“I’m going to find us a spot.” Ian disappeared into the crowd.
“I hope we can find him when we get there.” I held tightly to Rowan’s hand, partially to keep us from getting separated and partially because once the group hug had ended, it had just happened. I couldn’t get over the way our hands fit together. Like they’d been sitting on opposite ends of the globe just waiting for the chance to meet.
The crowd was turning brutal, bordering on absurd. We’d just survived a near-collision with a man on a bike wearing a peacock costume when a high-pitched choking noise that sounded vaguely like oh, no erupted from behind me.
“Lina, what’s wrong?” Ren asked.
“Addie.” Lina put her hand on my back, her voice still choked. I turned to meet her wide eyes, but instead got snagged on something moving rocket-fast toward me through the crowd. Was that . . . ?
It was.
The rocket was my mother.
“Oh, no,” I choked, echoing Lina. Run, my brain advised, but even in my panicked state I knew that was a terrible idea. Running would just mean pursuit.
My mom was next to me in a matter of milliseconds. “Hello, Addison. Lina.” Her pitch had reached new and terrifying depths. “You’d better start talking. Fast.”
“How did you . . . find us?” I stammered.
The answer to my question appeared to her left. Walter. Followed swiftly by Archie, who held a massive bag of cotton candy. “Walter, you told her?” I yelled.
He held his hands up in protest. “It wasn’t me. It was Archie. He got the secret out of me, and then he told Mom.”
“Hey!” Archie tried to hit Walter in the face with his cotton candy, but my mom grabbed it midswing. “Don’t blame it on me.”
“No more talking.” Mom turned back to me, her face set in a hard stare. Not many people knew this, but back in her college days she’d been one of the top roller derby contenders in the state. It was times like this that I knew exactly why she’d skated under the name Medusa Damage.
“Addison, you are supposed to be in Italy. Italy.” While I fumbled for an answer, she turned to Lina. “Does Howard know you’re here?”
“Rowan, go warn Ian!” I whispered, taking advantage of the momentary distraction. He nodded and then sprinted into the crowd, no doubt thrilled to escape Medusa.
Lina nodded, her head bobbing one too many times. “Nice to see you, Mrs. Bennett. And yes, he does know. He booked my ticket.” She shoved Ren forward a few unwilling inches. “This is my boyfriend, Ren.”
“Hello there,” Ren managed. “Really great to meet you.”
He withered under her gaze, and I jumped to the rescue. “Mom, I can explain. This concert is really important to Ian—”
She lifted her hand angrily, silencing me. “Where is Ian?”
Now what? The last thing I wanted to do was unleash Mom on Ian. What if she didn’t let him see the concert? “Um . . . I’m not really sure.”
“Boys!” My mom snapped her fingers, and Archie and Walt jumped to attention. “You two are the tallest people in this crowd. Find him.”
Walt stood on his tiptoes, craning his neck over the crowd, and Archie ran over to a music speaker and began climbing.
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s allowed,” Lina said, just as a security guard made a beeline for him.
“Man bun in a white toga. Straight ahead,” Archie shouted as the security guard dragged him back to ground level.
“Why are you guys wearing togas anyway?” Walter asked.
Suddenly, a loud cheer erupted in the distance, followed by a jangling strain of music. My heart somersaulted. “Mom, the concert is starting. I don’t have time to explain why, but this is the most important thing that has ever happened to Ian. You have to let him see it.”
My intensity caught even me off guard. Catarina would be proud. Rule number four: Be passionate. No one can argue with passion.
My mom stepped back slightly, her perfectly shaped eyebrows lifting. “Sounds like you two are getting along again.”
I nodded. “Better than ever.”
She hesitated, then gestured to Archie and Walter. “Everyone, follow me.” Needless to say, we all complied.
Even though Rowan had provided him with a few minutes of warning, the sight of our approaching mother drained all the blood from Ian’s face. “Mom,” he choked. It was the only way either of us could seem to greet her.
“Ian,” she said coolly. “There are a lot of things I want to say to you right now, but your sister claims that this is the most important thing in the world to you. So I’m giving you tonight.” She pointed one finger at his chest. “But after the concert? You will both undergo extensive questioning and will most likely be grounded for the rest of your lives. Understood?”
“Understood. Thank you, ma’am,” Ian said, shooting me a grateful look. In our family, “ma’am” was code for I know you’re going to pummel me into a fine pulp, and I respect you for that. My mom nodded approvingly.
Rowan stepped forward, wringing his hands nervously. “Mrs. Bennett? I’m Rowan. Nice to meet you.”
She tilted her head. “Ah. The Irish tutor.”
“He’s my friend,” Ian said.
“And mine,” I added.
“So then tell me, friend Rowan, why are we standing here when Titletrack is about to perform onstage, all the way up there?” She lifted her chin toward the front of the writhing mass of bodies. “How are we going to even see?”
“That is a problem,” Rowan said. “We probably should have arrived a lot earlier. Like, yesterday.”
Ian bit his lower lip, his face clouding, and defiance rose in me. Oh, no. I had not been through everything I’d been through just to stand at the back of a concert watching my brother crumple into a ball of disappointment.
But before I could come up with a solution, my mom clapped her hands together. “All right, people. Form a chain. We’re going in.”
“Going in where?” Ian asked. “Those people look like they’ve been here all week.”
“Ian, don’t argue with me. For all you know this is your last living act, so you might as well enjoy it.” A glimmer sparkled in her eye as she surveyed the crowd, and suddenly I remembered the stash of vintage records she’d kept in the attic for as long as I could remember. The proverbial apple had not fallen far from the tree.
“Do I need to speak louder?” she asked when none of us moved. “Form a chain.”
All the non-Bennetts went wide-eyed with disbelief as we obediently grabbed one another’s hands.
“Ready?” Mom turned resolutely to the wall of people in front of her, Medusa Damage revealing herself in all her terrifying splendor. “COMING THROUGH.”
“Hey, watch it!” a guy in a blue hat yelled at her as she jammed her elbow into him.
“No, you watch it,” she snapped. “I’m about to ground these children for the rest of their underage lives because of this concert. The least they can do is enjoy it.”
“Damn,” Blue Hat’s friend said. “Carry on.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re your mother?” Rowan whispered, his hand tight in mine. “I don’t know who’s scarier, Maeve or Mother of Maeve.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” I whispered back.
It took us nearly the entire opening act, but my mother and her elbows managed to get us near the front, even clearing out a small pocket of space for us to stand all together. Once she stopped assaulting them, people sealed in, cinching us tightly together.
“Mom, that was amazing,” Ian said, his face rapturous. “Thank you.”
“I’m not saying you’re welcome, because that would sound like I’m condoning this,” she snapped. But the glint was still in her eye.
I did my best to settle into the crowd. My entire body felt bruised and sticky from colliding with so many Titletrack fans. Everyone was sweating. The temperature inside the crowd was at least ten degrees higher than on the outskirts.
Laser lights spilled over the stage, bathing us in bright red, and then four silhouettes appeared onstage as if by magic. “That’s them!” Ian shouted, grabbing my arm as tightly as a tourniquet. “Rowan! Addie! That’s them!”
“Ian, ease up!” I yelled, but my voice got sucked up into the vortex of screaming.
The first chords started up, and I recognized the song immediately. “Classic.” The one that had been made into a music video at the Burren. At first Ian looked too stunned to react, and then instead of smiling, a large tear zigzagged down his red-lit cheek. “What’s wrong?” I shouted.
He squeezed my arm again, his fingernails forming half-moons in my skin. “We’re here,” he said simply.
The rest of the band joined in with the song, filling my ears and anchoring me to Ian and this moment. And suddenly I was thinking about a different aspect of my future. In one year, my big brother would leave for college, and we’d be separated for the first time. What would life be like without Ian by my side?
I tried to picture it, but the only thing that sprang to mind was the road we’d followed to Electric Picnic, Ian singing along to Titletrack, Ireland green and mysterious outside our windows.
The only thing I really knew was what I had to do next.
Before I could lose my moment of certainty, I reached across Ian, tugging gently at my mom’s sleeve. “Mom, after the concert is over, I need to tell you something. Something important.” She swiveled her gaze from the stage just as Ian reached down to squeeze my hand.
The road narrowed and then got wider, then disappeared into the distance, too far for me to see what was ahead. And I just let it.
Love & Luck
You’ve come a long way, pet. Pettest of pets. You can’t imagine the pride that’s swelling up in my considerable bosom right at this moment to know that you have not only explored the Emerald Isle, but your broken heart is now MENDED. You are completely better, over-the-moon, one-door-closes-ten-more-open, beauty-in-the-pain better.
Right?
Right?
Let’s cut the crap, pet. Because now that we’re reaching the end of our time together, I feel it’s time for me to come clean. I don’t want that heart of yours to mend. And I never did.
What? Was she actually evil this whole time? No, pet. Heavens, no. Stick with me for a moment.
Do you know what I love most about humans, pet? It’s our utter, dogged stupidity. When it comes to love, we never learn. Ever. Even when we know the risks. Even when it makes much more sense to relocate to individualized climate-controlled caves where our hearts have at least a fighting chance at remaining intact. We know the risks of opening our hearts up, and yet we keep doing it anyway.
We keep falling in love and having babies and buying shoes that look incredible but feel like death. We keep adopting puppies and making friends and buying white sofas that we know we’re going to drop a slice of pizza facedown on. We just keep doing it.
Is it ignorance? Amnesia? Or is it something else? Something braver?
You opened this book because your heart was broken and you wanted it fixed. But that was never the cosmic plan. Hell, it was never my plan. Hearts break open until they stay open. It’s what they were made to do. The pain? It’s part of the deal. A small exchange for the wild, joyful mess you’ll be handed in return.
I hate good-byes, so instead, allow me to hand you one last thought, a small Irish charm to clip to your charm bracelet. Did you know that each leaf on a clover stands for something? They do, pet. Faith, hope, and love. And should you happen to find one with four leaves? Well, that’s the one that stands for luck. So, my love, I wish you all of those things. Faith, hope, love, and luck. But mostly, I wish you love. It’s its own form of luck.
—Excerpt from Ireland for the Heartbroken: An Unconventional Guide to the Emerald Isle, third edition
Epilogue
IAN PULLED SMOOTHLY INTO A parking spot, turning off the ignition but leaving the music on. It was Titletrack, of course. Ever since we’d gotten home we’d been playing it nonstop, the songs overlapping in the hallway between our bedrooms, sometimes competing, sometimes meshing together. It had made a hard week a lot more bearable.
There had been a lot of upset. I’d wanted everything out in the open, so as soon as everyone was reunited, I called for a family meeting, where I laid it all out. My brothers had to be forcibly held back from storming Cubby’s house, and my dad was silent and teary for a terrible ten minutes, but they’d all stood by me. And one glimmer of benefit: my news had paved the way for Ian’s. His quitting football was just a firework next to my atomic bomb.
I flipped down the visor to check out the dark rings under my eyes. Jet lag combined with nerves had made for a lot of sleepless nights. Last night I’d ended up calling Rowan and staying on the phone until two a.m. watching a terrible movie he’d found on YouTube about a Celtic warrior princess named Maeve, who slashed everyone who got in her way. I think he was trying to pump me up.
Ian lowered the volume. “So, Christmas, huh?”
My cheeks warmed. I swear he could read my thoughts sometimes. “What about it?”
“A certain Irishman told me there are only sixty-eight days until his Christmas break starts. We’re good friends and all, but that countdown has nothing to do with me. It’s about you.”
“Stop. Now.” Just like I’d thought, once the situation had been ironed out, my mom and Rowan had bonded almost instantaneously. And now he was coming to visit. Every time I thought about seeing him again, a small, careful butterfly fluttered its wings in the center of my chest.
We looked out the windshield, neither of us in a hurry to leave the car. Was it just me, or had the student body magically tripled? For a second my vision tilted. How many of them know about my photo?
Probably a lot of them.
“Maeve, you ready?” Ian finally asked, the sound of his drumming fingers breaking through my thoughts.
“Yes,” I said, sounding surer than I felt. Act in control.
“Don’t worry, Addie. I’m here for you,” he said, like he hadn’t heard me. “I’m going to walk you to all your classes. I already checked your schedule. My homeroom is in B hall and yours is in C, so meet me at the front office. And if anyone says anything to you, you tell them—”
“Ian, I’ve got this,” I said more forcefully. “We just survived a road trip across Ireland in a broken-down car. I think I can handle walking into high school.”
“Okay.” Ian went back to drumming, his eyes serious. “I know you’ve got this, but if there’s ever a moment when you don’t, you’ve got me. And it doesn’t matter what anyone else says. You’re Maeve.”
“I’m Maeve,” I repeated, allowing the nervousness in his voice to extinguish mine. Was it possible that he was more worried for me than I was worried for me? I leaned on that feeling.
Outside, we pulled on our backpacks. Mine was extra heavy, because along with my textbooks, it had rocks in it. Four of them to be exact. It had been a last-minute call, but I liked the way their weight pressed into my shoulders, grounding my feet into my sneakers, my sneakers into the ground. Plus, TSA had had a complete fit about my traveling with them. I might as well put them to use.
We started across the parking lot, Ian sweeping the crowd anxiously.
“Ian, relax.” I broke into a jog and fell into step beside him.
“I’m completely relaxed,” he protested, but a clump of hair found its way into his mouth. That habit, unfortunately, looked like it was here to stay. We reached the bank of doors, and he stopped, ignoring the crush of students as he rocked nervously onto his heels. “Ready, Maeve?”
It was a good question. Was I ready?
This summer had shown me that I was a lot of things. I was messy, impulsive, occasionally insecure, and sometimes I did things that I regretted—things I couldn’t undo. Like not listening to my brother. Or handing over my heart to someone who couldn’t be trusted with it. But despite all those things—no, a
longside all those things—I was Maeve. Which meant that regardless of how ready I did or did not feel, I was going in anyway. This was my life, after all.
You’ll do it, buttercup. You really will.
“I’m ready,” I said firmly. I looked into Ian’s blue eyes, gathering one last shot of courage. Then we grabbed the door handles and pushed in. Together.
Acknowledgments
Nicole Ellul and Fiona Simpson. Did you all get that? NICOLE ELLUL AND FIONA SIMPSON. The timing of this book was just a hair shy of cataclysmic, and there were many, many moments when you threw me on your backs and carried me. Thank you for your graciousness, support, wisdom, and overall awesomeness. I consider you the Goddesses of Editing. (Would it be embarrassing if I had crowns made?)
Mara Anastas. Thank you for your patience, support, and enthusiasm. I dream of having Mara energy.
Simon Pulse. You are an exceptional group of people sending exceptional books out into the world, and it is a PRIVILEGE to publish with you. Thank you.
Sam. Somewhere in the tornado of 2016/2017, you marched up to me and said, “Mama, I see you. And I like you.” Not only did that line inspire a major theme of this book, but it also struck me as one of the most profound things one person can say to another. To be seen in your messy hair in your messy kitchen, by a very small and very honest person, and be deemed likable? It’s the entire point. I see you, Sammy. And man, do I ever like you.
Nora Jane. Every second you’re here makes the world better. I could compare you to a pink frosted cupcake or a perfect chocolate éclair, but that would be silly. You’re a little girl, not a confection! (Although it’s easy to see why one would make the mistake.) Thank you for sharing your baby years with Love & Luck. And I cannot even begin to tell you how much it thrills me that 90 percent of your tantrums involve wanting to be read to. I love you, Bertie Blue.
Liss. Have I ever told you that you are in my top five women I look up to? You are. Sometimes when the world gets scary, I square my shoulders and march in, attempting that unique Liss combination of simultaneously loving hard and not giving a damn, which is exactly what I’ve watched you do for the past twenty years. Thank you for keeping me on track.
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