Chapter 21

Twenty-One

Q ueenie

We'd fallen into the rhythm of lazy Sundays. Sleeping in and forgetting our commitment to faith or going to church on Sundays. We'd gotten married in a Catholic church, but since the wedding, we hadn't decided on whether our future kids would be raised Baptist or Catholic.

Because of that, we hadn't spent much time learning how different our worship was. "You know, we really need to start going to church on Sundays. Before I married you, I never missed a sermon."

His pale fingers brushed against my cheek, his blue eyes big and wondering. "I still go to confessional. With the line of work I do, I have to absolve myself of some of these sins. But I'll admit, I'm not really that spiritual. I always feel like I'm just there wasting God's time, so ain't no need of me being at service."

A brief silence was followed by Cillian's warm hands interlocking and releasing from mine.

"From what Bell told me, our service ain't anything like yours. What's it like at your church?"

An unintentional grimace stretched across my lips. Cillian would undoubtedly be uncomfortable in attendance of a Baptist church. Not that he was sensitive to noise, but the energy compared to a Catholic service would shock him.

"Well…" I hesitated. "It's colorful. The people, the music, the worship. You'd see a lot of animated people. If the service starts on time, it ends when it ends. There isn't a set schedule. Black people, we're passionate about our faith. You would see as much if we were to ever go together."

I tried imagining Cillian trying not to react to all the unpredictable events that might happen during a service, the things that followed it came flooding back too. "Oh, and there's always a big dinner afterwards at someone's house. Usually family, but it could be friends of family too."

"It's usually like that with us. Mind blowing how we have so many similarities. How I'd do it, I would say the Rosary. When we pray, we call it the Rosary—and we use rosary beads to track where we are as we, you know? Progress through our teachings. It's a lot to remember and I didn't do much praying in prison. I suppose it never gave me the comfort it gives you. But I respect your desire to want to still attend. We can work on that."

"Until then, will you consider on praying with me?"

"Of course, darling." I sat up in bed, scooting down to the ground as he rolled over to my side.

"Do you mean like, now ?"

"Of course, I mean now, silly." Cillian outstretched his arms, then wiped the remainder of sleep out of his eyes before joining me on my knees. I took my time speaking to text, giving Cillian time to repeat the words with understanding. I felt humbled that he was so respectful and open. I only wonder what it would have been like had we gotten married in my choice of church.

"Thank you for allowing me to share this with you." Cillian rubbed the tops of his thighs, like he didn't know what to do with his hands afterward. "Feels like it should go without saying, but do you have a favorite scripture?"

Perking up, I turned to him, our knees still glued to the floor. "I do actually. It's one of one that's sort of like my mantra. Psalms, 35:4-5." As before he could ask me, I recited it verbatim.

I sought the Lord, and he answered me. He delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.

"What's it mean?"

There were many interpretations, but I had my own ideas. "I take it to mean deliverance from something traumatic. Those were the only words that got me through the bad times. Times I would have rather forget. My mother drilled it into me, but now that I'm older, I see it as a sign perhaps she'd been abused too. Maybe it was just her way of passing the baton. But whatever the reason, they became a safe haven for me."

"Well, it's beautiful. Along with a certain someone," he said, leaning in for a kiss. It didn't take long to learn his intention when he grabbed me by the waist to kiss my neck.

"Cillian, we are praying . We're not supposed to be fooling around when we're worshiping."

"I am worshiping. I'm worshiping you ." He flirted, as I attempted to fight him off, but it turned into playful wrestling.

"I swear the things we do, we're probably going to hell," I teased back, as he picked me up in his arms, prompting me to wrap my body to contort to his.

"It's like I've told you before. I've got the Sullivan's curse. Chances are I was on my way there anyways. I can't explain it, but making love to you makes me feel closer to God. Otherwise, why do we call his name so much while we're doing it?"

The phone rang, interrupting our playful scuffle, as Cillian excused himself to answer, allowing me to admire his muscular thighs. His arm naturally flexed, showcasing his wolf tattoo dynamically, as he brought the phone to his ear.

I took it to be one of his siblings, or at the very least, someone who worked for them. His accent naturally shifted to a somewhat incoherent garble, only fellow Irish folk understood.

It wasn't a long conversation, but he did return with a puzzled look on his face as he sat back down, stretching lazily along the mattress. "What's wrong Cillian? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"My sister. Looks like she's hosting a Sunday dinner today. She invited us both to come." Cillian sat quietly, seemingly in a drift, as I sat on the bed with him to ensure he was ok.

"Is that okay?" As his once drifting eyes found their focus on me.

"No one's mentioned Sunday dinner since I got back. Honestly, since my mum died, I thought they'd never come back."

It was clear they brought out a lot of pain for him, whether it the loss of either parent, or the loss of his freedom many years ago. But I'd known a little about it. Or at least, I had mentioned to órfhlaith wanting to bring them back in passing, but I wasn't sure how soon I'd be engaging with only his people.

They were my family too, and sure his siblings liked me, but if they were like any traditional family, I would be the only Black person in attendance.

"What are you looking frightened for? My family already knows you."

"Yeah. But will it be just the people I've met before, or will there be more I will have to win over? Being the only colored girl is hard enough in public, but even harder around people who I can't understand once they get going."

"You understand me."

"Not when you're around your people, I don't. You don't notice, but your accent gets heavier around other Irish folk. Even around your siblings I'm left there standing trying to figure out what you're all talking about."

Adopting a challenged expression, Cillian pursed his lips, rubbing his fingers over his ginger curls. "You're right. I don't notice that. But you'll be around family. They won't be strangers to me. And if it helps, I won't leave you by yourself, okay?" He smiled.

The way I melted at that smile. I wish it didn't affect me as much as it did, but when he smiled, it was like I'd say yes to anything. "Okay."

***

Cillian's sister lived outside the city, in a quiet suburb not much different than the neighborhood I grew up in. It made it that much easier to find her house, as all you had to do was look for the driveway with a dozen or so cars parked, in and on the sidewalk.

Even if that hadn't been a dead giveaway, all the people on the porch, laughter and lively music made it an easy find.

Cillian took my hand, leading me to the house's porch, introducing me to all his present uncles. Some were handsome, some had a bit of wear and tear, but what surprised me the most was how warm they'd been. He spoke of his father a lot, but never much about the elders outside of that, so even if they weren't being genuine, I'm glad they faked it for my sake.

By the time we'd made that run, reaching the inside of the house, there had to be forty unknown faces to me, children included, as órfhlaith had been just coming from upstairs when she set her eyes on me.

"Eoghan finally settled, thank the mother Mary herself." While it hadn't been spoken out loud, as a woman, it was expected for me to help in the kitchen. I took no issue to that, especially given Cillian had honored his promise not to leave me by myself.

He clung to me like a shadow, but it was clear from all the stares and hostile energy from his female family members, that the kitchen was a place he was far from welcome. Sensing this, órfhlaith gave her best attempt to run him out. "Cilly, why don't you go outside and join the hurling. Or just about anything but be in here. Between you sampling and picking at everything, won't be much left to serve come supper."

"I'm only trying to help," Cillian said, looking to me with sympathetic eyes.

"You don't have to worry about your wife, Cilly. I'll make sure she's taken care of," she said, nudging him out of the kitchen.

Cheers and celebratory claps followed, ecstatic to be rid of the male energy in their space, but to say it aided in my own comfort would have been a lie. I didn't need Cillian at my side at all times for everything, but sure eased my anxiety to have him around.

Heavy accented voices sung and carried across the room, but it was often so thick I couldn't tell if they were speaking English.

"Queenie, come with me." órfhlaith took my hand and lead me to the other end of the kitchen. "Don't feel too offended. My Gaelic's horse shite. Not as well preserved as my older brothers," she admitted.

"Is Gaelic your language?" I asked, aware of the insecurity riddled in my tone. Cillian had never mentioned that Irish people spoke their own language.

"It's supposed to be. But the English made it damn hard to retain the fucking thing. Hence why the older you are the more of it you tend to retain. Sure that's why Cilly never mentioned it. His is worse than mine," she joked.

Opening a bag of white potatoes, órfhlaith offered me a knife, where we proceeded to peel together, as I initially did so in silence.

"You're a quiet little thing," she said accusingly.

Looking around, I couldn't ignore the obvious. "I don't think I fit in well," I admitted with defeat.

"One of the things you've got to understand is, no one's showing it but most are in shock that Cillian married you. The Irish are proud. Our father all but beat it into the lot of us to never even think about being with someone not Irish. That being said, you're young and you're beautiful. All the men outside probably took one look at you and are questioning everything they've been taught about Irish pride."

Unsure if that was supposed to make me feel better or more insecure, órfhlaith squeezed my shoulder. "Queenie, you're going to have to learn a thing or two about the Irish if you plan to survive being with one. When people joke at you it means that they like you," she reassured. Having never been around this many Irish people at once, I took her word for it.

"This is what you get when you let a man do the gathering." An older woman, whose accent I slightly understood better than most. She held up a bag of sweet potatoes with disdain.

"What the fuck are we supposed to do with this?"

Looking around, not a single person volunteered to peel or prepare them. "I'll take them if you don't want them," I offered, as my voice shook like I was afraid to speak.

"I take it you like sweet potatoes?" órfhlaith pointed, before silently volunteering to peel them with me.

"You don't?" For as many bags of potatoes there were, I couldn't imagine them not knowing what to do with sweet potatoes.

"Never had it. To be honest, Cork doesn't have the climate for them. And a potato that's orange ain't really good at convincing people that it goes good with Irish food."

"I thought that everyone ate sweet potatoes," I said, shrugging it off. Watching how Irish elder prepared their food, it was no wonder Cillian had had so many reservations about my food at first. "Cillian seems to like my cooking."

"Let me tell you, I spent my entire childhood—damn near adulthood—cooking for four brothers and Cilly's the least picky of them all. Don't know where he fits it all, but even when he was a runt, that one was always eating."

Cillian didn't discuss his childhood much, but I never pushed him given his abuse. Still, it was nice hearing something wholesome about his past. It certainly suit the man that I had fell for.

"I have a hard time picturing Cillian small," I gently beamed.

"I'm sure you do," órfhlaith winked, and I was almost positive we were not talking about the same thing.

Managing to finish the cobbler I had set, órfhlaith didn't give me much warning before she dragged me into an empty bedroom. Before long, she was insisting I sit on the floor with her, as she flipped through a photo album.

órfhlaith didn't stop until she stumbled upon those signature strawberry-blond curls, and I was humbled to see Cillian look so angelic. "Oh my." I brought my hands to my mouth in disbelief. "Is that Cillian?"

"Yup. Just as spotted and as red tempered as he is today," she said in jest, flipping through the pages with me.

Cillian looked so adorable, those big blue eyes filled with warmth and innocence. Then came a time where the warmth just…stopped. Bruised skin. Arms in casts. I'm sure while most of these pictures held fond memories, I couldn't help seeing past the smiling faces and notice what I was really looking at. Documentation of their most challenging times.

"I'm sure Cilly told you about Oisín." órfhlaith managed to read my quietness for over observance.

"I can't really judge. My Papa wasn't the kindest man either. I just feel like Cillian might have made different decisions if your father hadn't…" I stopped myself, remembering Cillian didn't share his past lightly. "I just think he would be a different man."

"Cillian struggled a lot since he was so little. He was clinging to my leg by the time I was ten. I called him my little gremlin before he outgrew it."

She hesitated before she went on, lingering on a photo of Cillian with a blond kid I assumed to be Paddy.

"I did my best to protect him and Paddy but…the younger you were, the tougher Oisín gave it to you. Perhaps if he had gotten that growth spurt earlier, it could have saved him a few years of beatings."

No wonder Cillian was such a broken man. Even in his own home he hadn't been safe. It was one thing to hear it from his own mouth, but a whole different thing entirely to hear someone confirm the worst of it. It made me grateful he still had enough good in him to be good to me.

"Who's this?" Pointing to another toddler with red hair.

"That's my son, Eoghan. His father wasn't a ginger, so he definitely takes after my mother's side of the family."

"órfhlaith, this is going to sound like a silly question, but the only person I could have asked would have judged me for just being curious. Does having babies hurt?"

órfhlaith's face stretched into a grin, as not long after, laughter ensued. "Fuck yeah. And I'm forever grateful I'll never do it again. You're not pregnant, are you?"

"No," I clarified. "But Cillian and me…talk about it." In our own dark way.

"I'll put it like this. Nothing that feels as good as lovemaking, that also has the power to create a human being, can't come without discomfort. But letting a man put a baby in you is more worth it when you love the dumb fuck."

Which I did. Not that I would have called him a dumb fuck, but seeing a future with Cillian meant seeing children. But you couldn't ask questions like this from other women without them asking why you're asking.

"Would I be bothering you if I had another private question?"

"First she's quiet, now she can't shut up." A sly smile etched at the corner of her face and all of a sudden, my nerve to ask was waning.

"Cillian and me. We did something not long ago. I don't know if I was doing it wrong, I've never been with anyone but Cillian. Anyway, he seemed to really like it but at the time my body just wouldn't agree."

"Jesus, Queenie, look at my little brother corrupting his God-fearing wife. You're not talking about the backdoor, are you?" Embarrassed and a little surprised she got it on her first guess. I just nodded, hoping she didn't make fun of me more than she already had.

"Between me and you, that kind of play feels better when you trust the person?—"

"But I do ."

"Maybe your heart does. But your body hasn't caught up with you. And that's okay. Don't worry about the stuff you can't do. Cillian has been limping around since he married you like he can't stay out of you. So, I know you make him happy."

"I'm sure I do. This is just the first time—likely the only time—that I'll get to explore myself with…I…just like who I get to be when I'm with him. Sometimes I don't always have to be…"

"Be what?"

"The good little church girl I guess," I shrugged.

"Well then if you want a little advice, half the time men are obsessed with your back door is because what they really want is for you to?—"

"Oi. órfhlaith, where do you keep the good whiskey?" A gentleman that looked close to her age waddled in, forcing her attention elsewhere.

"Let me go tend to the savages before they clear me out." órfhlaith squeezed my shoulder before hopping up. After making my way back to the kitchen, most of the efforts performed behind these doors were already making rounds to the patio.

Can't say I wasn't a little disappointed no one had made any effort to make sure my cobbler made it outside, but I tried not to take offense to it as I gathered the dish with towels on both sides and set it along one of the long patio tables.

Long, strong arms wrapped around my waist, which would have taken me aback had I not recognized Cillian's cologne. "You all right?" He leaned in close to my ear.

"Mmmhmm." Assuring him with a nod.

"You sure? I swear I didn't want to leave you but Irish women are particular about men being in their kitchen."

"I assumed as much. Black women aren't that much different, so I understand."

"You sure you're okay?" He asked the final time, this time accepting my answer but assuring me he wouldn't leave my side again.

After a handful of us helped to get the table set up, Cillian led me to a seat across from his sister as another dozen and a half people took their seats. órfhlaith said a light and quick prayer, something Cillian tried to guide me through while most people's eyes were closed.

Once prayers were done, it appeared as though all of the women started reaching over, first deciding to dress the plates for their husbands, uncles or brothers. órfhlaith, knowing her brothers well, dressed each other their plates to their preferences, as I assumed it was expected of me to do so for Cillian.

Cillian for all of his faults wasn't quite so patriarchal at home, as he didn't seem to mind keeping me company in the kitchen while I cooked, or setting the table. Even drying the dishes was something I didn't have to ask him to do. It made when he asked me to heat things up for him or bring him something less of a pain.

Image was important to men, so I reached in and set his plate up for him before dressing my own. Leaning into kiss my cheek, he whispered a faint, "Thank you."

Cillian managed to get mashed potatoes stuck in his beard, as I took a napkin to wipe it off. "See, this is why you have to get the lasses young. The younger they are the easier is to train them how to treat a man."

An offhand comment made by an uncle in reference to the drink I'd recently poured Cillian. It was an unwelcome for sure, but given I was the outsider I didn't want to stand out and be labeled as angry or pretentious.

órfhlaith had seemed used to it when she rolled her eyes, but to my surprise, Cillian pushed back on the comment.

"Actually, Queenie only those things when she wants to. Not because I expect her to. Don't got nothing to do with her sex, race or age. Frankly, I don't know how you juggle a wife too young for you, with two kids you don't take care of in addition to the one you actually do."

Both Paddy and Bellamy fought through snickers and cracked smiles, as Cillian wasn't ridiculed or chided for being disrespectful. It was a trait that I envied about men speaking to other men.

"Can someone pass me the cobbler at the end?" Hoping to peacefully get past the moment, I cut through the cobbler to place a portion on to Cillian's plate. Cillian devoured the cobbler first, unable to hide his admiration for my cooking.

"Jesus Christ woman," he subtlety bragged, choosing not to say much else.

"It better be good, using the Lord's name in vain like that," Paddy snickered and because I didn't know him very well, I couldn't tell if he was joking.

"Queenie is a damn good cook. Making stuff I've never had before. Before her, I used to think I could only eat Irish food. This woman can make something out of nothing."

"Well, let me just help myself before there's nothing left." Bellamy reached over, before he and Paddy got into a swearing match about how much was appropriate to take so other parties can consider a piece.

"Holy fucking shit. What the hell was in this, cocaine?" Paddy accused, before every man at the table began reaching for a portion leaving nothing but a clean dish in its wake.

This would have been a good thing had the desserts left behind hadn't been all the Irish ones considering how many women had slaved on them for hours in the kitchen.

It hadn't been an intention of mine to cause jealousy or resentment, but when a younger woman—possibly a cousin chose to ask questions, it was clear that I had.

"What do they call that where you're from?" Her accent light and understandable.

"I'm actually from Boston." Curious to know why she assumed that I would be from somewhere else. "But it's just a sweet potato cobbler. Real simple one if you ask me, I just saw no one was using them. And in my old home, we didn't waste something as good as a sweet potato."

"As far as I'm concerned, only sweet things worth making a dessert out of are pecans and fruit. But I'm Irish so what do I know?" She ended with a hint of passive aggression.

Cillian squeezed my hand under the table like he anticipated her to not stop there and he wanted me to prepare for it. So when she continued, I wasn't caught off guard.

"Which when you do have kids, there goes that strong Irish blood. But I suppose there's always cobbler, right?" She snarkily snapped, unprovoked.

I knew not everyone would take to the idea of me being added to their family. In the same situation, I had a few uncles that wouldn't be quite as warm toward Cillian in a similar first meeting. I just hoped that there could be peace the first Sunday dinner Cillian had since his mother died.

"Well, if it ain't Fiona, the woman with the most to say and the least to show for it. Nobody asked you, but when Queenie and me do have kids, regardless of what their blood is, they'll still be Sullivans. And you'll still be miserable and alone."

"Fuck off, Cillian?—"

"Jesus fucking Christ, we can't even have a nice dinner. Can't you two save that for some other time?" órfhlaith interrupted, fed up considering all the work she put behind this.

"Aim that shit at her. She's the only one with a problem."

"It's not my fault little Cilly can't take a fucking joke?—"

"Not when it comes to my wife!" Cillian shouted over her. My attempt at squeezing his hand didn't go over as well as when he'd done the same for me.

"It's okay, Cillian," I said in an effort to calm him down.

"No, it's not fucking okay. Don't pretend as if my wife had had a choice, that she'd choose to be here. But she didn't, and I'm doing right by her, so the least all of you can do is keep your mouth shut."

With that, things got visibly tense, as it didn't take long for órfhlaith and Bellamy to join in the argument. Silently, I was able to excuse myself, but it would really be nice if I wasn't the cause of every situation that started like this.

Cillian didn't give me long to get comfortable in the kitchen before he popped his head back inside. "Hey, Queenie. Why did you leave?"

"Cillian, don't be obtuse. You know that was uncomfortable for me." Cillian erased some of the distance between us, taking my waist in each hand.

"I know but I'm not gonna let anyone disrespect you. Not even family. And I handled it. All this really started because everyone was passing over Fiona's dry ass soda bread."

"Everything alright in here?" órfhlaith surprised me by checking in.

"Yes, thank you for asking. If you don't mind, I could use some time to myself. Being in such a foreign environment, even if it is family. It's a lot to process. I just didn't want to be rude?—"

"You don't have nothing to explain to me. If you need a minute. An hour. Take all the time you need, just come back. And bring a less argumentative Cillian back with you," she demanded, before offering one of her spare bedrooms to rest.

Given the first impression that I had given órfhlaith my first time meeting her at her shop, after taking off my shoes, I had no plans to do more than clear my head. Cillian's intention was to be forever fresh, but when he realized he wasn't getting more than a kiss and a cuddle, he started to behave.

"I was just trying to defend you more. You know? Without hitting someone," Cillian defended.

"I know, Cillian. But it doesn't mean I want you to scream at people either. Not that I expect a house with kids to be quiet. But a part of me wants to know every problem solved won't be through anger or violence."

"I'm sorry, Queenie. Seems like I can't do nothing right when it comes to you." His eyes sad and guilt ridden.

"Don't say that. I just know there's a man in there that solves problems with patience. Not fear or intimidation."

"I swear, it's hard to be a good man to you. You're like the poster for walking virtue and I'm just as bad as they come. Maybe worse. But I want to be better than my Pa was. I loved him, but I was always so fucking scared of him. Only thing he ever really gave me was nightmares and a pocket watch. And I lost that." As he pulled out the plain one from his pocket that didn't hold quite as much sentimental value.

"I'm the youngest, so I'm used to being picked on. Sometimes I can't help it when I'm feeling picked on, my true self comes out."

Sitting up, I clasped his hands together in mine. "Well, I feel like the person I love has two sides to him."

"Oh yeah?" He smiled, suddenly optimistic.

"And I look forward to the gentle one raising our future kids."

"I guess I'll look forward to that too. Two or three little weans running around the penthouse?—"

"No, not the penthouse. A penthouse isn't very homey. And what is a wean?"

"It's a nickname for kid. And what you mean the penthouse ain't very homey. We live in it, don't we?"

Sitting back down to lay on him, my head made a home on his chest. There, I could listen to the combination of his breathing and heartbeat. "Yeah, but I always imagined when I became a parent, living in a house with a backyard. With swings and plenty of space for kids to run out all their energy."

"So, my girl wants a car? She wants to house?" he said, ticking off both with his fingers. "I wonder what else my girl wants."

"My sweet husband," I reassured him, leaning in for a kiss on the nose.

Leaning out, Cillian bore his deep-set blue at me. "It's always gonna be me and you against the world, baby. Me and you.

***

By the time Cillian and me had returned to the patio, music and mischief filled the backyard, and I was surprised at how lively Irish folk moved their feet to the music. Fiddles and flutes, bagpipes and accordions, resulted in a signature sound that made up Irish folk music.

Despite being dangerously out of place, it was a wonder to be a spectator. I had never seen white people dance like this. Cillian encouraged me to come closer to all the sights and sounds, as it wasn't long before he was aggressively clapping to the music along with everyone else.

órfhlaith skipped up to her brother, strangely more enthusiastic than I was used to with her, shouting over the music. "Did you figure yourself out?" she asked, as she pulled at Cillian's wrist.

"Yeah, I'm good?—"

"Then come dance with me!" órfhlaith attempted to pull him towards the center, as it didn't take long before his family aggressively encouraged him to dance. From my experience with Cillian, he hadn't been in much of a dancer, so imagine my surprise when he moved in step with órfhlaith and the music.

Cillian had looked so animated and filled with pride, much in a way I had never seen him before. It was like his feet didn't need to be told what to do, as no move he made ever fell out of step.

Most times when I saw white people dance, it was pretty tame or just digestible versions of what we did, but the way Irish people danced? I didn't even have words for it.

"This sure used to look different when he was a runt!" someone yelled over the music, suggesting that he had always been able to dance this well.

In time, partying like a traditional Irish man, Cillian had overextended himself, too unfit to drive on his own with the spirits he had consumed. I could have taken him myself, but when órfhlaith offered the hospitality of staying the night, it meant I wouldn't have to lug a six-foot tall Irish man up to a penthouse apartment.

"Down you go." I helped Cillian out of his clothes to get him comfortable on the bed in the spare room.

"I swear, getting muscular legs out of pant legs is the absolute worst," I said to myself, struggling to bring his trousers past his generous thighs and butt.

"You should get naked with me," he drunkenly teased, as I pushed him down on the bed.

"And you shouldn't have had so much to drink. And where do you get off telling me you couldn't dance? Got me looking like a fool."

"Queenie, I never said I couldn't dance. I just said I didn't dance like you ," he defended.

"Okay, smart alec." I pressed a finger to his forehead and pushed him down until he put his head back on the pillow. "I'm going to ask your sister if she has some extra clothes."

Gathering his dirty clothes, I went in search of a hamper, but ran into órfhlaith, who had already had the same thought.

"I'm sorry," I said, as we bumped into each other in the hallway.

"Thought he could use a pair of clothes to change into," she said, exchanging the clean clothes for dirty ones. "Let me know if you'd like something else too."

"That would be nice. I'm surprised you just have clothes for Cillian lying around."

"They're actually Bellamy's," she confessed. "After Eoghan's father died, he stayed here a lot after the baby. They just happened to fit Cillian now that he's…well, not little Cilly anymore." She ended in a laugh.

"Oh, and I apologize for my cousin. Fiona, bit of a traditionalist, that one. If things escalated when you left, it was only because Cillian…he didn't like that you felt so uncomfortable that you needed to leave."

Hesitation was there; it was embarrassing to admit this was a norm for me, but órfhlaith thus far had never given me a reason not to confide in her, but it didn't stop me from trying to downplay the moment for peace.

"Trust me, I'm used to it."

"Well, we don't want you to be used to that. Moving forward, anyone that's made you feel like less of a Sullivan doesn't have an open invitation to Sunday dinner."

"Thank you. You don't have to."

"I don't, but we're family. You're the new kid on the block, so yeah, we have to if we don't want to scare you away." She joked.

"Anyway, if there isn't anything else you needed, I?—"

"Actually, there was something we talked about earlier that I wanted to follow up on," I interrupted.

"Follow up?" She formed as a question, in need of a refresher.

"We talked about…stuff…about back door?"

"Oh!" Her face lighting up in recognition, as she asked me to come follow her to her room. Offering me a seat, she rummaged through various dressers, until she found what she was looking for at the back of a drawer.

At first it looked like a box of gloves, but it only took further examination to learn they were gloves meant to only fit your fingers. "What are they?"

órfhlaith laughed, like she thought she was going to have to proceed with caution explaining it. "They protect your fingers if you ever…get a little creative with a man's arse hole. They act like they don't like it at first, but they've got a little button up there, makes it damn near impossible for them to be able to control themselves. All I'm saying is, anytime you're blowing a man off and you want to get it over quick, stick a finger up his bum."

Even though I'd still been determined to try stimulation back there, the last person I thought to touch back there was a man. "I can see the resistance," órfhlaith reading my expression.

"And truly, no man is gonna let you back there unless you get his guard down first. But take it as someone who was forced to be with a man, you learn the tricks and trades of how to spend the least time around them. Or at least how to please them quick enough for them to not spend any more time on top of you than they need to be."

Interestingly enough, Cillian could've been top of me all night and it wouldn't have mattered. Being close to him in that way was all I could have ever hoped for with a healthy sexual relationship. It wasn't a chore to be with him in that way. Maybe he was a little insatiable, but he never made me regret having sex.

"Now when you say forced to be, do you mean?—"

"Queenie, you're not the only one who'd been expected to marry within this family. The reasons were different…" She started, but never finished the thought. But it didn't stop her from gabbing and exchanging stories, before my eyes grew so heavy, they would barely stay open.

It wasn't before long, I too, was limping to bed. With low energy and strength, I'd managed to strip down as far as I felt comfortable, and climbed in bed next to Cillian.

Instinctively he groaned, crawled closer to me and reached his hands over my clothed bosom. But this was peace. No matter where we were, this was peace.