Page 4 of Thanks for Coming Along

Ronan

Ronan Murphy had always harbored a deep disdain for the sterile, fluorescent lighting that seemed to exist solely in office buildings. To him, phrases like "let's circle back to that" sounded like nails on a chalkboard, and the soft trilling of office phones made his skin crawl.

His wool and cashmere suit felt like it was suffocating him. He daydreamed about tearing the suit apart, Hulk-style, and lounging in the waiting room wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. He couldn't help but play out the scene in his mind. Would the secretary shriek and call the police? Would he get fired? These thoughts flitted through his head until the door to Mr. Lopez's office swung open.

"Murphy! Come on in, please." Mr. Lopez's soothing voice reverberated through the waiting room. Ronan practically launched himself from the plush leather chair, eagerly entering Mr. Lopez's office. He was careful not to put too much weight on his "bad" leg, instinctively favoring his right side and giving himself an almost imperceptible limp.

Once inside, Mr. Lopez gestured to a chair. "Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything? Coffee, maybe, or just a glass of water?" Ronan took the chair opposite him as Mr. Lopez sank into his leather computer chair behind the mahogany desk. But despite his composed posture, his right leg started jiggling nervously.

"No, thank you. I am curious about this meeting. Should I be worried?" Ronan's hands started sweating, and he subtly wiped his palms on his pant leg.

"Oh no, of course not. I called you in my office today for an interesting proposal. I know you have been having difficulty getting back into the swing of things." Mr. Lopez's soft expression was understanding. No pity was evident on his face. "I know you are usually our go-to war correspondent, but after the events of the last few months, I thought you might like a change of pace."

"Please, continue," Ronan urged, aware of his nervous leg's tapping and trying to still it by pressing his hand firmly against his thigh. Mr. Lopez leaned forward, his tone earnest.

"Well, the network is giving the green light to a documentary about the songwriter and rock musician Eden Percy. Honestly, Ronan, your interviewing skills are exceptional, and I genuinely believe you'd be a perfect fit for this project." His smile remained warm and sincere.

Eden Percy?The same Eden who seemed to make headlines every few weeks? Her life was practically a media circus. Ronan only knew a little about her—some of her songs, but that was about it. He hadn’t really paid much attention. Most recently, he'd been stationed in Yemen, where internet access was spotty at best, and before that, he was in Syria. Whenever he did get a connection to the U.S., he was more focused on catching up on emails or talking to his family than keeping up with celebrity gossip.

Ronan mulled over Mr. Lopez's proposition for a moment. His usual domain had been the far-flung, danger-filled landscapes of war-torn countries, a stark contrast to the glitzy world of celebrity interviews. His brush with death had been enough to stifle any excitement in returning back to the field. He wasn't sure that he ever wanted to go back overseas. Maybe interviewing a rock star could offer a welcome change of pace, a chance to renew his love for journalism. After all, what was the worst that could happen?

"Okay," Ronan finally nodded, his curiosity getting the better of him. "I'm interested. Tell me more."

"I cannot believeyou are gonna be breathing the same air as Eden! That is so cool!" Sadie shrieked over the line. Ronan pulled the phone away from his ear to protect his eardrum from bursting.

"Nothing is set in stone yet. Eden hasn't even signed the contract yet." Ronan said, trying to placate his younger sister.

"Well, I'm sure your network wouldn't have brought it to you if it wasn't happening. She's never done a formal interview. It would be a huge deal! Like millions of people would watch it." Sadie rambled at a rapid pace. Ronan switched the phone to speaker phone and placed his phone on his desk. It still felt strange to have a smartphone. He had been back in Los Angeles for six months, but the thing still felt foreign in his hand.

"Not too much pressure," Ronan mumbled as he opened his laptop.

"Don't worry, Ro, you got this! You are incredible. They would be lucky to have you on this project!" Sadie spoke cheerfully. She had always been the eternal optimist, the complete opposite of his more pragmatic nature. While Sadie embraced life with a sunny outlook, Ronan was the cautious one, always weighing the risks before taking action. He wasn’t the type to jump into a pool headfirst. No, he was the slow descender, carefully making his way down the ladder, each step so painfully slow that by the time he finally got in, the water was cold enough to make his nipples feel like they might invert.

His pragmatic nature had always been an asset in his career as a war correspondent. He was meticulous, often strategizing the best approach for interviews and double- and triple-checking intelligence before leading his team into potentially dangerous situations. Well, most of the time. The one time he didn’t, it led to absolute disaster a few months ago.

Their parents always said Ronan and Sadie were like two sides of the same coin. Ronan was the "Tails" side—quiet, introspective, and content to observe from the sidelines. Sadie, on the other hand, was all "Heads"—the life of the party, with a personality that lit up any room she walked into. As the oldest, Ronan had always felt it was his job to protect Sadie from the world's harshness. It gave her the freedom to take risks, and now, she was a successful special effects makeup artist. Her bubbly nature had served her well in the entertainment industry; people were drawn to her, and it helped her make her mark in the competitive field.

In recent years, though, Ronan found himself envying her carefree attitude. Sadie never hesitated to dive headfirst into things that excited her, whether it was dyeing her hair pink or going skydiving. For her, life was a garden of endless possibilities, and she approached each day with an infectious optimism.

This opportunity to interview Eden was what he would call a "Sadie opportunity." She would’ve jumped at the chance without a second thought, no hesitation at all. But for him, it felt like stepping into the unknown. Celebrity interviews weren’t his thing. He’d always been drawn to stories from conflict zones, telling the tales of people who didn’t have the platform to share their own. His focus had always been on shedding light on the forgotten, the voiceless—those who lived in places the world rarely looked.

Throughout his career, Ronan had crossed paths with some truly remarkable people, their stories so compelling that he often placed their lives and experiences above his own. His dedication to his work had cost him a lot over the years. It was hard to maintain a romantic relationship or build deep friendships when he was constantly stationed overseas, immersed in stories that needed to be told. It had only been recently that he’d found himself struggling to handle the anxiety and danger that came with the job.

After hours of talking it over with Sadie, Ronan had finally agreed to take on the project with Eden. She had a story that needed to be told. She had a story that needed to be told. Dye your hair pink… the worst-case scenario, you hate it and have to move to a remote island so no one can see your neon pink hair. Or maybe invest in a toupee? What he’d realized, thanks to Sadie’s unwavering optimism, was that there were always options and ways to figure things out, even in uncharted waters.

"When are you coming back to San Diego? Mom and Dad keep pestering me. Grandad is also asking for you." Sadie asked on the speakerphone.

"Well, that depends on how this interview goes. I’m not sure I’m ready for another one of those whiskey-soaked, fiddle-playing nights anytime soon," Ronan replied, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he thought of his grandfather, Colm. At nineteen, Colm had left Ireland to give his wife, Ronan's Gran, a better life, escaping the chaos of Northern Ireland. Colm still couldn’t resist pulling out the fiddle and singing old Irish songs whenever the mood struck—usually until the "cows came home." Now in his eighties, he was always full of stories from the past or an Irish proverb to pass on. "Soft words butter no parsnips, but they won’t harden the heart of the cabbage either" was a classic. Ronan had always been close to Colm, admiring his grandfather’s unwavering loyalty to family and his almost magical way of seeing the world.

"Mom is worried about you and wants to see you in person. She said it's been too long since you had a home-cooked meal. She can tell that you aren't eating enough solely from your voice on the phone," Sadie said with a laugh.

"Tell her I am perfectly healthy. I was just down there a few weeks ago. It is only two hours away, but the I-5 traffic is brutal."

"You know Mom's cooking can work miracles," she teased. "And yeah, I get it. But seriously, Ro, they miss you. It's not just about the food, you know. Maybe you could plan a quick weekend trip just to put their minds at ease?" Ronan sighed.

"I'll think about it, okay? But I need to focus on this interview with Eden if she accepts. It might be a nice change of pace.”

Ronan loved his parents, but after returning from Yemen, he found it harder to be around them. After the accident, they were walking on eggshells. Filtering their conversations to only pleasant ones, trying not to upset him. He knew they meant well, but it just made him feel like a stranger in his own home whenever he visited.

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