Page 11 of Troubles

Francie has been blowing up my phone most of the night. I ignored it all through dinner, but when it rings as I lean my back against the door, I answer.

“Lisbeth, where’ve you been?” he fusses and just that quickly, I’m pulled from my happy little bubble. His voice sounds mildly panicked. “What are you doing, love? Tell me you’ve got your head on straight and you’re not gettin’ caught up in a boy.” He sounds pissed.

“Francie, I’m fine. We had dinner and talked,” I soothe, hoping I can calm him down a little. “Aidan walked me home and was an absolute gentleman.” Surely that’ll put his mind at ease—or not. I talk to him for a good twenty minutes over the background of a full McBride’s. The last thing I want is for Aidan to get ripped apart for taking me out.

It’s time for me to start dating again. I’ve been working so hard in school and life to move forward from the devastation that Maryse and Rob left me with.

Like Gracyn said, this might be the perfect distraction.

Aidan is nice, but this isn’t where his life is. His family, his career, are all back in Dublin and this is just a temporary reprieve.

Francie finally calms and promises not to lay Aidan out in the morning.

Ending the call, my thoughts go straight back to that kiss. It’s all I can think about while doing my thing and getting ready for bed. I return the dress to Gracyn’s closet and grab my laptop as I hop into bed. I slide under the covers and get comfy, pulling up a new browser to Google Aidan Kearney. And his photography. I have no idea why he’s working in a bar.

I scroll through images of children in third world countries. Images of major political players across the globe. Of celebrities and their families. I scroll through the seemingly endless photographs, stopping when my eyes start to blur. Aidan is not just talented, he might well be famous. The photos he’s taken have been published, printed, and shared thousands of times over. He’s had his work in every major news outlet, both print and digital.

Then there are pictures of him in a school uniform showing an adorable, much younger version of Aidan. His dark hair flops down over his forehead, but his eyes. His eyes are the same. They are an absolutely stunning clear dark blue like the evening sky as the moon chases the sun across it. There is a cute little girl sitting with him. Her blond piggy tails are lopsided, but her bright green eyes are all smiles for Aidan. I don't even think when I crop her out and save the picture to my desktop.

I fall asleep thinking of him, about why a relationship with him won’t work. We’re in such different places looking for much different things.

With most of the staff being on spring break, I’ve worked back-to-back shifts Thursday, Friday, and Saturday this week and I’m absolutely exhausted. But I made the rest of my tuition for summer session and a little extra.

I drag ass home after closing up the bistro late Saturday night. I need a shower so bad right now and then to just crawl into bed. I want to wash away the grease and sweat. And, I really, really want the hot water all to myself, just one last time before Gracyn gets back.

I thought she was getting home tomorrow, but the lights are on and the sound of water running hits me as I throw my keys on the table by the door. “G, you here?” Instead of waiting for an answer, I crack open a bottle of wine and pour us each a glass. I have a feeling we’re going to need it to get the dirt from this past week out of Gracyn.

“Hey, is that you?” she yells as she slides into her room and shuts the door leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her. “Go shower—I know you feel gross. I’ll open some wine for when you’re done.”

“Way ahead of you.” It’s like she knows that she has no choice but to spill her shit. I grab my shorts and a thermal tee, and pray for just a little hot water.

“Oh. I think I might have used all the hot water, so…” And there it is, reason 4,852 that I need to graduate early and start making real money. Our place is so small and so old, we’re never guaranteed enough hot water for both of us.

I rush through my tepid shower to find Gracyn curled up in the corner of the couch. “Why are you home early?” She looks up from refilling her glass with this look on her face that I can’t quite place. Sad, maybe, but not quite. “Are you okay? I hardly heard from you this week.” She’s already shaking her head before I can finish the question.

“Let’s talk about you. How was your date with…what’s his name again? Tell me about your week.” She’s in full-on avoidance and I give her the squinty eyes as she downs half her glass of wine.

“Aidan.” I’ll give her a little space before I press. “It was great. We talked over beers Wednesday night and he…he pulled me in for that kiss you seemed to think I needed. Francie about lost his shit over that and then we talked about you being away and me having to stay here and work, and school and his—” I pause to take a breath from my crazy and Gracyn looks really sad. “G, talk to me. I’ll give you every detail later, but, honey, you need to tell me what happened. Is it…? Do we need to call the police? Do I have to kick someone’s ass?” She’s staring into her glass with an intensity I rarely see on her. “Gracyn, talk to me. I’m really starting to worry.”

With a huge sigh, she refills both of our glasses and finally looks up at me. “I…I met someone.” I try to school my features, but I feel my eyes growing wide. Gracyn has sworn up and down that she will not get serious with anyone until after she graduates. She never really wants to talk about why, but she’s stuck to it for the past two and a half years. I give her the go-ahead nod so she’ll keep talking.

“He’s in a band that was playing at one of the beach bars and,” she forces a huff of air out through her nose, “it’s just shitty timing. He’s in a band, for God’s sake, did I mention that? He’s in a band.” She goes back to staring down her wine and I struggle, not knowing what to say.

Gracyn’s studying to be an accountant. She’s supposed to take over her dad’s accounting firm, so a guy in a band is pretty far outside her wheelhouse. This doesn’t fit to Mr. George’s ideals at all, but I feel like there’s more to it.

“Tell me why this one is a big deal.” She glares at me over the top of her wine glass and I shrug, deflecting her hard look. “What’s he like?” I draw out the he, hoping she’ll at least give me a name.

“His name’s Gavin, and he’s different, not like…” She shakes her head, seeming to need to pull herself together. “God, he’s so interesting—well read, crazy smart…” She draws her brows together and gets lost inside her brain.

“Where’s the bad part, G?” This girl has been my rock, and it kills me to see her struggling like this.

She pinches at her lower lip and blinks several times before continuing. “We spent hours upon days talking on the beach—arguing over books and getting to know all the crazy, stupid little things about each other. He hates pickles, and loves documentaries.” She looks so far away from this place—this moment.

“And then I came home and he moved on to his next spring break gig with his band. The end.”

“But you got his number, right?” The look on her face tells me everything I don’t want to hear. “G, you did, didn’t you? Exchanged numbers—email? Facebook?”

“We deleted each other’s contact info before I left. You know how this goes, the timing was shitty and that’s the end of it.” I can’t believe her. “Now, tell me about Aidan.”

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