by Moni Boyce
Conor Byrne.
They’d had an instant connection when they met. It had been just one crazy night they spent right alongside Kaye and Harrison, experiencing things that were straight out of a movie. After the ball dropped and a new year dawned, they’d made plans to see each other the minute he returned from Ireland. He had to go back and deal with some visa issues and see his family and then he was due back… but he never came back, and Jordan never heard from him again.
She spent months trying to figure out what happened. Asked Harrison a million times if he knew anything or how to get in touch with him. They’d just been work colleagues. He didn’t have any more information than she did.
Jordan and Conor never had closure and lately now more than ever she found herself thinking of him.
Tonight, seeing all the couples that were deeply in love, made her realize she was hungry for that feeling that she’d felt with him. In all the years she’d been with Josh, she’d never felt what she felt in that one night with Conor.
An up-tempo song cut into her trip down memory lane. Josh let her go and took her hand. As she followed him back to their seats, while those that stayed on the dance floor started moving and shaking to the new beat, Jordan stared at the back of Josh and wondered how she let things get this far. She wasn’t in love with him.
A couple hours later, the raucous crowd followed Kaye and Harrison out to the limo that was waiting to whisk them away to their hotel, where they would spend the night, before boarding the morning flight that would take them on their honeymoon.
Jordan had her arm linked through Kaye’s. Being a new wife seemed to agree with her, she was brimming over with happiness.
“Can’t believe I’m Mrs. Pritchard now.” She grinned.
Her heels and the train of her wedding gown were clutched in her other hand. She dropped her voice to whisper. It was clear Kaye was tipsy.
Jordan leaned in to hear what her friend wanted to share.
“Just think, next year this will be you. You’ll be a Mrs. too—” The last part was slightly slurred.
“What?”
Maybe it was the noise from the crowd. Jordan wasn’t sure she’d heard Kaye clearly. “What did you say?”
“Harrison told me that Josh is planning to propose. Act surprised when he does.” Kaye gave her a none-too-subtle conspiratorial wink and slipped into the back seat of the limo.
More people rushed forward, crowding into the open door of the limo to say their goodbyes, blocking her access to Kaye. Jordan stood dumbstruck on the sidewalk. Fear and shock co-mingled on her face. Stunned and rooted to the spot, she was unable to keep the door from closing on Kaye once everyone finished with their well wishes. She wanted to jump in the backseat and ask her how she knew. Did he already have the ring? Where was he planning to pop the question? Would it be tonight? How much time did she have to stop it?
“Honey, she’ll be back from her honeymoon soon. They won’t be gone that long and then the two of you can go back to all the girl talk and lunches you always have.” Josh kissed the side of her head and waved at the departing limo. He mistook the expression on her face for her being upset over Kaye’s absence.
Jordan watched the limo disappear into the night, knowing that she would need to make some decisions very soon. After her revelation tonight, there was no way she could marry Josh.
2
Conor
A huge yawn escaped Conor’s mouth before he could stop it. He’d been yawning all morning thanks to his eejit brother.
“You look like shite, laddie.” Fergus looked at him all squinty eyed over the top of his beer. Like staring would help him discern why Conor had dark smudges under his eyes.
“I’m grand.” His mouth stretched into another yawn that he covered with his hand. He filled a pint and slid it across the bar to a patron.
Conor inherited Fergus and his cronies, when he took over the running of Byrne’s Pub eight years ago. The three old geezers became fixtures during his father’s run of the place. They were known as The Three Wise Men. It was a running joke because they were as old as Methuselah. Someone had been taking the piss when they coined the moniker, because wise they were not. They should have been named The Three Biddies for all the gossiping and crowing they did. Now they were pensioners, and spent their days seated at the bar, giving Conor hell.
The men couldn’t have looked more different from each other. Fergus was a barrel-chested man with a craggy face, which was often mottled red from drink and all his blustering. Desmond was a wisp of a man that looked like he would blow away in the wind. He had tufts of gray hair attached to his scalp that stuck out this way and that and a gray beard. Most often, he wore a cap to cover the bald patches. Niall was a rotund, bald man with a mustache. In the face, he resembled Oliver Hardy from the old comedy duo, Laurel and Hardy.
“Where’s that dosser brother of yours?” Niall, one of The Three Wise Men asked before swilling his third Smithwick’s for the day.
Conor did not wish to be reminded why he was in such a foul mood.
“Don’t know.” He wished they would stop asking him questions and just drink. Today he was in no mood to be asked about his brother or his whereabouts.
He glanced at the clock on the wall and then at his watch. Aye, that was the correct time.
Siobhan, one of the other bartenders, had agreed to come in and cover the bar for him so he could get home. She wasn’t running late; he was in a rush.
Desmond, the last member of The Three Wise men, must have seen him checking the time, because he hurled another question at him. “Got some place to go boyo? You been checking the clock like you were waiting on Jaysus to arrive.”
His buddies cackled into their beers.
“Feck off.” Conor gave the old man a wan smile and went about wiping up the bar and waiting on patrons.
No sooner had he said that then Desmond and Fergus whistled. The three of them stared at whoever it was that caught their attention, from the time they entered, until they were seated.
“When are you gonna finally marry the lass?” Fergus’s gaze was still locked on whoever had come in.
Conor’s head swung around to get a glimpse of the woman Fergus thought he should be making a bride.
He saw Aoife, his ex, of nearly two years sitting with some co-workers. She was trying to act like she didn’t see him looking in her direction. He snorted as he turned back to the men. “Mor ya. We haven’t been a couple in nearly two years.”
Conor went on tending bar, amused by the comment.
“The lass clearly still has a thing for you, lad. She’s been looking at you since she got here.” Fergus added the observation before tipping his glass back and emptying the contents.
Unable to help himself, Conor turned to look at Aoife again. This time their eyes met and held. She smiled and gave him a small wave before rejoining the conversation with her co-workers.
He only lingered a second longer. When he turned back to the men, he cleared his throat and refilled Fergus’s glass without needing to be asked.
The old men knew better at this point to let the subject lie.
Aoife was gorgeous, blonde and had a body made for sin. Aoife was also the kind of girl that was never satisfied with her life. She could have a slice of the cake right in front of her, but eventually she’d want the whole cake.
For a while, they kept screwing after she broke up with him. What was that the Americans called it, “friends with benefits?” She was a good ride.
The arrangement was fine for a while, but then he could feel her wanting more despite being the one that broke up with him. He would not get back on the hamster wheel with her. If they got back together, things would be fine for a while and then she’d be looking for ways to change things, and especially for ways to change him and mold him into some ideal wanker she had in her head.
Even though he finally ended it with her, she still came back to the pub every other week or so, like now, for lunch with h
er co-workers or happy hour. She even came there sometimes on dates, hoping to make him jealous. Conor wasn’t with anyone, but he’d moved on. There would never be a he and Aoife again.
Thankfully, one of her co-workers came over to the bar to buy the first round. By the time it would be her turn to buy a round, he planned to be long gone.
Thirty minutes passed with a steady stream of customers and no more questions from the Three Stooges.
Siobhan came rushing in with her golden red hair blowing out behind her. “Sorry. I got here as fast as I could.” She sat her helmet on the counter before ducking underneath.
Conor was already pulling his jumper over his head, ready to make his escape. “It’s fine. I appreciate you coming to fill in on your day off. I’ll make it up to you.”
“Naw. No need.” She tied an apron on.
He lifted the bar flap so he could get out instead of ducking underneath like she had done.
“Give Ronan our regards.” Niall called out.
On the way out Conor grabbed a packet of crisps to eat in the car on the way home.
During the short drive, he rubbed at his tired eyes and stuffed chips into his mouth. That’s what he got for skipping breakfast. He knew he should stop and get petrol so he wouldn’t have to do it tomorrow, but he just wanted to get home.
A short while later, he pulled up outside the Georgian townhouse that he shared with his dad and younger brother in St. Stephen’s Green. His parents had bought the property when he was still in secondary school, a year or so before his mam died.
He let himself in, and walked straight down the hall, to his father’s room. It used to be the study, but had been converted when his father suffered a stroke eight years ago. After being left paralyzed on his left side, he couldn’t manage the stairs very well.
The home care aide greeted him at the door to the room.
“He’s better. The seizure was a small one this time. He’s been sleeping since you brought him home from the hospital this morning.”
All Conor could do was nod. Words failed him. He was relieved his father was okay, but he was choking on anger now that he was home.
Where the bloody hell is Cash?
When the night nurse left last night, Cash was supposed to stay put and check on him from time to time. Instead he’d gone out, leaving their father alone. Just because the old man had been asleep didn’t mean he didn’t need looking after. He was going to batter his brother when he got here.
“Thank you for coming in and sitting with him. I’ll make sure the agency knows to bill us for the extra hours.”
He yawned again and rubbed his eyes while he escorted the nurse to the door. Once she was gone, he returned to his father’s room.
“Da, you’re awake.”
“I heard… you… come in.” The words were slowly mumbled from the right side of his mouth.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
His father shook his head and attempted to push himself up against the pillows. Conor rushed over and lifted him up, so he was seated with his back against the headboard.
Sometimes it hurt to look at his father and see how his ailing health had severely aged him. He’d once been a very handsome man.
While he opened the drapes to let some light in, he talked. “Fergus and the boys said hello.”
“Those… mup… muppets are still… coming in?” His father began laughing.
“Aye.” He chuckled as well. He was about to say something else, but his father was racked with a cough.
On the nightstand, they kept a jug filled with water. Conor hastily filled a glass and pressed it to his father’s lips. When his father reached up and held the glass on his own, he let go and stepped back.
His father guzzled down the water. Some of it dribbled out of the left side of his mouth, wetting his shirt and the blanket.
There were times when all Conor wanted to do was escape. He loved his father, but he never thought his life would turn out like this.
Before he could say or do anything else, the front door crashed open and then shut.
“Da.” His baby brother, Cashel, called their father. Why he did that, he didn’t know. He knew their father wasn’t just roaming around the house.
Cashel stepped into the room. “Da…” He paused before delivering whatever news he was bursting with. “Conor, you’re home.”
Figure that out all by yourself, did ya?
“Aye.” Conor held his anger in check. He did his best not to have a row with Cash in front of their father.
Without asking anything else or showing a thread of remorse for not doing the one thing he’d been asked to do, his brother launched into his news. Any other time, Conor might have listened with interest. Right now, he was seeing red.
“Patrick’s Da just got a fully restored Porsche Carrera S 2.7. It’s savage. He let us take it out.”
Conor had been half hoping that Cash had needed to leave his responsibility because a friend was in trouble or he needed to go help with something important. He should have known it would be just for the craic.
“Can I see you in the kitchen?” Conor said the words calmly, but inside he was a raging inferno. He clenched and unclenched his fists in an effort to keep his anger under control as he stalked into the kitchen ahead of his kid brother. While he waited, he paced the floor. His nostrils flared and he ground his teeth together in aggravation.
“Back in a sec, Da.” Cashel called out before stepping into the room. “I was in the middle of a really good story, you know.”
Conor grabbed his brother by his jacket and slammed him into the wall. He kicked the door shut with his foot so their father wouldn’t overhear the conversation.
“Friggin’ hell!” His brother hissed.
“I don’t get angry when you miss shifts at the pub.” Conor yanked him away from the wall and slammed him against it once more. “I never said a word when you dropped out of Uni. If you want to be a fuck up the rest of your life, that’s your business, but when I tell you to sit with Da for a night, I expect you to bloody well do it.”
Cashel tried to twist from his grasp. “Let go. Who died and made you gaffer?”
The words withered and died on his brother’s lips the moment he said it. Cash’s eyes opened wide in shock at his own words and his mouth opened and closed with the apology that Conor knew was stuck in his throat.
There was a seven-year age difference between the two of them, with Cash being younger. As Conor stared his brother in the eyes, he remembered a time when Cash was shorter and leaner. Now, they were of equal height and build. Where he had brown hair and green eyes; Cash had dirty blonde hair and blue eyes.
Naturally, when his father got sick, it fell on Conor’s shoulders to take care of the family. Not once in the eight years since he’d given up finishing his degree in Architecture in America to come and care for their ailing father, had he ever thrown the sacrifices he’d made in his brother’s face. He didn’t think he needed to. Of course, that didn’t keep Cash from acting like a spoiled brat, who pissed away his potential at every opportunity.
Conor released his hold on his brother and stepped back. “He had a seizure last night, while you were out gallivanting around.” The words were said calmly.
“He’s alright though… He looked alright. Da’s strong.”
Maybe that’s something Cash needed to tell himself. Conor was past the point of believing or pretending that their father was okay. He hadn’t been a boy for a long time. Cash had yet to put away childish things.
“Aye… he’s strong.” The lie came easily, and Cash swallowed it, because he needed to.
Conor was exhausted. He’d been at the hospital all last night and since early this morning while they checked his father over and ran tests, before bringing his father home and heading to the pub.
He headed for the door, but his brother’s words halted his steps.
“I’m sorry, Conor. You’re right. I should have stayed.”
&n
bsp; Conor sighed, but didn’t turn around. He didn’t like fighting with his brother.
“I’m knackered.” He ran his hand through his hair. All he wanted was his bed and some uninterrupted sleep. “Make sure he gets some lunch. I think there’s some stew left over. Just warm it up. Put the telly on for him. He likes to watch The Young Offenders.”
“Sure.”
After he left the kitchen, Conor trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. He shut the door and dragged himself to his bed. When his head hit the pillow, he shut his eyes. Memories of New York and architecture school flashed in his mind, and as usual with those thoughts came the memory of the petite American girl he’d met on New Year’s Eve. Thoughts of her still made him smile. Sometimes he wondered what might have come of them if he’d made it back there.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. She was probably married with some wee little ones by now. More than likely she hated him for never contacting her. What would he have said to her?
Their feelings for one another had burned so bright in that one night. Maybe it was youth or maybe it was true love, but he remembered that he wasn’t afraid of the strong feelings that he had for this girl he just met. They’d actually given him a warm feeling inside. He’d never felt that way again.
Conor threw his arm over his face and huffed. This was his life now. What good did it do to keep revisiting the past? He shut his eyes again and drifted off to sleep, but not before Jordan entered his dream.
3
Jordan
“Yes, Les, I know I have the big pitch with Mr. Bowser in a month.” Jordan tucked the phone in between her cheek and shoulder, to free up her hands. She’d been searching for her passport for the last twenty minutes.
Her apartment was a nice size for an apartment in New York City, but it wasn’t big enough that it should take this long to locate her passport. She pulled another shoebox from the closet. When was the last time she’d traveled internationally? After dumping the contents from the box on the bed, she began to rifle through the mish mash of things that now covered her duvet.