A Mobster's Toast to St. Patrick's Day

by Beth Mathison

  “Yeah, well we know about that,” Harry said. “Remember the food fight at the Fourth of July picnic? That was intense. I was washing egg salad out of my hair for days.”

  Uncle Tommy nodded at Duncan. “Guinness, please.”

  “So, Uncle Tommy, what brings you here?” Harry asked. “Are we in trouble? Has something happened? Did we forget to be somewhere?” He paused, then spoke quietly. “Really, are we in trouble?”

  “Guinness brings me here,” Uncle Tommy said, sipping from his glass.

  “Guinness? That’s it?” Harry said, incredulous. “You just came in for a drink?”

  “Having a hard day, too, Uncle Tommy?” Jeremy asked, swaying on his bar stool. “I’d advise you not to drink too many of those unless you’ve had a really good breakfast. We’ve discovered that one breakfast cupcake really doesn’t do the trick.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Charlie said. “You’re here on a social call?”

  “Actually, I’m here for Guinness, and to speak with Jeremy,” Uncle Tommy said.

  Jeremy turned a shade greener. “What?”

  “Carla sent me,” Uncle Tommy said.

  “Carla? You mean like my girlfriend Carla?”

  “Is this the icer?” Liam asked.

  Charlie nodded vigorously.

  “Of course I’m talking about your Carla,” Uncle Tommy said. “She recently came into a piece of information, and is unsure how to proceed with this information.”

  “Is this about our fight this morning?” Jeremy asked. “She got a phone call early this morning, and was edgy afterwards. I tried talking to her about it, but all she would say was that she was nervous about the cream cheese frosting. We never had a big fight before. When I was boxing up some specialty green-tinted cupcakes she grabbed her coat and ran out the back door of the bakery. I thought she had left me. Maybe found a new boyfriend. Or a new job. Or something. Everything was fine before that phone call. We even dressed up for St. Patrick’s Day, hoping to get the customers excited about the holiday.”

  Uncle Tommy sat quietly in his seat, listening patiently.

  Jeremy’s brow furrowed with concentration. “Hey, why would Carla call you?” Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “YOU! You’re the one she’s seeing. She’s leaving me for you! You’re here to tell me she’s seeing you.”

  Jeremy launched himself off his bar stool, tackling Uncle Tommy mid-section. They landed with a solid thunk on the floor, both staring up at the ceiling. Jeremy’s hat skittered across the tile.

  “Holy moly!” Harry yelled. “Jeremy’s beating up Uncle Tommy!”

  “Hmm,” Uncle Tommy said, sitting up. He brushed the dust off his suit coat. “I think beating up is an exaggeration.” Uncle Tommy’s suit was perfect, not a hair out of place.

  “See, this is what happens when you bring family business to my bar,” Duncan said. “I’m going to have to post a sign or something.”

  Uncle Tommy grabbed Jeremy under the armpits and hauled him to his feet. Jeremy’s clothes were rumpled, the tangle of green beads askew. “You’re distraught, Jeremy. Calm down. I’m not seeing Carla,” Uncle Tommy said. “You’re the only one Carla’s seeing. She loves you.”

  “Really?” Jeremy asked, hoisting himself onto a stool with Tommy’s help.

  “She’s crazy about you. It’s obvious.”

  “Then why did she call you?”

  “It’s a delicate situation,” Uncle Tommy said. “As you know, I’m good with delicate situations.”

  “She doesn’t want to be an icer any more,” Harry guessed. “Or she wants to move away. Maybe family guilt has sucked her back to Miami. Or maybe she’s secretly allergic to flour and she’s been hiding it all this time. Or…wait! Maybe she’s pregnant!”

  “Would you like to talk in private?” Uncle Tommy asked Jeremy. “Away from these distractions?”

  “No,” Jeremy said. “We’re all strong Irish men today. Let’s hear it.”

  “Carla’s family has been sabotaging your cupcake business by undercutting bakery prices around the city. They wanted your business to fail so that Carla would forget about her dreams and return to Miami.”

  Everyone was still in their seats, the only sound coming from the soft ticking of the Anheuser Busch clock above the bar.

  Jeremy blinked. “What?”

  “Wow,” Liam said. “I thought our family was messed up.”

  “I…what?” Jeremy asked again.

  Harry turned to Liam. “Carla’s from a…neighboring family in Miami. They weren’t too happy about her leaving, trying to start her own career. She was following her dream of being a cupcake icer. Apparently her family has reverted to their sneaky ways, trying to get her back by sabotaging Jeremy’s cupcake business.”

  “Carla’s Uncle Ian called her this morning in a fit of remorse, telling her what they’ve been doing. He’s got Irish blood in him, and said that the spirit of St. Patrick wanted him to confess.”

  “Way to go, St. Patrick,” Liam exclaimed.

  “So, she’s not leaving me,” Jeremy said. “And my business is going to pick up.”

  “If you want to stay in the cupcake business, it will,” Uncle Tommy said. “As much as it pains me to say, you’re an excellent baker, and she’s an outstanding icer.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me this?” Jeremy asked.

  “I can tell you why,” Duncan said. “She’s sick and tired of her family trying to pull her back in. She wants her own life. She was afraid to tell you because she thought you’d freak out.”

  “I’m not freaking out,” Jeremy said. His ears were bright red with increased blood pressure, his skin still a sallow green. He ran a finger through his hair, which was stuck in all directions after he had fallen to the floor. “Well, OK, maybe I’m freaking out a little bit.”

  “I’m going to tell a story now,” Liam stated, gesturing for another shot of whisky. “An Irish story.”

  “Oh, boy,” Duncan said. He filled a shot glass and slid it over to his cousin.

  “An Irish story, what’s that?” Harry asked.

  “It’s kind of like a parable, except funnier,” Liam said. “And it doesn’t always have a moral. And sometimes there’s inappropriate material in it.”

  “Basically the Irish like to talk,” Duncan explained.

  “Once upon a time, there was a fisherman,” Liam began.

  “Think this will be funnier than my leprechaun joke?” Harry whispered.

  “No doubt,” Charlie answered.

  “A fisherman named Seamus learned fishing from his father. His father’s father taught him before that. And so on.” He paused to drink his whisky. “One day, after a long hard day of fishing on the open sea, Seamus made the decision to stop being a fisherman and to open his own bed and breakfast.”

  “Well, so far, it’s kind of like a parable,” Harry said quietly to Charlie. “There are no sheep involved, but there’s fish.”

  “Seamus’ family was outraged,” Liam continued. “His father, known for his fierce temper, demanded that Seamus continue fishing. Anything else would insult the family name. They had a knock-down fight, and Seamus left their family home and moved to another city, where he built a wonderful bed and breakfast. Seamus knew that his father was heartbroken, but also knew he wanted to follow his dream about getting into the hospitality field.”

  Jeremy nodded slowly. “Amen, brother,” he said.

  “Those bed and breakfast places are fantastic,” Charlie said. “Except when you have to share a bathroom. You always have to ask for a room with its own bathroom.”

  “Seamus’ father, after many years of heartache, finally realized that Seamus was not going to return to the sea. His father’s heart softened, and he admitted that he missed his son terribly. He knew that he loved him, no matter what kind of business he was in.”

  “Yes!” Jeremy said, raising a fist to the air in triumph. Uncle Tommy nudged the pretzel bowl closer to him, urging him to eat.

  “S
eamus traveled back home to meet with his father, and all was forgiven,” Liam continued. “They lived happily ever after.”

  Harry pursed his lips. “Is there a funny part? Did I miss it?” Uncle Tommy hit him on the back of his head to get him to stop talking.

  “So, basically the box of dirt was an apology?” Charlie asked.

  “More like a peace offering,” Liam said.

  Duncan was quiet during Liam’s story, his arms crossed, leaning heavily against the back of the bar.

  After a long minute, Duncan pushed himself off the back of the bar and poured everyone a shot of whisky. After everyone had a glass in their hand, Duncan raised his in a toast.

  “To fisherman,” he said. “May the sea always give you what you’re looking for.”

  They all drank in unison.

  “I’m not sure what I’m going to do next, but I have to say I’m feeling a lot better about family business,” Duncan said. “Maybe I’ll reconsider putting up a sign.”

  The door chimed, and Carla walked in, a large white pastry box in her hands. Like Jeremy, she was dressed in full St. Patrick’s Day gear. Her eyes were red from crying. Taking a seat beside Jeremy, she put the box on the counter.

  “I bet that’s not dirt in that box,” Harry commented.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to Jeremy. “For running away. I’m sorry for calling Uncle Tommy instead of telling you myself. And I’m sorry for what my family did.”

  Jeremy’s color had returned to normal, and his eyes were bright with tears. “Of course I forgive you. And never apologize for family,” he said. “We’re all fumbling about the best we can. And I’m realizing that even if I’m a black sheep, my family still loves me.”

  Jeremy took Carla’s hand in both of his, kissing her fingertips lightly. “And we’re all family here,” he said. Carla smiled warmly and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I’ve brought make-up cupcakes,” she said, opening the box and handing out cupcakes frosted with green icing. She passed them out to everyone, Duncan providing small cocktail napkins.

  Duncan raised his cupcake in a toast. “To peat moss,” he said.

  “To Saint Patrick,” Liam said.

  “To icing,” Jeremy said, then turned to Carla. “And the icer.”

  “To new chances,” Carla said.

  “To a good Guinness on St. Patrick’s Day,” Uncle Tommy said.

  “To a good bed and breakfast,” Charlie said.

  The room fell silent as Harry looked to the ceiling for inspiration. Duncan cleared his throat.

  “So…” Harry said. “A leprechaun walks into a bar—”