Chapter 10

10

PATRICK

“ D a? Mam?” I call out to my parents as I slip off my runners on the front mat. I’m a wet, muddy disaster from the soccer game and drove here shirtless in an attempt to dry off. My mobile buzzes and I fish it out of the bag with my dry clothes.

Maddie

Does the bike mean you’ll go for another ride with me?

Me

Unsure. I don’t really have time for fun

Maddie

So you’re saying I’m fun?

I bite back a grin. Maddie watched me strip off my wet jersey, which also makes me smile, something I seem to do a lot around the American tourist.

“In here,” my father calls from the family room.

“I’m just going to grab a quick shower.” In my parents’ bathroom, I turn on the hot water and strip off the rest of my clothes, shoving them in a plastic bag. I’m in and out of the shower in five minutes, all the mud and rain washed away.

My parents live about a kilometer from me in the house Saoirse and I grew up in, which felt too small when we were kids, but is perfect for them now. Saoirse also lives close, so when I had the chance to buy my cottage... it’s exactly where I wanted to be.

I peek my head in the family room. Dad’s sitting on the couch with a newspaper—probably one of the last houses in Ireland to get an actual paper delivered—a blanket on his lap and a thick wool sweater on his body. His feet are resting on one of the last pieces of furniture I finished before taking over the brewery. I’m proud of that one, and the fact that they finally let me replace their decades-old coffee table.

It was only after Dad’s stroke six months ago that I truly accepted that my parents were aging. Of course, I knew it all along. I’d be gone for long stretches while playing soccer, so each time I visited, I’d see differences in a marked way.

But until last year, it didn’t feel as real.

“Hello, son. Your mam’s in the kitchen.” Dad smiles at me and nods his head in my mother’s direction. Even the way he says her name showcases how much he loves her. It’s soft and sweet and always said with a smile. It’s hard to believe that they were separated for an entire year when I was young. They never told us what happened, or how they worked it all out. But they did and are blissfully happy to this day.

Letting go of the brewery was their passage into the next stage of their lives. I’m still furious that their first instinct was to sell it, not pass it to me. Apparently New Dingle—Liam—had approached them multiple times over the past few years with offers to buy. I had to practically beg to get them to give me a chance. I think they didn’t want to burden me with a barely- profitable, complex business. They thought I was happy with just the pub.

I think they keep hoping I’ll meet someone and settle down, start a family.

I’d been back in town for a year after breaking up with Cara when I started a new relationship with a local woman. She was sweet and open and so full of life. I tagged along with her for six months, trying to heal myself from the hurt from my broken engagement. I thought it was working... but she broke up with me. I don’t think you even like me, she’d said, amongst other things. It’s like there’s nothing there. And maybe you’d be better off alone.

I tried to tell her I did like her, that sometimes I can’t figure out how to say the right things, but the words came out all wrong. I knew then it was hopeless to try to find a woman who would understand me. I ruin any romantic relationship just by being myself.

And since the woman still lives in Dingle, I have to see her all the time. It’s a small town. She’s nice to me. Kind. Always has been. But having to see your ex regularly? Even one you weren’t serious with? It’s painful.

I decided I’d only do one-night stands. Brief encounters, and only with people passing through. No awkward conversations, no misunderstandings, no broken promises.

At almost forty years old, the desire for love, a relationship, or a family of my own is all gone.

“I’ll get you tea.” I reach down to hug my father from his spot on the couch.

I find my mother in the kitchen, cleaning up bowls from a meat-and-potatoes stew, the smell of which reminds me of my childhood.

“Hi, Mam.” I kiss her on the cheek. She looks up at me and smiles, the lines etched in her seventy-year-old face another reminder of time passing.

“So tell me more about this American woman.”

“What?” Christ.

“Saoirse told me some. She’s quite lovely, according to your sister. Pretty, sweet, and apparently you took her on a cycle of Slea Head Drive.” Mam flips off the water and turns to me, a knowing look in her eyes. But also hopeful. Shite.

“She’s Oliver’s fiancée’s little sister, Mam.”

“Lovely, so she’s not some random lass passing through, then.”

I groan. An unwelcome—sort of—flash of kissing Maddie at O’Brien’s goes through my mind.

“She’s not random, but not someone I’m going to date.” I don’t even know her plans. She rented the flat for a month, but is she intending on going back home after that? Then coming back for the road trip, then the wedding in Scotland? Not that I care about her plans. Not one bit.

“Hmm.” Mam opens the refrigerator. “Can I heat up some stew for you?”

“No, thank you.” I need to make sure my mam has no expectations for Maddie. “We’re just friends. And hardly that, even.” I grab the kettle from the stove and fill it with water. “I’m watching out for her. Oliver would kill me if something happened to Reese’s little sister.”

“Okay.” She clearly does not accept my assurances of a platonic relationship and turns back to the remaining dishes in the sink.

“Hello!” Saoirse’s voice rings out from the front door, and my nieces chatter as they walk in. My sister pops into the kitchen, dark hair in a low ponytail.

I spin to her with crossed arms. “What have you been telling Mam about the American?”

“The American, huh?” She snickers, eyes shining. “I was filling her in on our lovely new friend.”

I moan.

“Who I just saw going into O’Brien’s,” Saoirse adds.

“I’m surprised she keeps showing up.” The kettle clicks off and I fill a mug with steaming water for my father, dropping in a fresh teabag. My parents like to reuse their teabags, which is disgusting, so when I’m around, I don’t allow it.

Even though they claim they don’t need it, Saoirse and I both help out as much as they’ll put up with. I do small grocery runs for them, which Mam begrudgingly accepts. Saoirse cooks once a week, and we take turns with doctors’ appointments.

“Maddie seems quite natural at running that place.”

“She’s opening the pub and working for a few hours. It’s hardly rocket science.”

“Whatever, Pat. She’s a delight, and you know it.”

“I knew there was something going on.” Mam finishes washing a dish and adds it to the stack in the drying rack.

“Stop ganging up on me,” I groan. “Why is everyone making a big deal out of Madison being here?”

“Madison?” Saoirse leans against the counter, watching me dip the tea bag in and out of the steaming mug. “Interesting that you can’t just call her Maddie.”

“Feck me.” I sigh. “Mind your own business, woman.”

“Language!” Saoirse calls out as I head back to my father, who is now surrounded by Erin and Niamh.

Saoirse seems to have it as her goal to get me to date someone. She’s always introducing me to her single mom friends or women she works with at the hotel. I think that’s one of the reasons why she pushed Beth my way.

Just because my sister’s happy with Ian after her divorce, that doesn’t mean I need to pair off as well.

“I like that you’re spending time with a woman.” Mam follows me to the family room, Saoirse right behind her.

“She’s not a woman, she’s just . . .”

Everyone looks up at me as I struggle to finish the sentence.

“She’s just a tourist, really. Here for an adventure .”

Saoirse’s eyes widen. She knows all about what Cara said to me years ago.

“She said that?” my little sister asks.

“Her words.” Were they exactly that? I forget. But the word adventure was definitely included.

Dad sips his tea and goes back to admiring the drawing Niamh handed him.

“Semantics,” Saoirse says, but the look on her face is more serious than before.

“Well. I’m off. Need to feed Turtle and Kitty.”

“That’s a daft excuse to leave. They’re sheep. They can just eat the grass.”

“They like their afternoon treats. Besides, I need to swing by the brewery and do a few things.” I glance longingly at the front door, a sweet exit from this interrogation.

“Pub tonight? Have some craic?”

“I thought I had the girls? I’ve got plans to paint with them.”

“Ah, no, they’re sleeping here. Mam pulled rank and wants them.” Saoirse nods her head toward our mother, who is now sitting next to Erin on the couch, dutifully looking at the iPad with her. “Save it for next time?”

“We’re going to bake blueberry scones,” Mam says. “Then watch a film, then we’re going to work on their birthday present lists.”

“Aren’t their birthdays not till summer?”

“Never too early,” Mam says.

“How about tomorrow night?” The idea of a Saturday evening with nothing to do is both comforting—I could work on sanding down the bookshelves I’ve been ignoring—and depressing.

“A school night? Nah. Next weekend?”

“Fine.”

“So, O’Brien’s tonight, since you’re now free?”

“Nothing like going to my place of work on my night off.” My traitorous brain immediately thinks of the American.

“Great.” Saoirse cocks her head at me. “Maddie said she’s going to stay after her shift as well. We’re at a texting-level relationship now.”

“Why would I care if she’s going to be there?” But my insides flip at the thought of seeing her tonight. Something about that woman makes me uncomfortable. Not bad uncomfortable. Good uncomfortable. Like I want to be around her.

Which means I should probably avoid her.

Saoirse laughs and rolls her eyes at me—again—and I slip my runners on and escape my parents’ house.

My mind is scattered now that I have new plans for the evening. What was I supposed to do this afternoon? Feed the sheep, and go to the brewery, but I forget why. Admin? I can just deal with that from home.

I hate that I’m looking forward to seeing Maddie tonight at the pub. She’s off-limits. I can’t mess around with her.

But I’m really just looking out for her, right? Like with the Slea Head bike ride. I don’t want her to get in trouble drinking in Dingle. What would I tell Oliver?

So I’ll go and keep an eye on things.