“Back to the Chinese restaurant.”
“Look at you, lass, you’re a regular.”
“I suppose I am. How was the taxi today?”
“Same as it always is. Loads of small talk, little hassle, ya know.”
“So, do you usually pick up American women at the airport, let them live in your flat, and make them fish tacos for dinner?”
“All the time,” I reply, and flash her a wicked grin.
“I’m glad I’m getting my shot. I’ll be sure to move out tomorrow to make room for the next one.”
“You get a little more time. Seán has the taxi tomorrow.”
“Oh, thank heavens,” she jokes, and we have a good laugh at our silly banter.
The fish tacos come together beautifully and I plate them with finesse. I join her at the breakfast bar and dig in. She just stares at the plate.
“What is it, lass?”
“It’s so pretty. I don’t want to mess it up.”
“Bah,” I say, and take another big bite. Not bad.
“I’m so torn. How did you make fish tacos pretty?”
“Eat, lass,” I tell her. The tops of my ears are burning. I hope she doesn’t notice how I’m blushing.
But she doesn’t. Instead, she hops off the stool and rushes off to her room. I know what she’s doing. She’s done this a handful of times. She comes back with her camera and takes photos of her plate from multiple angles.
“It’s not art,” I tell her. I’m pretty sure I’ve used that line before.
“It is to me,” she replies, and sets her camera down.
“They’re getting cold.”
She takes a reluctant bite and once again, like she does any time I cook for her, practically melts on the spot. She eats an entire taco before saying anything and when she does, it’s only two words, “So good.”
“Nah, I’m sure it’s rubbish compared to the ones you have at home.”
“Take the compliment,” she says between bites.
“I’m not great at that.”
“I’ve noticed. You know, a girl could get used to this. Coming home from work, being fed pretty much the most delicious food in Ireland every night.”
The idea makes my heart beat faster, which is bananas since I’ve known her for about a month.
When we’re done, she stands up and grabs my plate and her own and goes to the sink to start cleaning up.
“You don’t have to do that, lass.”
“We’ve been over this. You cook, I clean.”
“Ah yes, one of several arrangements.”
“I guess so,” she says with a smile. “Are you going down to the pub tonight?”
“Why, you want to have a drink?”
“I just figured you’d have to go to work,” she says.
“I’ll probably go down there in a little bit to check on things.” The truth is, I used to go down there when she was preoccupied with work. Now that she’s free, I’m less inclined to leave.
“You don’t keep a schedule?”
“Dylan runs the place more than anybody. I help out when I’m needed.”
“Is he the manager?”
“For lack of a better word. He’s my cousin, ya know?”
“No, I didn’t know that. He’s a Murrough?”
“No, he’s from me mammy’s side. I have a million and half cousins.”
“So, he owns it with you?”
“No, I’m the only owner, but I gave him the gig.”
“Just like you did for your friend Liam and the band?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“You’re really kind, Eoghan, did you know that?”
“Sometimes, lass, not all the time.”
“It’s hard to picture you any other way,” she says as she scrubs the skillet. I’m still seated and watching every move she makes. Somehow, she makes the mundane electric. And let’s be honest, the way her ass wiggles as she uses elbow grease to clean the pan is quite the show. For the millionth time since she moved in, I’m feeling tight in my trousers. I must be a total eejit for thinking I could do this, yet the last thing on earth I’d ever want to do is stop.
“So, about that drink,” she says, but I don’t respond. My mobile is vibrating in my pocket and I know without a doubt that this is going to be bad news, because timing has never been on my side.
Julie
“So, about that drink?” I am so ready to cut loose. We hit a huge milestone today with getting the service up and running. Many didn’t think we’d meet our goal date, including Aiden, but people tend to underestimate me at CSS. There’s a reason I’m already a manager at age twenty-six. I know how to get shit done.
It didn’t hurt that by aggressively putting my nose to the grindstone, I was also able to avoid any type of personal interaction with Aiden. That’s right. I was able to keep it all professional. In fact, the only fun I’ve had since my first day of work has been the little pass-through moments I’ve had with Eoghan. Every ride he’s given me has been the best reprieve. I love just talking to him. Listening to his stories about Cork, in an accent I’ve recently come to adore, is the best part of my day.
And being near that hot bod of his? Well, that’s like the best eye candy a girl could ask for. Like the most delicious candy. The kind made of milk chocolate from the happiest Irish cows that roam the rolling green hills that I now call home. I still get super shy when he walks around the flat without a shirt on, but I’m getting much better at hiding it. Read: I don’t freak out and run away.
More than anything, I know I can count on him and that’s what’s given me the confidence and the space to work like I have been. He’s got my back.
So now that the work train is rolling down the tracks, I’m ready to really experience Ireland, and the only person who is more excited about that than me is Eoghan. I saw the way his eyes lit up and his mouth twitched into a smile when I told him I was done with all those late nights.
He hasn’t responded yet to my drink offer, so I look over my shoulder and see that he’s walking into his bedroom with his phone pressed to his ear. He shuts the door and my stomach clenches because I’ve got a bad feeling. Every now and again, he gets a call like this and he retreats into his room. His mood darkens when it’s over and I never understand why.
I finish cleaning up, grab my laptop, and take a seat on the couch. Eoghan’s voice is muffled through the door so I can’t make out what he’s saying, and I’m not sure I want to. Music will surely block it out, so I pop in some earbuds and turn on something mellow. Email proves to be only a brief distraction, because there isn’t much that needs my attention, so I open my photo editor and click through my Blarney photos. It’s the last time I shot anything meaningful. I spend extra time on the photos of me and Eoghan on top of the castle. I barely knew him then, yet we look completely natural and happy together.
What is going on with him?
Before I can dwell on it too long, Eoghan bursts from his bedroom and looks rattled.
I yank out my earbuds. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’ve, umm…I’ve got to go take care of something,” he says, and grabs his bike helmet and jacket before rushing down the stairs. In a flash, he’s gone.
“Wait,” I squeak and set my laptop aside, slip on some shoes, and try to follow him. When I open the door to the pub, I’m engulfed in a crowd of merrymakers. I weave my way through all the people, in hopes of catching Eoghan before he leaves, but by the time I get to the door, it’s clear that he’s gone.
Ruth comes up to me with a tray full of pints and asks what’s up.
“Did you see Eoghan leave?” I ask.
“Yeah, he came down, said something to Dylan, and then left in a rush. Is he all right?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “He left so quickly. Said he had to take care of something.”
She nods, and it’s clear she knows something I don’t. She has to know.
“What is it, Ruth?”
“Could be a family problem,” she replies, and then leaves me to go deliver drinks.
A family problem. Maybe it has to do with the cab. Although why would he be so rattled if it did? Nervous and worried for my friend, I decide to stay downstairs in the pub and wait for him to get back.
Ruth circles back around and finds me. “Want a drink?” she asks.
“No thanks,” I answer, I’m too unsettled for a pint. I hightail to the bar, where Dylan is slinging drinks with another fella I haven’t met yet but I see on occasion when passing through.
I wait for Dylan to see me, but the other guy approaches me.
“What can I get ya?” he asks, thinking I’m just another patron.
“Hi, I’m Julie. I live upstairs with Eoghan,” I tell him.
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard. I’m Bran.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say and we shake hands. “I’m waiting to talk to Dylan.”
“Might be waitin’ long,” he says, and goes back to work.
I keep my eye on Dylan and try to get his attention, but he doesn’t notice me. Both the bartenders are so busy, as is Ruth, that I wish I could lend a hand, but I know they’d probably prefer to train me first and they certainly don’t have time to do it now. Desperate to keep busy somehow, but not get in the way, I start walking around and picking up empties. The bartenders are still too busy to notice me, so I pick up a rag from behind the bar and wash off tables in between the moment a party leaves and the next one rushes to it. I also grab some more coasters from the bar and place them out on the tables.
The Stormy Crickets aren’t performing. Instead, it’s a group of men and women playing traditional Irish music with guitars, hand drums, what looks like an accordion, and a little flute-like instrument that goes straight down like the recorders we played in grade school. The crowd is loving it. I’m sure I would, too, if I wasn’t so worried about Eoghan.
Dylan finally picks up on my assistance and nods at me. I go to the bar, since I have his attention.
“Hey, do you know where Eoghan went?”
“Out,” he replies.
“Yes, I know, but do you know if he’s okay? He left so fast.”
He stares at me for a moment and then nods a bit. “Eoghan will be back in a while, don’t worry.”
Frustrated that I’m not getting any information out of Dylan, I let out a heavy sigh. Dylan is a man of few words, so I guess I’m not surprised and I know it’s not my business in the grand scheme of things, but I hate the look Eoghan had on his face when he left and I’m not going to be okay until I know he’s okay. After everything he’s done for me, it’s the least I can do.
I do what I can to keep busy until last call happens and the band starts to wrap things up, then I go into overdrive.
“Slow down, Julie,” Ruth says, catching me with an armful of pint glasses. She puts her empty tray between her arm and her side and takes a few from me. “Trust me, he’s okay. This happens.”
“What happens?” I ask, annoyed that no one will give me any helpful insight.
“Sometimes he has to go home and deal with his family. It’s not my place to say, but it’s on him to deal with it.”
“Cause he’s the oldest?” I ask.
She looks at me with an odd expression. Maybe she’s surprised that I know that fact about him, maybe she doesn’t know the answer herself. “Because he’s the only one who really can,” she says. I nod, trying to understand. “Listen, we’ve got this. You can head back up if you want.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather be useful if you’ll let me.”
“That’d be class. Let’s close this place.”
We go to work closing the pub and it takes a long time since there was such a big crowd tonight. Cleaning the bathrooms was not for the faint of heart, but I didn’t mind too much since it kept me distracted.
After everything is finished, Ruth hits the road first and then Bran. But not Dylan. He’s been going especially slow with his duties. He gives me a few tasks to help out with, like counting the cash from the register and cleaning off the chalkboard outside that has the band’s name on it. He’s stalling on purpose—I just don’t know if it’s for Eoghan’s benefit or for mine.
We don’t share more than a few words as we work. Finally, when there isn’t anything left to do, Dylan turns off most of the lights, leaving only a dim one on over the bar, then gets out two tumblers and fills each with a sample of scotch.
“One for the road,” he murmurs, and I nod. We drink the scotch in silence and then he grabs his jacket from the back. “I’ve got to go home,” he says. “I’m going to lock the doors, but don’t worry, he’s got keys to get in.”
“Okay,” I say, suddenly feeling a little terrified to be left alone in this old building. I’m so small and it’s so big. There are parts of it I still haven’t explored.
“Don’t worry,” he says again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I walk with him and watch as he unlocks the door to get out.
“Hey, Dylan.”
“Yeah?”
“What do I do if he doesn’t come back? Should I call you?”
“He’ll come back, don’t worry,” he says for the third time.
This time, all I can do is nod.
Dylan leaves me and locks up the doors from the outside. There’s nothing but silence. I fish my phone out of my pocket, hoping that maybe he’s texted. Nothing. I lean against the pub door and slide down to the floor.
Julie Rodriguez: Are you okay?
But no amount of staring at my phone works, so when I don’t hear back after a few minutes, I realize there’s no reason for me to wait in the pub anymore.
I’m almost to the staircase when the doors jostle and my breath catches. Is someone trying to get in? Adrenaline pumps through me and I go hide behind the bar, afraid that whoever’s on the other side will get in somehow. I hear the doors unlock properly, so I peek out over the bar. Eoghan comes in and locks up the doors behind him. He hasn’t seen me yet.
Knowing I’m going to startle the hell out of him no matter what I do, I decide to get it over with by coughing and walking around the bar.
Sure enough, he jumps in his skin and turns around. “Jaysus, Juliana. What are you doing down here?”
“I helped out, I was waiting—”
“Waiting? For me?”
“Yeah,” I murmur.
It’s silent between us for a second. We’re standing about twenty feet apart, staring at one another. Tears form in my eyes from the stress of the whole thing.
“Are you all right?” I squeak out.
“Yeah,” he answers quietly and then walks across the empty pub to where I’m standing near the stairwell. Because of the low light, I hadn’t seen it when he first walked in, but when he gets close to me I see that his eye is cut and swollen.
“Stop,” I say and grab his arm.
He immediately turns his face away from me.
“Stop,” I say again, this time in a whisper, and gently place my other hand on his chin and turn his head toward me so I can examine his face. His eyes meet mine for a moment before his gaze turns down. I tenderly touch the swollen area around his eye. “Eoghan, what happened?” I ask quietly.
He shakes his head and closes his eyes.
“Will you tell me?” I ask.
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s ugly, Juliana.”
“Your family?”
He nods so slightly, and then I can’t help what I do next. I throw my arms around his neck and pull him down, close to me. He hesitates for a second and then wraps his arms around my body. We melt into each other and I feel firsthand how truly strong he is. We hold each other for a long time in the dimly lit pub. I keep expecting him to let go, but he doesn’t. Not even a little bit. As each minute passes, he pulls me closer to him and then turns his face into my neck. All I want is for him to be okay. Seeing him hurt, hurts me.<
br />
Finally, I pull away and tell him, “Let’s go upstairs and get some ice on that.”
Eoghan
Out of my good eye, I watch Juliana put the kettle on and get out two teacups from the cupboard. An ice pack soothes my bad eye. She flutters around, like she tends to do, never quite taking her eyes off me. She’s worried about me, and if I didn’t feel like total shit right now, I’d relish in her care a little bit more.
I never wanted her to see me like this and I don’t even know how to begin explaining to her what happened.
How do I tell her that my own father did this to me and that I let him? Do I tell her that it would be feckin’ pathetic to fight back, because it’s cowardly to kick a man while he’s down and out?
“Chamomile?” she asks.
“Yeah, lass,” I reply and pull the ice pack back from my eye.
“It’s looking a little better.”
I grumble some not-nice words under my breath about my dad.
“What was that?”
“Nothin’, love,” I say, and press the ice back to my eye.
She startles at the term of affection and it makes me smile for the first time since I got the phone call. As the tea steeps, she twists her thumbs and bites on her lip. She wants to ask me questions, which I have no desire to answer, but I’m sitting here with a black eye and she’s probably scared out of her wits. I never want Juliana to be afraid.
“My dad and I got in a fight,” I tell her.
“Your dad?”
“Yeah, Padraig is his name. He’s a shite dad and a compulsive gambler.”
“Oh.” She takes a moment to digest that. “What happened?”
“It’s a long story, one that goes back years and years. He’s been gone for about a month, and that’s why I’ve been driving the taxi. It’s his.”
“Oh,” she says again and passes me a cup of tea. Bless her for not prying further.
“Listen, I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions, but just know that I’m all right.”
“He hit you,” she says in a whisper.
“It’s not a big deal.”
She shakes her head and looks at me with the most sympathetic eyes. It’s not how I want her to see me. “Did you hit him back?”
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