Page 46 of Promise Me This

I turn the bottle over, marveling at its mere existence. We bought it on a whim while perusing a touristy shop in County Cork. Knee-deep in essays for my literature classes, it seemed the perfect lament to my chosen career. But in the car as we drove away, he made me a promise that he wouldn’t open it till I returned after graduating. We’d drink it to celebrate my career and our reunion.

Now here it is, twelve years later. Unopened. Its intact seal is a testament to two of my greatest failures.

“Why didn’t you drink it?” I breathe. “Or throw it out?”

He shakes his head. “Hope. Or stupidity. Probably both.”

“I’m sure your ex-wife loved that.” I don’t know why I say it, but I do. And then it’s out in the open and I can’t take it back, no matter how jealous it makes me sound.

He shifts awkwardly, which only serves to bring us closer together. His heat is now a constant at my side.

“We were never married,” he says gruffly.

I hum my understanding. “Well, shall we drink it?” I ask, glancing up at him to find him studying me intently. We’re so close that we’re sharing the same postal code. We’re sharing the same breath.

He nods, pivoting to reach for a glass in the cabinet behind us. His hand finds the back of my head and cradles it gently, shielding me from the door’s sharp corner as he swings it open. I don’t miss the way his pupils dilate, the way his breath halts. It gives me a glimmer of satisfaction to know that I affect him this much.

Just as much as he affects me.

Once a glass is poured for each of us, we clink them together, the whiskey sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Callum’s gaze never leaves my face as I take my first sip and wince when it burns my throat.

“Why didn’t you become a writer?” he asks, cocking his head.

I take another gulp, trying to taste the vanilla and caramel notes that the bottle promises are inside, but all I’m getting is the fire. “What happened with Niamh’s mom?”

He snickers and takes another sip from his glass. “I asked first.”

“I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours?”

Heat flares in his eyes, and he swallows even though he hasn’t taken another drink. I fight to keep the blush from creeping up my cheeks, but I know it’s no use.

“Relax,” I say, touching his arm. “It’s just an expression.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Quit avoiding the question.”

“I’m not!” I flatten my hand over my heart. When he doesn’t stop glaring, I add, “Fine, Jesus.”

“Atta girl.”

I set the now-empty glass down and then hop up onto the counter, resting my back against the upper cabinets with a weary sigh. “I guess I just realized how hard it would be to break into that career field, to make any money doing it. And besides, my dad’s friend offered me a good-paying job fresh out of college. I would’ve been really dumb not to take it.”

It’s the same reason I’ve given everyone for the past ten years. I’ve said the words so much they no longer ring hollow. They just sound a little rehearsed. I study my fingernails, picking at a loose cuticle. My real motivations for giving up on my dream got buried along with every other true thing about me, for the exact same reason: it hurt too much.

If I were honest, I’d tell him that I didn’t go after my dream job because I’d already lost something I loved more than life itself. The idea of pursuing travel journalism, of risking the pain of losing that too, was just too much to face. It was easier if the choice was mine. Easier if I was the one to walk away before the universe could rip it from my hands.

If I were honest, I’d take the opportunity to tell Callum about our daughter. But I’m tired and this moment is too fragile and I’m still a coward. So I don’t say any of it.

“Catherine never really took to motherhood. Thought of Niamh as a burden. She missed her life before, and she really missed being able to sleep with whomever she wanted.” He pauses for emphasis, letting that gavel smack down hard on the truth. “She ran off to Spain with some man she met online. Never looked back.”

It’s a horrible enough truth that I look just as shocked as the first time I heard it. Padraig’s secret gossip will remain safe with me.

“You wanna know the worst thing about all of it?” Callum asks, shaking his head in disbelief.

I can’t imagine anything worse than a woman abandoning her toddler. “What’s that?”

“In Ireland, the only way for a mother to sign over rights to the father when they’re unmarried is by putting the child up for adoption, and then the father has to adopt the child. I had to adopt my own daughter.” He sucks air in through clenched teeth. Every muscle in his face is strained and tight with the effort it takes to say the words. “The parent who wanted her had to fight for her. How ridiculous is that? Thank God her mother was agreeable.”

The desire to comfort him, to take away all that has caused him pain, is all-consuming. I can’t fight it anymore, no matter how badly I know I should. I reach for him, and he glances up at me. He doesn’t resist as I pull him to me. He steps into the space between my knees and lets himself be held.

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