Page 71 of Promise Me This

I give a curt nod, and he returns it.

Dermot shuffles across the room, greeting a few new patrons in passing on his way to us. The bar is less crowded at this hour than usual. It’s part of the reason I asked Padraig to meet me earlier, after logging off at half past three and dodging two calls from Darren. I didn’t want to drown my sorrows entirely; I simply wanted to teach them how to swim. And I didn’t necessarily want a large audience when doing so.

“You two kids want another round?” Dermot asks, eyeing the collection of glasses pointedly.

My mouth opens, but Padraig cuts me off. “We’re all right, Der. This one’s had his fill.”

“Glad we agree.” The old man sighs and then starts gathering my discarded glasses with gnarled hands that are no less nimble after years of tending his bar. He manages five pint glasses in one hand. “I was running low on these thanks to you.”

Following a long glare from Padraig, I call after Dermot, “I’ll settle up when you’re ready.”

“I was ready the moment you walked in looking like you’d killed another one of Eoin’s sheep.”

Padraig snickers as I puff out my chest indignantly. “I didn’t kill one of his sheep!”

Dermot doesn’t bother looking over his shoulder. “That’s not what your little girl told me at the shop a few weeks ago. Your mam backed her up.”

“Women,” I moan, digging my hand into my pocket to retrieve my wallet.

“Speaking of women,” Padraig segues, “how are you going to fix things with Leona?”

For too long I remain silent, not because I don’t want to answer but because I don’t know how to. It’s what I’ve contemplated all week long, and I’m no closer to a solution than I was on Monday when I got the brilliant idea to start dropping gifts in front of her closed door.

“Tell me you’re going to fix things with her? Callum, she’s the best thing to happen to you in all the time I’ve known you. You can’t give up like this. Sure, you were a right arse, but—”

“I’m not giving up,” I interject, cutting off whatever insult was about to exit his mouth. “I’m trying, okay? It takes a lot to pivot from keeping everyone as far away as possible to begging someone to come closer in a matter of a month. I’m out of practice. And I fucked up badly.”

His lips flatline, and the crow’s feet around his eyes deepen as he squints at me. “Maybe start with telling her that.”

“That becomes difficult to do when she won’t leave her room.”

“Give her time,” he says, unknowingly echoing my mother. “She’ll be ready eventually. Just make sure you are, too.”

I nod. Dermot catches my eye from behind the counter, waving the card machine in the air to let me know he’s not making another trip over here. The legs of my chair scrape loudly against the floorboards as I push it back, standing and feeling every ounce of beer rush straight to my bladder.

Padraig is right, and so is my mam. I have to wait for Leo to be ready to talk. In the meantime I need to work on having the right words to say when she finally is. I’ll learn how to apologize in every language if it will somehow balm the wound that I’ve ripped open.

And then I’ll find a way to convince her she’s not alone in her grief anymore. That I’m here, and I’m willing to shoulder it if only she’ll let me. I don’t know what happened with her ex to make her feel like the burden is hers and hers alone, but I’ll do everything in my power to help.

The aroma of curry floats down the hall and slaps me in the nose the moment I open the turquoise door of the inn. It’s not our usual Sunday dinner, and not one Mam’s guests will be particularly fond of when the fumes linger long after we’re done eating, but my stomach growls enthusiastically despite all that.

“We’re having curry!” Niamh squeals, tugging at my shirt. “Do you think Granny got prawn crackers?”

“I’ll bet you she did,” I offer. “Why don’t you go on and check.”

Niamh scampers ahead, disappearing through the open kitchen door.

I try not to stare at the landing of the staircase. I do my best not to picture Leo padding down the steps, pausing when she sees me, and bracing herself on the banister. What I cannot prevent is the phantom feeling of her lips against my ear as she whispers that she’s dreamed of me.

When I turn the corner into the kitchen, I leave the ghost in the hall.

Mam is poised over the stove, stirring the simmering liquid gently. “Come have a taste, son. Tell me if it’s missing anything.”

I do as I’m told, taking the spoon from her hand and blowing on the sauce before tasting it. “Mmm, that’s perfect.”

“Is it spicy enough?” she asks, eyebrows knit with worry.

I chuckle and step up to the counter where Niamh is sitting, munching on a bowl full of prawn crackers. “Any spicier and this one wouldn’t be eating it.” I remove the bowl from her lap, much to her dismay. “Leave room for dinner, Niamh.”

---