by Ciara Smyth
“But?”
“But you didn’t love her enough. You let her go.” I was afraid to say the next thing, but I had to get it out of my head and into a real conversation between us. “Would you do that to me too?”
“Saoirse, you’re my daughter, I would never—”
“Well, there you go, then,” I interrupted. “You can love someone enough, just not her.” Though I wasn’t sure I believed him when he said that either.
“I had to do it,” he pleaded. “Both our lives would have been over if we’d kept her at home.”
I didn’t know if he meant me and him or him and Mum.
“That might be true. And I don’t know what I’d do if I were you. But she’s my mother. There isn’t anything I’d think was too much to give up.”
Shoulders stooped, he nodded, not looking at me but at the floor between his feet. Then he looked up at me again.
“Do you hate me for it?”
“I don’t hate you, Dad. I love you. But I’ve been angry with you.”
“And now?” he asked.
“Now I just wish we could be honest about what is going on and what might happen to me, but you won’t even discuss it. I have to live with knowing I might end up just like her and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
Dad looked up at the ceiling and shook his head.
“You’re right. I think if I don’t talk about these things, and I hope hard enough, that it won’t happen to you. Watching my wife deteriorate and then looking at my daughter and wondering if the same thing is going to happen to her. Saoirse, I can’t think about it.”
“Well, you have to, you bloody selfish arsehole,” I shouted, startling him. I tried to regain control of my temper. I could say what I had to say without screaming. “You’ve left me alone in this. Abandoned me to deal with it all on my own and maybe that’s even shittier than what you did to Mum. So you know what, if you want me to stop being angry with you, you could start by acting like someone’s feelings other than yours matter.”
For a minute I thought he would argue back. He seemed to cycle through a lot of emotions at once, all of them jumbled up on his face.
“I’m sorry. I’ll try and be better,” he said finally.
It wasn’t perfect and it didn’t fix anything. It would take me a lot longer to forgive him, and myself. But I knew that he still deserved to be happy even if he wasn’t the perfect, understanding movie dad I wanted him to be.
“Did the S-word just come out of Robert Clarke’s mouth? Someone get me a plaque so I can mark the date and time for posterity.”
“You have enough cheek for a spare arse, you know that?” Dad laughed. It felt good to break the tension a little. His laugh faded into silence and we looked at each other. This was new territory.
“What now?” Dad asked.
“I suppose now we move on, but differently.”
Dad hugged me and wouldn’t let me go. He rested his chin on my head.
“Your mum will always be family to me. I hope you know that much.”
I was grateful for that. I didn’t think our conversation had eased any of the conflict my father was feeling right now, but I was glad to see that he was conflicted. At least it meant he cared.
I was about to leave when he stopped me by speaking again.
“I’m glad you and Ruby got back together.” He smiled. “I was really worried about you when you two broke up.”
I frowned. “Why were you worried? I acted completely normal. Not like with Hannah. I wasn’t crying all around the place and not getting out of bed and all that stuff.”
“Exactly. It was freaky. I was afraid you were going to end up like me. Burying all your feelings. But I can see now that you’re not like that at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re able to talk about your feelings, even when it’s difficult. Even if the talking is sometimes shouting.” He smiled at me again. “How’d you grow up with so much emotional intelligence when you have a dad like me?”
“I guess I get that from my mum.”
37.
The ceremony was mercifully quick, due to the downpour of rain. Dad and Beth had insisted on having it outside. The heat wave through the summer had lured them into thinking they were safe from the changeable Irish weather. We retreated to the shelter of the marquee as quickly as possible. They looked happy, though, and I wanted to be happy for them. I was happy for them. Mostly.
When it was all over I found Ruby sitting with Izzy and Hannah. They were laughing when I threw myself into a chair beside them.
Ruby kissed my cheek. She looked incredible in a teal dress with a many-layered skirt, a (fake) ruby necklace, and a string of red beads wrapped around her hair like a headband, and I admit the lavender monstrosity actually looked pretty good on me too. I snapped a photo of the three of them together. How often in my life would my girlfriend and my ex-girlfriend be sitting at the same table? It was worth remembering.
“Where’s Oliver?” I asked.
Hannah answered, “I saw him shifting someone in a bush somewhere.”
“I was explaining Morris,” Ruby said, nodding in the direction of the bar, where he was sipping a glass of champagne.
“Yeah, explain to me why you invited a random old man?” Izzy asked.
“It does seem out of character,” Hannah added.
“What can I say, she’s made me soft.” I patted Ruby on the knee. “Besides, he’s fun. I thought he’d appreciate the opportunity to try and crack on with some of the older ladies at a wedding.” Personally I was rooting for him and Beth’s aunt to get it on.
“I think he already found one,” Ruby mused, and we all looked back at the bar. Barbara had sidled up to him and it looked like he was ordering her a drink.
“Not a bad match,” I conceded, taking a sip of Ruby’s drink. “I give it a couple of weeks before it implodes.”
Izzy frowned. “Aw, no, they’re so cute.”
“Saying old people are cute is infantilizing,” Hannah said.
We glanced back at Morris and Barb. He had his hand on her butt.
“I hope they use protection,” Hannah added seriously. “Chlamydia is on the rise in older populations.”
Izzy spluttered into her drink. “Good to know.”
By ten the rain had cleared, leaving a cool, crisp night, and the marquee was all twinkly lights and cheesy music. I started to fade, my energy depleted after a day of putting out fires. The dress issue, and Dad of course, but also searching for a lost flower girl, who I found napping in the hotel under a piano, and putting Beth’s aunt to bed around eight when she was too loaded to function. I even reluctantly took part in the Macarena with Ruby because she insisted we had never got to do number five on the montage: a synchronized dance. I had to make a mental note to find Oliver and destroy his phone because I was pretty certain he’d taken video evidence.
Everyone who was still able to stand upright was on the dance floor bopping along to George Michael. I glanced at Hannah when I recognized the opening notes; it still caused me a slight twinge in my chest, but I could bear it now. I thought she caught my eye, but it might have been a coincidence. She was on the dance floor with Izzy, performing an exuberant dance routine of their own design. It involved a lift and a knee slide and there was a force field of space around them that they didn’t seem to notice. I took a photo of them. It was bittersweet, much like this whole day. I was happy that we had found a way to be friends again, but I was sad that it couldn’t be exactly the same as before.
I found Ruby on her own, sitting cross-legged on a pillow watching the dancing, her dress hitched up around her thighs and what I thought might be a third dessert sitting in her lap. I held up my camera.
“Do not take a picture of this,” she said around a mouthful of cheesecake.
“You look really beautiful,” I said in a cajoling tone.
“Oh, all right then, you charmer.” She stuck a cream-cheese-covered tongue out at
me and I snapped.
I held my hand out to help her up.
“Let’s get out of here.”
I’d never stayed in a hotel before, so I felt pretty swish with my tiny shampoo and shoehorn. The room was significantly smaller than the bridal suite and the bed took up nearly the entire space, so when we walked in, it might as well have had a neon light over the headboard that said “people have sex here.” It groaned obscenely when I sat on it and I suddenly felt really awkward around Ruby.
Not suffering from the same problem, she sprawled across most of the bed, flipping through the channels already.
“Two Weeks Notice is on, have you seen that one yet?”
“I think I have actually. I don’t really remember it, though.”
“Probably for the best. Hugh Grant, Sandra Bullock both at their peak. Should have been amazing, but it’s one of the only Sandy movies I can’t bear to watch. That and Love Potion No. 9. Trust me, it does not hold up.” She grimaced and changed the channel.
I snuggled in close to her and laid my head on her shoulder.
“How do you feel?” Ruby asked, absently tickling my arm with her hand.
Real feelings.
“Confused.” It was the first word that came to mind. “I’m happy. Beth isn’t the worst and I like my dad . . . mostly, so I want him to be happy. Sort of.”
“But?”
“I think it makes me miss Mum even more. I can’t help feeling like it shouldn’t have ever had to be like this; this is all only happening because of what happened to her and that sucks.” It was futile to feel like that, but it was what it was.
“I think that’s OK.” Ruby kissed my forehead. “It would be strange if you were a hundred percent happy about it. The situation is too complicated for that.”
It would have to be OK. I couldn’t forgive my father for not making the kind of sacrifice I wanted him to. But I still loved him. He wasn’t weak or wrong. He simply wasn’t the kind of perfect hero you see in romantic films. There wasn’t a cure for the thing that broke our family, but I could try to find something good in the new one. Me, Dad, Mum, Beth, and . . .
“And now . . .” I hesitated. Ruby didn’t need to know the next part. She wouldn’t even be around to see it and it was so embarrassing. The thing was, if I wanted everything I said in my grand gesture to be true, I had to tell her. I had to be honest right up until the very last day. So I took a deep breath.
“Beth’s pregnant.”
“What?!”
I winced as she shrieked the word directly into my ear. But I was sort of glad she was shocked and I wasn’t the only one.
“Yeah. That lace bit at the back of her dress, Barb sewed it in where her buttons wouldn’t do up.”
“So she hasn’t taken a test, then? She might not be?”
“Barb said she was and I trust Barb. She’s eccentric, but I think she might also be a bit magic.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Ruby said seriously, and I loved her for knowing when I was making a grand gesture even when it looked really small from the outside. “That’s huge,” she added.
“If she keeps it.”
“Do you think she won’t?” Ruby toyed with her lip ring.
“No. I think she will.”
“And then you’ll have a sibling.”
“And everything will change. Again.”
“I love having Noah. I know it’s not the same, but you might end up liking it.”
I doubted that. I wondered if it would even feel like my proper sibling when it would be so much younger than me.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” I said, stretching to kiss her. I only meant to go for a quick smooch, but she parted her lips and soon we were kissing properly.
“I’m glad too,” she murmured into my neck when we broke apart for air. Her breath left tingling traces on my skin. I wasn’t tired anymore. I leaned my body into hers so we were pressed together side by side and I kissed gently around her collarbone, leaving a trail of light, sweet kisses up her neck. When I reached her mouth, it became urgent and hot and she tasted like strawberry cheesecake. Our limbs became more entwined, hopelessly knotted, her thigh a cushion in between my legs, and my body felt like it wasn’t totally in my control, it was taken over by some need to cling to hers, to explore it, however clumsily. When she exhaled a breathy moan into my ear, the skin all over my body tightened, leaving tiny goose bumps on my arms and legs.
But I pulled away from her anyway. I had to be sure.
“This is our last night,” I said, almost breathless. Ruby’s flight was tomorrow afternoon. Her family had come back to England yesterday and though I knew she wanted to see them, selfishly I wished she wasn’t leaving.
“I know,” she said.
“Are you sure you want to do this? If we don’t have sex it doesn’t mean this relationship is any less real or special. It won’t change anything.”
“I’m sure.” She smiled, a different kind of smile than usual, the kind that made feelings spring up in private places. “See, in the words of Heath Ledger, I love you baby.”
“Baby?” I teased.
She laughed and then shook her head.
“I love you,” she said seriously. “If you want to, I want to.”
“I love you,” I said, and I thought about how amazing it was that this moment would exist forever. Perfect and unchanged. A moment where I would always be madly in with love Ruby Quinn.
So if you’re wondering if we “did it,” if we had sex? We did. It was nothing like you see in the movies. And I was wrong; it did change things. Sometimes the best feelings in the world don’t last forever. They’re explosions in the body or the heart or both at once, and you know that you’ll never be the same as before, but it’s OK because you can always build something new in the wreckage.
38.
“Hi, sorry, can you tell me where the freshers’ fair is?” I stop a girl who is walking in the opposite direction. She has a bundle of flyers in her hands and about seven thousand pins stuck to her T-shirt.
“Back that way,” she says, pointing in the direction she came from. “Just through the double doors and then turn left, you won’t miss it.”
Through the doors a village of makeshift stands sag against one another, adorned with bowls of sweets, photographs of collegiate camaraderie, and colorful flyers with club details and Twitter handles.
I promised Dad I’d be a joiner, that I’d get the full university experience, but it’s week two and I haven’t really bonded with anyone yet. Although all the changes are sometimes a distraction, I’m still pretty sad about Ruby. I miss her, but that’s normal. Or so I told myself when I cried the whole first week, face-first into my pillow, and wailed about how I’d never love again.
It would have been so much easier to make friends if I’d been in halls, and it sometimes crosses my mind that it might have been a mistake to decline my place at Oxford. I just had to put myself out there and meet new people. Of course, Dad will always be a bit confused by how I could give up a place at the mighty Oxford to stay at home and take a course I’d only applied for because the career guidance teacher was bothering me about keeping my options open. But when I got the email about my Irish offers it stuck out; it just felt right. Now I wonder if some part of my subconscious knew better. Besides, UCD is only an hour from home. Most important, I get to see Mum every evening. It’s hard because she’s not always in a good place, but I like knowing Hannah will be there working through her gap year. Sometimes Dad and I go together.
I wander among the tables, but nothing really jumps out at me. Vegan society—sorry, can’t give up ice cream, I grew up on the beach, but like rock on with your plant-based selves. Quidditch Club gives me visions of being winded by some overenthusiastic boy who can’t control his broomstick. Trampolining and running are obviously out. I haven’t forgotten the last time I tried to run. Cardiac health is overrated. And is origami really a group activity?
My phone buzzes and
I pull it out and shuffle into a clear space to stay out of anyone’s way.
OLIVER QUINN: UNTAMABLE BEAST OF DESIRE
I know we shouldn’t really be hanging out on account of your lesser intellectual status but do you want to get a drink this evening after your visit?
SAOIRSE
Everyone knows Trinity students are pretentious knob ends. What’s it like being returned to the mother ship?
SAOIRSE
Also yes to a drink. I’ll see if Hannah wants to join us after work?
OLIVER QUINN: UNTAMABLE BEAST OF DESIRE
Sure. Can she bring her friend too? The cute one. Whatshername
SAOIRSE
Like you don’t remember her name. Were you too busy making googly eyes at her to catch it?
OLIVER QUINN: UNTAMABLE BEAST OF DESIRE
Whatever. Just make it happen, Clarke.
I gravitate to a colorful table decorated with black and red bunting, thinking how weird it is that I’m hanging out with Hannah and it’s not weird. OK, I mean, it’s a little weird, but it’s getting to a not-weird place and I kind of like it. We’ve even talked about going to visit Izzy in Cork some weekend. I put my hand in a bowl of lollipops, wondering if maybe you have to sign up to get free sweets, and my hand grabs another hand.
“Oh God, sorry,” I say.
“It’s OK.” A girl in a white T-shirt with full red-lipsticked lips and dark hair smiles back at me.
“Roller Derby?” a voice barks, and we both jump. Indeed, the sign behind the voice (which belongs to a girl dressed in shorts, ripped tights, and a tank top) says “Roller Derby: No Balls Required.”
“Er . . .” I look around me as if a portal will suddenly open up and I can escape through it. Roller Derby Girl has an intensely aggressive stare and I don’t think she’ll take Thanks but no thanks as an answer. “To be honest I don’t even know what it is.”
“Yeah, me either,” the girl in the red lipstick says, and I realize she has a Northern accent. Belfast, maybe?
Roller Derby Girl’s eyes light up in a way that makes me think of a witch realizing that some small children are eating her gingerbread house. I regret the lollipop.