by K. Ryan
"What was that?"
"Nothing, sweetheart. Carry on."
"Whatever," she grumbles and now the attention is back on me. "Rae, it'll be so much fun! Who doesn't want to watch a hot guy with his shirt off? I just want to get close enough so I can see all his tattoos!"
My sister is missing the point, but this is nothing new. Yes, seeing Jack Flynn with his myriad of tattoos on display, all sweaty and dirty, would be nice. I've only heard about him, but from what I've heard, the guy, with all his hulking, sculpted muscles, ferocious intensity, and dark masculinity, has bad boy practically engraved on his forehead.
But hearing about him and actually seeing him in person are two very different things. Because seeing him in person means we'd be in Callahan territory and in Callahan territory, my sister and I are more likely to get screamed at, spit at, and finally thrown out on our asses before we could even get two feet in the door. And even though Jack Flynn isn't related to the Callahans by blood, he's part of their family all the same.
My family, at least to the Callahans and everyone associated with them, is responsible for a multitude of bloody sins against their community. I'd even heard my father referred to as the diabhal, which, thanks to Google translate, means devil in Irish. Seeing as how he's using his position as mayor to systematically push them off their properties through higher taxes and rent to make way for the richer Italian community in North Boston, the label is pretty on-point.
Lucy is only guilty by association. I, on the other hand, deserve all the animosity they'd serve up and then some.
Light eyes flash across my mind—I'm trapped in a blurry, crimson haze of blinding pain, but I can still make them out. I can see the horror radiating in them. The shock and the panic I find in his eyes is all I really remember, but it's enough to keep those seeds of doubt festering. That dread and that insurmountable terror that I'd made the wrong choice all those years ago in listening to my dad instead of my gut.
Sean Callahan is in prison because of me and because of that, Na Soilse is the last place I should ever step foot in.
"Come on," Lucy pleads through my speaker phone. "It's my birthday."
"Yeah, Rae Rae," Bennett mimics her tone, jutting out his bottom lip in a fake pout. "It'll be, like, so much fun. You have to come watch sweaty guys beat each other up!"
"I'm gonna pretend you weren't just making fun of me on my birthday," Lucy's harsh voice rings out and that only makes Bennett's Grinch-like smile widen.
"It's your birthday? Really? I hadn't noticed."
Lucy huffs and I can practically see her stomping her foot because she isn't getting her way. "Shut up, Benn."
"Uh, correct me if I'm wrong, Zero, but you sort of need me here. It would behoove you to play nice for once. And, I'm just gonna come out and say it, but it's really shitty of you to only invite your sister out just because you need me to get into some stupid club. You should've invited her a long time ago."
I blow out a deep breath and my eyes lift up to the ceiling. This is getting beyond ridiculous and it's time to end the charade.
"Hey, Luce?" I interject before either of them have a chance to continue their little game of snide one-upmanship. "Maybe Benn will be able to get you in, but I'm not coming. And don't even try to talk me out of it because you know exactly why I shouldn't be there and just so we're clear, neither should you. But do what you want. If you can get in, I hope you have fun and I hope you don't get yourself killed."
Bennett's eyes are glued to the ceiling by the time I finish my speech and he shakes his head at me in a familiar mixture of annoyance, frustration, and worry. Since I've been back in Boston these last three months, I feel like my interactions with Bennett have teetered somewhere between all three of those emotions, but I guess if I were him, I'd want me to deal with all my shit a little bit faster too.
But because I've never been good at things like feelings and talking about said feelings, I've chosen to wallow in self-pity and disappointment instead.
So, I hit the end button on my phone before anyone else can say anything. There. It's finally over. Bennett's mouth parts, but it snaps shut again when my phone rings on the counter. We glance down at the caller ID and Bennett's horrified face mirrors my own terror. This can't be a coincidence, especially since this particular caller rarely dials my number.
I swallow hard and finally swipe across my screen to answer. "Hey, Dad."
"Have you spoken to your sister tonight?"
I wince at his clipped tone, not to mention the fact that he didn't bother to even say hello, and it's all I can do to just keep myself from hanging up on him. Who am I kidding? I'd never do that. And that's half my problem right there.
"Um, yeah. Why?"
"Did she happen to mention anything about where she was going tonight?"
My lips part, but nothing comes out and that's exactly the kind of opening he's looking for.
"Because I was told she's currently on West Broadway. Do you know anything about that?"
Of course the only reason he's bothered to call me is to check up on Lucy. Why else would he take precious time out of his day to speak to me?
This would be the perfect opportunity to give Lucy a taste of her own medicine, but my sister is about to get herself into some trouble tonight in more ways than one and I'd rather attempt to save her from it than throw her even deeper into the snake pit. Bennett watches me carefully, taking stock of every tick and every single one of my movements, and he purses his lips together when I let it fly.
"Well, I think her and her friends were going to a new restaurant on Broadway. She told me they're all going downtown after that."
The lie rolls off my tongue a little too easily and guilt wraps its fingers around my throat. It's just a compulsion I've never been able to shake. I'm like that addict who knows she needs to get her ass into AA, but just can't put one foot in front of the other. Lying has just always come so naturally. I know it's bad for me and that it definitely won't end well, but I just can't stop.
"So Luciana isn't going to be on that side of town for the rest of the night?" my dad's voice sounds a little more relieved now. I might have managed to convince him without even having to try that hard.
"Nope," I reply a little too quickly, but I can't take it back now. "They're probably already headed to some club she wanted to go to in the theatre district."
There are a few beats of uncomfortable silence from the other end and I shift anxiously from side to side, my palms sweaty and my heart racing. Maybe this is exactly why I can't stop myself from lying—the high of almost getting caught. It's a rush I haven't felt in awhile and one I used to feel on a nightly basis back when the lies were for my own benefit and I actually got away with it from time to time.
I know exactly what he's thinking. The election. Always about the election. Always about appearances.
In six months, each district in Boston will vote on their city council reps as well as the mayor, and this time, my dad is more anxious about it than usual because this time, Brennan Callahan, the oldest son of Roark Callahan, is running for South Boston's rep in District 2. My dad will most likely have no issues getting re-elected to yet another term as mayor, but that's not the source of his anxiety. If Brennan Callahan wins, and he probably will, my dad can forget all his plans to expand North Boston into District 2 because he won't be able to push Brennan Callahan around the way he does the current city council rep and he knows it.
God, this sounds like I'm talking about The Hunger Games.
For as long as I can remember, my dad has told us that the Callahans are nothing more than Southie trash. "I can't let a Callahan get into office," I even overheard him saying a few weeks ago. "They have no business trying to govern our city." Before my attack seven years ago, it might've just been about differences of class, philosophy, and education. Now even my dad can't hide the personal reasons surrounding his blatant animosity.
His agitation over this upcoming election is so out of chara
cter it's not funny. The last thing he needs is to have one of his daughters, even if it's Lucy, seen anywhere near a Callahan establishment, especially given the way our two families are irrevocably connected. The press would eat the story up like the overindulgent children they are and my dad's standing in the election would suffer.
I know better than anyone what he'll do to avoid a potential scandal and as much as I should leave Lucy to her own devices, I just can't set her up to fail like this.
"Alright, Raena," my dad finally relents and blows out a deep breath. "Since Luciana isn't answering her phone, will you have her call me when she's back on our side of town?"
Of course, by our side, he means all the sides that aren't in Southie.
"I will. Promise."
"Good."
He ends the call because I've served my purpose and I stare down at my phone like it'll somehow magically display the answer to my lifelong question: what do I have to do to get you to actually love me?
The answer is cloaked in years of pent-up frustration, countless cries for attention, all of which blew up in my face, and finally, a heartbreak that just won't heal. Valentino Moretti is not a sentimental man, but the only time I've ever seen anything remotely like emotion flicker across his face is whenever my little sister is around.
"Rae," Bennett's voice calls out to me, pulling me out of that darkness. "Hey, Rae?"
My head shakes on its axis and I suck in a breath.
"You okay?"
My eyes flick up to Bennett's dark ones and the lines in his forehead crease deeper in palpable worry. He's seen this exact same exchange a million times and it never gets any easier for either of us.
"Yeah, Benn. I'm fine."
"I've said it before and I'll say it again: your dad is a dick."
A weak laugh pushes through my throat and that's about all I can muster. One short, practically one-sided conversation shouldn't have this kind of effect on me. But it does and I suddenly wish I had more than just one bottle of white wine waiting for me in my apartment. At the rate I'm going, I'm probably better off just checking myself into rehab.
"I mean, seriously," Bennett continues his crusade to cheer me up, but we both know he's failing. "Who gives someone like Zero a freaking store? He deserves to lose all the money he's put into this and then some."
For my college graduation, I got a check for $1,000. Generous? Sure. And I used half of that money on the security deposit for my first 'adult' apartment and put the rest in the bank.
My sister got a store.
"If he comes in here one more time and says you need to be helping her more, I'm gonna...I don't know what. I'm gonna do something."
"Thanks, Benn," I pat him on the shoulder just for good measure. "Appreciate it."
"That's what I'm here for, Clamato," he smiles and squeezes my hand. "And please know that I'm only saying this because I love you, but it's time for you to figure out how to move on."
My lips part to protest, but I don't have a chance to even get a word in because he swoops in with a truth I'm not ready to hear.
"It's been three months, Rae. Josh has moved on. You know he has. And he probably hasn't thought about you twice since you moved back home. It's time for you to get out of your cave and do things again. Happy things. Scary things. Whatever it is, I just want you to figure out how to be yourself again."
He says the word, again, like I ever had it figured out in the first place.
"Benn," I sigh. "It's not that easy."
"I know," he nods sympathetically. "But look at where you are. You're stuck here working for your sister, of all people, when you could be doing so much more. You just choose not to."
"What if I like working here?"
He cocks an eyebrow my way. "Okay, I'll accept that you like working here, but not that you like working here as her employee. You're so much better than this and you know it. I mean, you've basically been running this store for her since you moved back. Everyone and their mother knows it's been doing better and she still takes all the credit for it. Doesn't even compensate you the way she should. You have a degree in finance for shit's sake and are way overqualified. She should pay you what you're worth, but she doesn't and you want to know why?" He doesn't wait for me to respond. "Because you haven't asked for it. That's why."
Instead of addressing the elephant in the room, I choose to focus on the easiest hurdle.
"I'm sorry I haven't figured out what to do with my life," I tell him with a shrug. "But what am I really supposed to do? I just don't...I just don't know where I'm supposed to go from here. I just..."
Something is simmering right underneath the surface. It's so close I can taste it and I think if I were to reach out and finally hold it in my hands, it might be enough to crumble everything I know and every plan I've ever made for the course of my life. I just don't know if I'm brave enough. I just don't know if I'm strong enough to set out in this new direction, wherever it may lead.
"I just..." I stumble through it, fumbling toward something as elusive as it is terrifying. "I hated it. I've always hated it."
Now that I've finally said what I've always known, the insurmountable weight holding my lungs in a chokehold loosens and slips away. I can breathe now. Maybe I could get used to that feeling if it didn't bring a whole mess of daunting prospects with it. Namely, what my life will look like if I do go back to a place like Kirkland & McKenzie, where they pulled my soul out of my nostrils one day at a time.
And that's even without acknowledging the fact that my boyfriend dumped me right after I found out I'd lost my job three months ago.
Bennett stares at me like he's been expecting this. In fact, given the way his lips curl up in a soft, knowing smile, I think he's a little surprised I haven't said it sooner.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he laughs and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "They did you a favor. Just because you're good at math doesn't mean you have to make a career out of it. You're like Matt Damon in..." he snaps his fingers and looks to me for help. "Crap. What's the name of that movie?"
"Good Will Hunting," I offer dryly.
"Yes!" he claps his hands together. "That's the one!"
"Benn," I shake my head. "I wouldn't exactly call myself a mathematical genius. If I was, I'd be working for NASA or something awesome like that and I probably wouldn't hate my life as much as I do right now, so...there's that."
That sobers him up a little and he releases one long, weary sigh of compassion.
"The point is," Bennett leans forward on the counter to show me just how sincere he is, as if I didn't know already. "Matt Damon—God I love him—didn't want to spend his whole life being something he didn't want to be. If I remember right, he decided to go see about a girl instead, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that math isn't the only thing you're good at. It's okay to plan on not having a plan for once, but at some point, you have to start pulling one together."
That's a hard pill to swallow. Up until three months ago, every day of my adult life has ticked by like a well-oiled machine all thanks to lists, post-it notes, and planning. My teenage self, riddled with mistake after mistake and one wrong turn after another, is all the fuel I need to force myself into making better choices and to operate safely with as little risk-taking as possible. The problem is that my well-oiled machine is currently in the midst of a breakdown.
"And you know what?" Bennett soldiers on. "You can do anything you want and it's okay to take the time to figure that out. But it's not okay to waste yourself in the process. It's not okay to be so miserable all the time. It's not okay to let your dad and your sister take advantage of you. It's not okay to just go through the motions. You need to live, Rae. You need to take some risks. You need some adventure."
It's like I'm stranded on the side of a road, without a phone, without a spare, without any gas and I've got no way to get where I'm supposed to be. Or, even worse, I'm floating down a river towards a bluff without a paddle or a l
ifejacket. Bennett's pushed me right up to the precipice and it feels like I just might jump. Something is coming and I don't know whether to shake with fear, cry in anticipation, bounce with adrenaline, or something in between.
"Adventure, huh?" Now it's my turn to cock an eyebrow at him. "Going to Na Soilse is the adventure you have in mind?"
His lips part sheepishly and he shrugs. "I'm just trying to get you out of this funk. Look, we don't have to go to Na Soilse. You're right—it's not a good idea for you to be there. We'll make a pit stop, I'll talk to my cousin and see if I can get Zero in tonight because I feel like being nice for once—"
"It is her birthday," I remind him playfully, but I still don't like the turn this conversation has taken.
"That's right!" he claps a hand to his forehead. "How did I miss that little detail? Anyway, you'll get to make your sister happy, you can make sure she calls your dad, and then we'll hit up some place closer to home."
My face scrunches up indecisively. He's almost got me and he knows it. I just don't know if I'm ready for it. Suddenly, Bennett clicks through some screens on my iPad and opens my well-used list-making app. I never should've admitted that I actually downloaded an app specifically for lists. His dark eyes scan my most recent one and his eyes flash to me.
"Oh wow," he shakes his head. "This is...I knew your existence was bleak right now, but I had no idea you were this far gone."
I reach for my iPad, but he palms a hand on my forehead to keep me at bay.
"Stuff I Need To Buy At Target," he reads the title a little too gleefully for my liking. "1) Karina Halle's new book 2) Litter 3) Tampons 4) Mascara 5) Toilet bowl cleaner...Jesus, Clamato, this reads like a must-have shopping list in The Sad Cat Lady's Digest or something."
"Shut up," I snap, once again trying and failing to get my iPad back.
"Alright," he taps his chin in thought. "Sometimes your compulsive list-making, type A stuff makes me a little stabby, but I think this is one of those situations that calls for a newer, better list."
He doesn't waste any time and clicks open a new list before I can stop him. I look over his shoulder warily as he titles our new list, "Reasons Why Clamato Can't Go Out Tonight."