ve given up after so many rejections in a row. In a few moments they return with four shot glasses in hand. Now, I cover my mouth to keep from releasing the raucous laughter I feel building there.
“We asked the barkeep for whatever shots you had when you last ordered. Consider them a peace offering,” Guy number two says as he sets one down in front of each of us.
“Yeah, I’ve seen this movie. Bugger off,” Molly puts more force behind her words.
I can’t help but feel a little bad for them. I doubt these men intend to hurt us, but I appreciate that Molly is cautious. To stifle my next giggle, I grab my shot and lift it for cheers. The men mimic me, and when Molly sees what I’ve done, she rolls her eyes and follows suit.
“Just so you know, if we end up kidnapped and sold into the sex trade, it’s all on you,” Molly mutters.
Again, my laughter is uncontained. Molly hops off her barstool and heads to the DJ to submit the next song she wants us to sing. Of course, the two would-be suitors take her response as an invitation to join us at the two empty seats pushed up to our table.
“Name’s Patrick,” guy number one offers me his hand.
“Of course, it is,” I laugh when I accept the handshake.
“American?” Pub Patrick asks.
“You caught me,” I shrug. “What about you, do you have a name?” I aim at the other guy.
“My name is Kieran. And you are?”
I briefly consider giving them a fake name, but the DJ already announced our names to the pub when we were called up for our first song.
“I’m Blake, that’s Molly, my cousin.”
“So, the truth is revealed, you’re not lesbian lovers!” Pub Patrick says.
I can’t help but laugh as he attempts to flirt with me. It’s not that he isn’t skilled at flirting; it’s that no matter how attractive I find him, I’m not interested. Pub Patrick and Kieran are both good-looking, there’s no doubt about that. They’re both nice guys too. We spend a few more hours hanging out with them, taking shots, and singing songs that get progressively sillier as our alcohol level increases.
Toward the end of the night, we’re heavily engaged in a drinking game. The rules are simple, each of us takes a turn telling a joke, if you laugh, you take a shot. Molly insists that I go first, and the only joke I can think of is so childish, I’m certain no one will laugh.
“Knock, knock,” I say.
“Who’s there?” Pub Patrick asks.
“Smell Mop,” I’m already feeling the giggles rise in my throat.
“Smell Mop Who?” Kieran finishes.
“No, thank you,” I say, taking a sip of my drink.
Of course, I’m giggling right away because Kieran and Pub Patrick are looking at one another for the punch line. Molly says the phrase aloud slowly. Once she gets it, she desperately tries to maintain her laughter but fails miserably. Now I know just how drunk we are.
Kieran thinks he’s won that round as Pub Patrick realizes what he’s said over and over and falls into a fit of childish giggles too.
“My turn! What is Moby Dick’s fathers' name?” Kieran asks.
All three of us shrug. The only thing I can think of is something along the lines of “big daddy dick”, I’m pretty sure that’s not it.
Kieran grins and leans forward, “Papa Boner!”
Shit. We all have to take a shot on that round. Molly decides it’s her turn, so she takes a deep breath and starts her turn while the three of us take our shot.
“What does a perverted frog say?”
I’ve heard this one, so I’m pretty sure I’m immune to the reaction. “Rub-it!”
Both guys laugh out loud and take their shots. Now Pub Patrick rubs his hands together, ready to deliver a zinger for us. It’s the last round, so he’d better make it good.
“How is sex like a game of bridge?”
When none of us react, Pub Patrick grins with glee, “If you’ve got a great hand, you don’t need a partner.”
For a moment, we all manage to hold our laughter in. It ends when Molly suddenly yells, “Oh, I get it!”
After one more round of shots, we’ve had way too much to drink, Molly and I bid farewell to our new friends. We stumble toward our hotel, giggling all the way. It’s Tuesday night. Tomorrow will be our last day of vacation before returning to Kinnitty. We make it safely back to the room before Molly passes out on her bed. Left to my own devices, and still holding onto a thread of consciousness, I grab my cell phone. I’m vaguely aware that rule number one of being drunk is you don’t text. I only have a couple phone numbers on my phone, and only one starts with “G”. Instead of texting him, my fingers bump the call button. Shit, shit, shit.
I can’t believe the phone is ringing. He’s not going to answer, it’s two in the morning. He’s got to be asleep. There’s no way he’s going to answer, I just need to hang up.
“Hello? Blake?”
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“Is everything okay?” His voice is laced with amusement.
“Uh, yeah, I just didn’t mean to call.”
“Oh? You sound a little drunk.”
“Hmm, I think I should sound a lotta drunk,” I laugh at my own joke.
“Are you being safe? Where’s Molly?”
“Of course, I’m being safe. Molly is sleeping, well, she’s passed out.”
“Okay, how’s Belfast? Are you having fun outside of the pubs?” I can hear the laughter in his voice.
“Oh yeah, we’ve done loads of things. We did karaoke tonight, that’s why I’m drunk. Molly made me sing,” I whisper as though it’s a big secret.
“That sounds fun, just how drunk are you to call me accidentally?”
“Well, I was going to send you a text message, but my thumb hit the wrong button.”
“I see, well, what were you going to text me?”
I sigh and lie back on the bed. I can feel that thread of consciousness beginning to fray. “I called to tell you I miss you.”
Gannon is quiet for a few moments, before he responds, “I have to say, I miss you too.”
“I was thinking about you today, well, more like every day. I have an idea,” my mouth doesn’t seem to be connected to my brain.
“I like that you’ve been thinking about me. I think about you a lot,” he admits.
“I think we should go on a date, not a friend date,” I whisper again.
“Oh, you do? Are you sure you’ll still feel that way
when you sober up?”
I grin as I start to fall asleep, “Definitely.”
Blake and Molly will be home tomorrow. Part of me hates that I even made this suggestion. I’m not so attached that the idea of not seeing Blake for a few days is sending me into an out of control spiral, but I already miss having her around. My mind has revisited the words that were almost said when she was cradled in my lap. It would have been unfair for me to try to express how I feel at that time. Blake going with Molly on a road trip really was for the best.
The call from her last night has me walking on air. Blake passed out right after she said she would definitely want to go on a date with me. I won’t bombard her with the idea when she gets home, but I don’t plan to wait long. Maybe I’ll see if she’ll let me take her out on Friday night. I might be pushing my luck having Pat cover for me so much lately, but I know he needs the extra cash. Not to mention that I think he enjoys seeing me interested in someone.