The cab driver pulls over to the curb in front of The Salty Nuts and Gabe pays him. While I’m unlocking the front door, Gabe says, “But you followed your heart. I think I did the opposite just to prove to my mother that I knew better than she did.”
Pushing open the door and walking into the dark pub, I tell him, “Then she can only blame herself if you inherited her stubborn streak.”
Flipping on the lights, Gabe says, “You’ve noticed her stubborn streak, have you?”
I laugh before saying, “Your mom is a tough nut, Gabe. She’s going to be okay. You have to believe that.”
“God, I hope so,” he says, suddenly looking like a lost little boy. “I need her to know that she was right about my job, Alexis, and so much more.” He stares at me, his eyes shining with what looks like love. I hope it is, and that I’m not just deluding myself again.
“She was right about you,” Gabe announces.
“What about?” I’m not sure I want to know.
“I don’t know how, but she knew we would be perfect for each other.” He steps closer and brushes my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I know the timing couldn’t be worse and my life is a total mess right now, but I’m also one hundred percent sure that we’re meant for each other.”
I want so badly to believe him, but Negative Me screams, He’s lying! This will never work. “Let’s get through this crisis and then we’ll see if she was right or not.”
He stares at me for a long moment before nodding. “I’m not going to push you. I just want you to know how much you mean to me.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, knowing it’s a lame response. But I can’t bring myself to come up with anything better while still keeping my heart safe.
Chapter Forty
Gabe
The next few days are a blur of highs and lows and utter exhaustion. It’s a barrage of phone calls from worried relatives back in Ireland and here in the US, early morning trips to the hospital, then to Ciara’s to babysit the wild bunch so she can see our mom. At the end of the day, it’s off to the pub to help Dad and Jen while my mom recovers. Luckily, the damage to her brain was what the doctors consider minor—she’s lost some mobility on her left side, but they think with a few months of out-patient physiotherapy, she should be back to normal.
While all this is going on, my new office sits untouched with boxes waiting for me to unpack them. At the moment, I couldn’t care less. I’ll get to it as soon as things calm down for my family. I walk into my mom’s hospital room at a little after eight in the morning. She’s trying to open a package of creamer with shaky hands. My heart squeezes as she struggles, but then she looks up and I smile brightly, pretending everything’s fine.
“Well, good mornin’, love. Be a lamb and open the cream for me. The coffee here is shite so it needs dressing up,” she says with a smile.
I walk over, kiss her on her temple, then help her out. “How are you today, Mom?”
“I’m about as ornery as a goat that’s been tied to the fence too long,” she says, picking up the spoon with her right hand and stirring the coffee.
“The therapist said you’re supposed to use your left—”
“I know what she said,” my mom snaps. “And she can sod off. I’ll not be doing any therapy until I’ve had my coffee.”
“Gotcha,” I say with a chuckle.
I take a seat and watch her while she has a sip. When she puts her cup down, she rolls her eyes at me. “I’m fine, boy! Stop looking at me like that.”
As hard as I try to be upbeat around my mom, it’s impossible to hide all of the worry that has consumed me this week. “Sorry. It’s just that we thought we were going to lose you.”
“But you didn’t, so let’s get back to the way it was before the incident.” That’s what she calls it. Not a stroke. Not an aneurysm. The incident. “This whole episode almost makes me wish things were back to when I had to beg you to grace us with your presence once every few months,” she tells me.
“Weeks, not months,” I answer. “Are you saying you’re sick of me already? I thought it would take much longer.”
“I’m not sick of you. I’m sick of this …” She gestures around the room. “The bloody machine beeping all hours of the night and the nurses waking me up with a shiny flashlight every hour. Not to mention, you and your sister looking like you’re about to burst into tears at any moment. I just want to get back to my life. Back to the pub and your dad and feeling normal again.”
“I know, Mom. But these people are going to make sure that you don’t do that until your body can handle it.”
She picks up a piece of toast and offers it to me. “Have you eaten yet?”
“I’ll eat later.”
“Have one, go on.”
“I’m not eating your breakfast,” I tell her.
“Take it! It’s too much for me anyway,” she says, shoving it at me.
“Fine,” I grumble. “But only because you just had a major brain surgery. Too bad they didn’t remove the part that makes you so pushy.”
Mom glares at me, then says, “Don’t get cheeky, mister. I still haven’t forgiven the lot of you for not having them remove my bunions while I was out. They’re the size of prize-winning pumpkins at the county fair.”
Shaking my head, I laugh, relieved she’s still the same old Mom.
“Now, tell me, how is the lovely Jen?”
“She’s fine. She’s doing her best to cover for you.” I take a bite of the buttery thin toast.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” my mom says, before having a sip of coffee. “I know you fancy her, and that she fancies you right back. So, what’s the hold up? Don’t tell me you’re being a stubborn arse about this just to spite me, because I swear to all that is holy, I’ll have another incident right here and die in my porridge if that’s what’s going on.”
“That might be a little dramatic,” I tell her. I pause and sigh, not wanting to admit what I’m about to tell her. “You were right about her and me. And us together.”
Mom’s eyes light up and her mouth drops.
“Just like you were right about Alexis … and the firm … and pretty much everything you’ve suggested my entire adult life.”
“Does that mean you’ll start wearing the fedora I bought you when you turned thirty?”
“Let’s not get carried away,” I tell her with a grin.
“But it suits you. You have a face for hats. You get that from my side of the family,” she says. “But, back to Lovely Jen, if you’ve finally seen the light, what’s the problem?”
“It’s a timing thing. She’s worried that because I just broke up with Alexis, and I’m starting a new business, that maybe I’m not in the right headspace for starting a new relationship.”
“Oh farts. Is it because you had the mental breakdown? You scared her off with that, didn’t you?” She shakes her head. “I never should’ve told her. That sort of thing is a big turnoff. Huge, really.”
“Okay, I’m changing the subject now,” I say. “How’s the oatmeal?”
“Mushy,” she pouts.
“I love you, Mom. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Stop that. Now you’re being mushy.”
“Can’t help it.”
“Well, try, for my sake.”
Chapter Forty-One
Jen
The good news about working such long hours is that I go to bed totally exhausted and sleep like the dead. I’ve been at the pub every day from noon until closing to help cover for Mary and to allow Joe a good amount of time at the hospital with his wife. It turns out Joe is something of a prepper and has left enough Guinness stew in the freezer to last us for months. Gabe comes in every night to man the deep fryer. I can’t help but think about a future with him when we’re working together. Things flow so easily and we have so much fun. It scares the heck out of me.
Rolling over in bed, I stretch my fi
ngers and toes, feeling all the aches and pains associated with my rigorous schedule. I open my eyes and realize I haven’t done yoga in weeks. That’s what’ll help—some good, old-fashioned stretching and connecting to the Universe.
After I use the bathroom and brush my teeth, I walk out to the living room and grab my yoga mat from the closet, trying to avoid looking at the horrible waste of paint and canvas that is my black masterpiece of despair. Unfortunately, it’s in my way so I’m going to have to move it, which may mean actually looking at it … unless I can drag it while closing my eyes.
Nope. Crumpets. I bang my toe on the leg of the couch. Well, that’s just great. Thanks, Universe.
I force one eye open, then prop it up against the opposite wall and unroll my mat, starting with some Sun Salutations. When I’m in Downward Dog, I accidentally glance between my knees at the painting. The sun streaming in through the window has lit it from behind. What I see causes my arms to buckle and I bang my head on the floor. “Ouch! Not cool, floor!”
I scramble to my feet, rubbing the top of my head and blinking to make sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me.
Holy. Crap.
I’m transfixed by a series of flowering vines that frame the outer edges of the painting’s main focus. In the center of the picture is an angel, with wings and all. She’s looking up to the sky with a look of pure joy on her face. My painting is magnificent. Truly, my first masterpiece. It’s also a beautiful metaphor for life.
Sometimes things appear to be dark and hopeless, but if you can just change how you look at them, you’ll see the joy is right there. Happiness spreads through me as I realize that I really am an artist. I made this beautiful thing without even knowing it. God may not have been texting with me, but He sure has delivered for me. There’s no way I could have created this picture without divine intervention.
This realization leads me to another epiphany. I have a good man who’s been waiting patiently for me to realize he’s the one for me. I now know that to be true in the very fiber of my being.
Like someone flipping on a light switch, I realize everything will be okay. Overcome by the need to see Gabe right this minute, I grab my purse, and I rush out of my apartment without even bothering to change out of my yoga clothes.
I know now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I love Gabriel Oliver Daly. Or Byrne as I will think of him from this day forward. All I need to do is tell him.
Chapter Forty-Two
Gabe
“Have you got the cards the kids made me?” my mom asks.
“You bet,” I tell her, as I zip up her overnight bag.
She finally gets to go home today after two full weeks of hospital food and not a small amount of fear. She looks smaller and older than she did before “the incident,” and every time I look at her, I’m struck by the fact that time moves far quicker than I ever realized. We really do have to make the most of every moment. Cliché, I know, but like most cliches, the sentiment is repeated so often because it’s true.
My dad is grinning from ear to ear as he comes in with a wheelchair for my mom. “Hop on, Mary, and I’ll give you a ride!”
“I’m not taking that thing. I’m walking out of here on my own two legs,” she says, wrinkling up her nose at the wheelchair like it’s a bucket of cow dung.
“Now, Mary, the doc said you can only go home if you promise to rest. If you’re gonna put up a fuss before we can even get you out the door, Byrne and I will just leave you here for another month.”
“Like you get to decide that!” Mom says. “They released me, they’re sure as heck not takin’ me back now.”
“But, Mom, what about your bunions?” I ask, hoping that’ll do the trick.
She pauses, then nods. “Fair point. I’ll take the ride.”
Ciara is waiting for us in the loading zone in her minivan. Once we’re all loaded up, she puts on The Corrs for my mom, and we laugh and celebrate the entire ride back to my parents’ place. An hour later, my sister and I leave them to a day of rest. Ciara drops me off at my office on her way home where I’m going to sneak in a couple hours of unpacking boxes before Jen and I open the pub.
“So?” Ciara asks. “Any news on the ‘Lovely Jen’ front, as dad calls her?”
Shaking my head, I say, “No. We haven’t talked about us since Mom’s incident. We’ve been too busy trying to keep everything going.”
“But you definitely make a good team, which I’d say is a pretty important part of any relationship that’s going to last.”
I nod, staring out the window as we turn the corner onto 47th Street and my office comes into view. “I’m afraid it’s up to her. She knows how I feel.”
“Well, if she decides you’re not the guy for her, don’t take it too hard, okay?” Ciara says, as she parks in front of my building. “You’re a great person and any woman would be lucky to have you.”
“Thanks, sis,” I tell her. “You’re not … all that awful yourself.”
“Ha, ha. Hilarious,” she says. “Now, get out. I can probably stretch out my alone time for another hour before Patrick gets suspicious. I intend to spend it at a coffee shop with a good book.”
I climb out of the van and thank her for the ride, then hurry toward the side of the building, stopping short when I see Jen sitting at the top of the steps in the shade. My heart skips a beat as it always does when I see her. “Hi, everything okay?”
She shrugs her shoulders and stands up. “I don’t know.”
I hurry up to her and stand on the step below her. “Can I help?”
“I had an awakening this morning, about us,” she tells me, her face deadly serious.
“And?” A mixture of fear and adrenaline pours into me.
“And, I realized that you’re the one for me. I just hope I’m not too late telling you that.”
“Too late? Never!” I take her cheeks in both hands and plant a big kiss on her lips, hoping she’ll get the idea. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she kisses me back in a way that says this is forever. I move my hands down to her waist and pull her to me, needing to get as close as I can to her. We stay like this for a long time, until a passerby calls up to us, “Get a room!”
Breaking apart, we both laugh, then I say, “You’re not too late.”
“I’m not?”
Shaking my head, I say, “You’re right on time. You appeared in my life exactly when I needed you.”
“I know what you mean,” she says with a grin.
“So, we’re really going to do this?”
“What?” she asks, looking worried. “I’m not doing anything here on the steps.”
“No, not that. Although, it would take all of two seconds for me to unlock the door to my office. But what I meant was, are we really going to take the first step of a life together?”
“Oh, that? Yeah, I think we’re doing that,” she says with a playful smile.
“We really should. I’d hate for my mom to ever think she wasn’t right about something. And she’s been sure about us from the get-go.”
Jen laughs and gives me another kiss. “I like you, Byrne, and I have a feeling we’re going to be madly, deliriously, can’t-get-enough-of-each-other happy.”
“I know we are.”
Epilogue
Jen
Byrne and I spend our days in a blissful state of loving, working, and creating. His new business is thriving, partially due to the fact that Mary talks about her brilliant son to anyone who will listen. Which, let’s face it, is everyone. Mary Daly is a character people just can’t get enough of.
I paint while Byrne is at his office, and I’m more prolific than I’ve ever been—an occurrence I attribute to my state of pure happiness. We both head to the pub on the busy nights of the week to help out and have fun with the locals and, of course, with Mary and Joe. For the first time in my life, I’m part of a family who loves me utterly and completely. And it feels wonderful.
Last month, I finally screwed up the courage to contact an art gallery that regularly shows up on Page Six of the New York Post. Crescent hosts exhibitions that bring in a glitzy array of art enthusiasts. Shonda, the owner of the gallery, really liked my work, but it wasn’t until she saw my “GOD” painting, the name I gave to my black masterpiece, that she offered me a showing of my own.
Tonight is opening night and I’m more excited than I’ve ever been about anything. Well, anything other than Byrne. Gabriel Oliver Daly and I are the real deal. And while I give all the credit to the real God for bringing us together, Audra has been very vocal that it was all her doing. Yes, Audra has forgiven me, and even though she has a new dog walker, I still get regular visitations with Ben.
After putting on my red dress, the one I wore to my first day at The Asher, the one I had originally bought to wear to my first art opening, I hurry over and knock on Zay’s door. He answers looking very spiffy in a pair of jeans and a leather jacket. “You ready?” he asks.
“I am. Byrne and his parents are going to meet us there. Have you heard from Seraphina and Shelby?”
“They’re going to meet us there, as well,” he announces. With a big smile on his face, my friend adds, “I knew you couldn’t resist a giant canvas if offered one.”
“You paid for my canvas?” I ask, astonished. “I never even considered it was you because at the time you wouldn’t even go out to buy your own groceries.”
“Wrong, I’d been buying my own groceries for two weeks when I went into the art store.”
“Really? I guess my head was so far up my own bum at the time that I didn’t realize. Thank you, Zay. Thank you so much for believing in me.”
“I’ve always believed in you, Jen. And I felt horrible about poo-pooing your relationship with God.”
The Text God: Text and You Shall Receive ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 2) Page 21