time ago. It seems silly now, to be honest. But I was chasing a romance – a romance that didn’t work out.”
“But which you thought so much of at the time that you gave up everything you knew to move to the other side of the world for?” I struggled to keep the incredulity from my voice.
“I thought it was worth it at the time,” she said. “But it didn’t work out – and then I met your dad. And I don’t regret that for a second. He gave me you . . . but . . .”
“But?” There were no buts. I didn’t want to hear any buts. So before she could speak I silenced her with a quick “Never mind!” as I gathered my belongings into my purse, telling her there was a lovely little gift shop I had spotted from the walls that I really wanted to visit and perhaps we should make a move.
“Annabel, you wanted to know more.”
“I thought I did,” I said, plastering a too-bright smile on my face, “but I was wrong and I’m not ready – so if you don’t mind, I’d love to visit that little gift shop and see if they have anything which I could take back home to the States with me. I want to get something extra special for Elise – she’s done a lot keeping the business on track. That shop looks just the ticket.” I was speaking fast and I know I was rambling but I didn’t want any awkward silences, so I chatted on, nineteen to the dozen as my mother would say, until she realised that the conversation we had been having would go no further that day.
She followed me, meekly, into the shop, where I cooed over an Orla Kiely bag and started a conversation on what my party piece would be.
* * *
I must have packed while on drugs – even though the only drugs I took were some Advil – because as I sorted through the suitcase I had brought with me, the suitcase I thought was too heavy and contained way too much, I found that I had nothing which really suited an impromptu welcome-home party. I’d been told it was taking place in a local restaurant, in a special function room, and that the entire Hegarty clan would be there en masse. So I sorted through my clothes – pulling out jeans and sweatpants and T’s and three crisp white shirts when I’d thought I owned only two of them. I had packed sneakers, Havaianas and a pair of boots. No sandals or strappy shoes. I did find the black dress I had worn to Dad’s funeral but even looking at it made me feel sick, especially in light of my mother’s comments earlier – so I rolled it into as small a ball as I could and shoved it to the bottom of the bin in Sam’s kitchen.
This, however, did not solve my problems about what to wear. I feared I would look pathetically underdressed as I selected a pair of my best-looking jeans, a loose-fitting white blouse and a new pair of canvas sneakers. I pulled my hair back, clipping a flower on the side, and brushed on some bronzer and blush. I slipped a simple silver bangle on my wrist, one that Craig had bought me for my last birthday, and I spritzed some scent on my neck – perfume that Craig had also bought me. It felt a little cloying but I figured that was because I was still tired from the journey, even though it had been three days since I’d left home and landed on Irish soil.
I poured myself a glass of water and sipped it while I waited for Sam to transport us to the party, hoping that would bring me round just that little bit. I figured I would need all the strength I could muster to make it through the evening.
Sam had done little to calm my fears about the party piece. “Don’t think you can get away with it because you’re not from round these parts. It’s not all Irish laments and rebel songs, if you think that is your get-out clause. My mammy does a mean ‘Lipstick on Your Collar’, and I guarantee you will hear at least two versions of ‘Sweet Caroline’ so you better start thinking and thinking fast. It’s like the Rose of Tralee, only with alcohol. You’ll be lucky not to be interviewed in
“But which you thought so much of at the time that you gave up everything you knew to move to the other side of the world for?” I struggled to keep the incredulity from my voice.
“I thought it was worth it at the time,” she said. “But it didn’t work out – and then I met your dad. And I don’t regret that for a second. He gave me you . . . but . . .”
“But?” There were no buts. I didn’t want to hear any buts. So before she could speak I silenced her with a quick “Never mind!” as I gathered my belongings into my purse, telling her there was a lovely little gift shop I had spotted from the walls that I really wanted to visit and perhaps we should make a move.
“Annabel, you wanted to know more.”
“I thought I did,” I said, plastering a too-bright smile on my face, “but I was wrong and I’m not ready – so if you don’t mind, I’d love to visit that little gift shop and see if they have anything which I could take back home to the States with me. I want to get something extra special for Elise – she’s done a lot keeping the business on track. That shop looks just the ticket.” I was speaking fast and I know I was rambling but I didn’t want any awkward silences, so I chatted on, nineteen to the dozen as my mother would say, until she realised that the conversation we had been having would go no further that day.
She followed me, meekly, into the shop, where I cooed over an Orla Kiely bag and started a conversation on what my party piece would be.
* * *
I must have packed while on drugs – even though the only drugs I took were some Advil – because as I sorted through the suitcase I had brought with me, the suitcase I thought was too heavy and contained way too much, I found that I had nothing which really suited an impromptu welcome-home party. I’d been told it was taking place in a local restaurant, in a special function room, and that the entire Hegarty clan would be there en masse. So I sorted through my clothes – pulling out jeans and sweatpants and T’s and three crisp white shirts when I’d thought I owned only two of them. I had packed sneakers, Havaianas and a pair of boots. No sandals or strappy shoes. I did find the black dress I had worn to Dad’s funeral but even looking at it made me feel sick, especially in light of my mother’s comments earlier – so I rolled it into as small a ball as I could and shoved it to the bottom of the bin in Sam’s kitchen.
This, however, did not solve my problems about what to wear. I feared I would look pathetically underdressed as I selected a pair of my best-looking jeans, a loose-fitting white blouse and a new pair of canvas sneakers. I pulled my hair back, clipping a flower on the side, and brushed on some bronzer and blush. I slipped a simple silver bangle on my wrist, one that Craig had bought me for my last birthday, and I spritzed some scent on my neck – perfume that Craig had also bought me. It felt a little cloying but I figured that was because I was still tired from the journey, even though it had been three days since I’d left home and landed on Irish soil.
I poured myself a glass of water and sipped it while I waited for Sam to transport us to the party, hoping that would bring me round just that little bit. I figured I would need all the strength I could muster to make it through the evening.
Sam had done little to calm my fears about the party piece. “Don’t think you can get away with it because you’re not from round these parts. It’s not all Irish laments and rebel songs, if you think that is your get-out clause. My mammy does a mean ‘Lipstick on Your Collar’, and I guarantee you will hear at least two versions of ‘Sweet Caroline’ so you better start thinking and thinking fast. It’s like the Rose of Tralee, only with alcohol. You’ll be lucky not to be interviewed in
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