Paul shakes his head. “I think Sarah would be more comfortable if—”
“Nonsense,” she cries. “They’ll be grand, they have lots in common. They’re both in New York, they’re young, they’re single…” She trails off, the innocent look on her face fooling no one.
I realize what’s happening at the same time Declan does. I know this because he starts to laugh, a slightly hysterical sound that he immediately tries and fails to contain. Paul looks like he has a headache.
“I’m sorry,” Declan says, trying to turn it into a cough. “I’m just tired from the flight.”
Mary glares at him but before she can say anything more a bell rings for dinner and the rest of the guests start toward the restaurant. Mary grabs Declan’s arm without another word and tows him out of the room with Paul hot on their heels. Annie tries to follow but I snatch her hand, holding her to me.
“Annie?”
“Do you like your room?”
“My room is great. Is your future mother-in-law trying to set me up?”
“Of course not.”
“Annie!”
She gives up instantly. “Paul did mention she likes playing matchmaker. She’s not serious,” she adds at the look on my face. “At least I don’t think she is. And it’s not like Declan knew it was happening either.”
“That’s not the point!” My voice drops to a whisper as we enter the restaurant. It’s booked out for the party and beautifully decorated, but I barely notice it as I look across the room to where Declan sits, knocking back a glass of whiskey.
I can’t believe this is happening.
“You guys were supposed to be at my table,” Annie says, spotting him. She grows visibly worried and I try to push him to the back of my mind, refocusing on her.
“It will be fine,” I say. Annie. I am here for Annie. My own drama can wait. “We can cover more ground this way. I can talk you up to the wider family. Just… maybe ask Paul to say something to his mom? I don’t want her pushing this.”
“Of course,” Annie says, though she still looks a little nervous. Paul gestures her over to a table at the front. “I guess I’ll see you after dinner.”
“Tap your nose twice if you need me to come rescue you.”
She gives me a hopeful look. “At least you guys will have something to talk about.”
I force a smile. “Uh-huh.”
She squeezes my arm as she leaves and I try not to grab her hand again. Declan watches me from across the room as if he knows all I want to do is race after her. Which, okay I do want to do, but I’m not going to kick up a fuss on the first night.
As if reading my thoughts, Declan raises his drink in a mock salute and I force myself to move before I can change my mind, winding around the heavy wooden tables, straight toward him. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as I approach, cradling his now empty glass as he sits back in his chair, the picture of relaxation.
“Mam thinks you have excellent posture,” is all he says when I reach his side. “And you’re an architect. That’s up there with medicine or law in her books.”
I drag my chair out from under the table. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“One of us has to.” But his tone grows unsure. “You can’t think I planned it.”
“Of course not.”
There’s no way. He looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. And who could have predicted this? The biggest coincidence we should share is having the same birthday or bumping into each other on the subway. Not being in the same wedding party. Not having his mom trying to set us up. I fight down a sudden wave of embarrassment at Mary’s romantic plan. Though I feel a little better remembering he looked as ambushed as I felt. Maybe we can work together on this. It’s not like we have to turn it into a thing.
“Look,” I begin quietly. “Obviously, neither of us knew this was going to happen. If I’d known you were Paul’s brother, I would never have—”
“Slept with me?”
I rear back, checking to see if anyone was in earshot. “Could you keep your voice down?”
“I’m sorry we didn’t get into our family histories,” he says as I snap my napkin onto my lap. “But from what I recall you weren’t too interested in talking the last time we met.”
A woman squeezes past our chairs, tempering my response. “I would appreciate it if you could be cool about this,” I say once she’s gone. “At least for the dinner. I need to make a good impression for Annie’s sake.”
He laughs at that. “What do you think I’m going to do?”
“I mean it. Please, Declan.”
His eyes shoot to mine, one finger tracing the rim of the glass.
“What?” I ask, exasperated when he doesn’t respond.
“Nothing. I just like the way you say my name.”
“Your name?”
“I kind of wish I got you to say it the other night now.”
“Oh my God.”
“Now you did say that. Several times if I remember correctly.”
I give him my darkest look and he raises his hands, palms facing me. “No need to stab me with the butter knife. I’ll be on my best behavior.”
I’m beginning to suspect we have very different interpretations of what that means but other than pleading a headache and making an escape, I don’t really have a choice.
I watch silently as a waiter approaches with not one but two more glasses of whiskey. At first, I think Declan had ordered one for me but that idea soon flies out the window as he immediately draws the two glasses close to his plate.
“Are you planning on getting drunk tonight?”
“Planning?”
“Let me rephrase,” I say flatly. “Are you drunk?”
He pinches his thumb and forefinger together in response.
“Perfect,” I mutter.
He shrugs, taking a healthy sip from one of the glasses. “It’s a wedding.”
It’s a disaster. The potential to be one anyway.
I shift uneasily in my chair, watching the other tables fill up with guests. There’s a reason one-night stands are one-night stands. You’re not supposed to see each other again and, beyond a bit of small talk in the morning or the occasional booty call after, it’s worked pretty well for me. No messy emotions. No tangled threads.
This? This right here? A thread. A whole big yarn of it. And the last thing I need him to do is get himself drunk and broadcast what happened to all his friends and family. The family Annie wants so desperately to impress.
I take a long gulp from the water glass in front of me, only to choke on it as an elderly woman with heavy gold earrings sits to my right.
“Hello.” I smile. “I’m Sarah. Annie’s maid of honor.”
She gives me a brief nod and pushes the restaurant cutlery to one side, replacing it with a set from her purse.
Okay.
“I just flew in this morning,” I try, doing my best not to stare as she does the same with her water glass.
“Speak up,” Declan says in a low voice beside me.
“What?”
“My great aunt Eileen. She’s pretty deaf.”
I glance at him in surprise, but his attention is on the bread basket before us. I watch as he chooses two slices and adds one to my plate.
“I’m Sarah,” I repeat in a loud voice. “Annie’s maid of honor.”
The woman gives me a startled look. “Yes, I heard you the first time,” she says in normal tones before moving one chair away, sliding her knife and fork over with her. Declan gives a barely concealed snort beside me.
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny. Oh relax,” he adds when I glare at him. “Aunt Eileen hates everyone. And from the look of Mam’s rejigged seating arrangement, there’s no one at this table you need to impress. Trust me.”
I don’t trust him at all.
I turn to the waitress as she reaches over to pour me a glass of wine. “You can leave the bottle. Thank
you.”
Declan watches as I help myself to a generous amount. “That bad, huh?”
“I’m just catching up with you.”
“Well, you’re going to need a lot more than that,” he says, suddenly cheerful. “Uncle Trevor!”
A chinless man in an expensive-looking suit frowns at Declan as he takes a seat across from us.
“Which one are you?” he asks.
“Gerry’s youngest.”
“I thought you were in New York.”
“I’m visiting. My brother’s getting married, I don’t know if you heard.”
He grunts in response. “You got yourself a proper job yet?”
“I’ve got several,” Declan says ignoring my pointed look. It’s like he’s trying to rile the man up on purpose.
“You can’t rely on Harry’s charity for the rest of your life,” he warns. “You need security. You need to be able to provide for when you have a family. For when you have children.”
“Only when they can prove I’m the father.”
“Do you even have a pension?” he asks, his expression souring.
“I don’t need a pension,” Declan says. “Sure, climate change will kill us all in a few years anyway.”
Trevor’s face turns a deep shade of red. “You’re not spouting that conspiracy rubbish again, are you?”
My mouth drops open in surprise as Declan hands me my wineglass with a pleasant smile.
“Drink up,” he whispers before turning back to Trevor. “Have you met Sarah yet? Annie’s maid of honor.”
5
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say we were at the reject table.
There’s Uncle Trevor, who lectures both Declan and me about the dangers of liberal New York; Great Aunt Eileen, who doesn’t acknowledge me for the rest of the evening; two teenage boys, who don’t look up from their phones; and their parents, who must have argued on the drive over, as they spend the entire first course swapping pointed comments with each other that make no sense to the rest of us.
It’s not how I imagined my first night to go.
By the end of the main course, I’m exhausted trying to keep the peace and am relieved at the natural break that occurs before the dessert is brought out. At some unspoken cue, the guests begin to move, stretching their legs as they visit other tables to talk to family and friends. Thankfully our table is no different and soon there’s no one left but Declan and me.
It’s the perfect time to escape, except for the fact I have nowhere to escape to. Without Annie or Paul beside me to make the introductions, the promised Irish welcome isn’t exactly enveloping me. No one approaches us. Or rather, no one approaches Declan. Besides the odd clap on the shoulder or polite hello when they move past, no one stays to chat.
Declan doesn’t appear to notice how ostracized we are. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
I watch him from the corner of my eye as he methodically pulls apart a flower arrangement in the center of the table. I’d heard Paul mention his brother once or twice over the years, but always in passing. I got the impression they weren’t close. I certainly can’t see any resemblance. Both handsome, sure, but in completely different ways. Paul, with his sandy hair and golden skin, looks more like he belongs on a California beach than the Irish countryside. Declan meanwhile looks like he just got off the plane. His slacks are creased but his shirt looks freshly ironed if not slightly too big for him, as if he borrowed it from someone else. His dark hair is just as unruly as it was back in New York and his eyes are a little bloodshot. But whether that’s from the flight or the alcohol I can’t tell. What I can tell is that he looks exhausted. And more than a little unhappy about having to sit next to me all night.
“It’s impolite to stare.”
I start, embarrassment making my tone sharper. “You can leave if you want to,” I say. “You don’t have to babysit me.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“I have no idea what you’re doing. All I know is I was looking forward to eating dinner with my best friend and instead I’m stuck here listening to Uncle Trevor trying to convince me the KGB is listening to me through my phone.”
“Not a big fan of the Murphy family then?”
“Not when I’m stuck with the black sheep.” I say it without thinking, immediately regretting it when he stiffens.
“The black sheep?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You met Aunt Eileen, didn’t you?”
“You’re obviously uncomfortable being here,” I say, flustered. “And I’m not that much of a narcissist to think it’s just because of me. You’re surrounded by family and yet…” I gesture around us, at the invisible force that cuts off our table from the rest of the party.
“So I’m the black sheep.” His gaze turns mocking when I don’t answer. “It’s like you can see right through me.”
“Maybe because you’re not that deep.” I turn back to the table, folding my arms over my chest. “You can leave,” I repeat. “If you’re uncomfortable being here. You don’t need to stay on my account.”
He mutters something under his breath, focused back on the flowers.
“Did you say something?”
He sighs, crumpling a leaf into little pieces. “I said you’re a middle child.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Feelings of exclusion, lack of attention—”
“Are you analyzing me?”
“You’re not that deep,” he mimics.
I bite back my retort. “I’m an only child,” I say stiffly.
“Even worse.”
“Oh, excuse you, like you know anything about me.”
“I can take a guess.” He abandons the flowers, dusting his hands free of the petals. “You have, after all, so confidently diagnosed me.” He turns to me then, a spark in his eyes I don’t like. “You’re from where? Pennsylvania?”
“How did you know that?”
“Annie mentioned. But she didn’t mention where exactly, so I’m going to guess it’s a small town. Is that right?”
“I don’t—”
“You met Annie in college, so you left when you were eighteen. And I know you two lived together before she met Paul, so you never moved home.” He tilts his head, frowning as I gape at him. “You’re an architect, so you’ve got a decent job. You’ve got a nice apartment too. And a roommate who didn’t look too surprised to see a stranger in the morning. But the speed and skill with which you threw me out—”
“I didn’t throw you out.”
“Shut the door in my face then,” he continues pleasantly. “Suggests it’s not the first time you’ve done it. And it’s how you like it.”
“Are you trying to mansplain my feelings to me?”
“I wouldn’t take it personally,” he says calmly. “I do it to everyone. Men included.”
I fight the urge to look away as he holds my gaze, his expression suddenly clearing. “A bad breakup.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s your thing.”
“My thing?”
“Someone broke your heart back home. You ran away to New York and told yourself you’d be independent forever.”
“My heart’s just fine.”
“Your parents then,” he pushes and I flinch in surprise. He latches onto it, triumphant.
“Only child, small town,” he continues. “Tale as old as time. You have overbearing parents who can’t cope with you gone. Every Christmas they ask when you’re coming home. Sarah, they say, why don’t you find a nice man to settle down with it? Why don’t you give us a grandchild? It drives you nuts and that’s why you—”
“My parents don’t speak to each other,” I say, cutting him off mid-stride. “They divorced years ago.”
Declan stares at me in surprise. I have the feeling I’m looking at him the same way. I can’t believe I told him that. I mean, I can believe it. The wine has loosened my tongue and he’s annoying me and I…
I finish my glass as things grow even more awkward between us.
Declan presses a loose petal between his fingers. “Do you seriously believe you get points for that?”
“What?”
“No way. You think you can beat me?”
“Beat you?”
“You think because your parents divorced you somehow beat a cousin who’s spent the last twenty years trying to start a nudist movement on the west coast of Ireland, a great aunt who collects toothbrushes—”
“Toothbrushes?”
“I’m just saying, if you want to corner the market on family drama, you’re going to have to give me a lot more than that.”
“I… You want more?”
He shrugs. “Usually Americans are much better at this game. There are a lot of cults in your country.”
I watch him, unsure. But he no longer looks like he’s trying to cut me down. If anything, he looks like he wants to cheer me up.
“If you impress me,” he adds. “I’ll introduce you to the cousin.”
I almost laugh then. Almost.
“Alright,” I say. “How’s this? They divorced because my mom had an affair with my soccer coach.”
Declan’s eyes widen and I raise my empty glass.
“That’s my thing.”
“It’s a great thing,” he says, sounding impressed. “Very traumatic.”
“I like to think so.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
He lets out a low whistle.
“A very uncomplicated, unemotional age.” I hesitate. “I was a mess.”
“But look at you now,” he says as I reach for a fresh bottle.
I shoot him a glare but it’s half-hearted.
“That sucks,” he says, more gently. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well… It was a long time ago. She’s married to a man called Phil now. He works in insurance.”
“Let me guess,” Declan says. “At your wedding, I get to sit with them.”
“Oh no, you’ll be with Uncle Alan. He’ll spend three hours trying to get you to join his pyramid scheme.”
He smiles then and my stomach dips at the sight of it. It’s the first real one I’ve seen from him all night and I wonder if we’ve reached a kind of truce. If we can finally stop this back and forth and agree that the whole situation isn’t ideal for either of us.
One Night Only: An absolutely hilarious and uplifting romantic comedy Page 4