Page 100 of The Escape Plan

“Well?” Aoife demands.

“Honestly, all I really want is a proper cup of tea. The tea here is shocking.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and I realize it the second it leaves my mouth, as chaos inevitably ensues, all four of my siblings yelling over each other about the “disgrace” of America having bad tea, and how they could have shipped my poor, deprived self an extra-large box of Barry’s Gold Blend if I’d only asked.

If there’s one rule for the entire island of Ireland, it’s that a cup of tea is appropriate in all circumstances and can cure most ailments, up to (and sometimes including) murder.

Cold? Warm up with some tea.

Heartbroken? Sure, tea will cheer you up.

Committed a heinous crime against humanity? Whack the kettle on.

So, the thought of not having tea as a magic catch-all is beyond comprehension to the rest of the McCarthys. Although right now, I’m painfully aware that no amount of proper Irish tea could soothe my aching heart at the thought of leaving Keeley.

Last night on the fire escape was painful. It physically hurt me to hear about her mom leaving her as a child. After she went through that—and then having her long-term boyfriend leave her for another woman—I can totally understand why she was so upset.

I can even understand why she says it has to be this way between us. Why she shut me down when I told her I want to make our relationship last past the summer.

Not that it makes it sting any less.

Or makes it feel any less wrong that I’m just supposed to walk away after that.

This morning, she’s going to see her Gramps at Silver Springs with Ezra—he apparently hasn’t been well for a couple of days. I wanted to come with them, but it felt a little inappropriate to ask. So, I told her I’d meet her later, after I’m done packing, to say goodbye.

I paste on a smile and address Niamh, “I’ll have all the Barry’s tea I want in a couple days.”

Aoife narrows her eyes at me. “Will you, though?”

“Well, seeing that I’m due to get on a plane and fly home, I’m going to go with yes,” I say patiently, pointing to my neatly packed suitcase and guitar case on the couch beside me.

“Ach don’t tell me that’s still happening,” Callan groans.

“Glad to hear you missed your big brother so much that you’re over the moon excited for his homecoming,” I reply, all sarcasm in an attempt to veil the fact that I am trying (and failing) not to be offended.

“Course we miss you, you big eejit,” Eoin says. “We just thought you weren’t coming back.”

“We assumed you were calling us today to tell us that,” Niamh adds, wagging a finger at me. “I told this lot when you refused to get me that Oprah signature that you were too busy kissing on that American girl next door. But I forgive you because I’m happy you finally found someone who’s willing to kiss your sorry self.”

“I’m not sure how to respond to that,” I say.

Niamh shrugs. “‘Thank you’ would do nicely.”

“Also, what makes you think I’ve been kissing the girl next door?”

“Because you light up like a bloody blowtorch every time you talk about her,” Callan says.

“I haven’t told youthatmuch about her.”

Every time I’ve caught up with my family, I’ve merely filled them in on the things I’ve been doing.

Keeley just happened to be a big part of many of those things.

“Catch yourself on!” Aoife cries. “You’ve been walking around for the past two years with a face like a slapped arse on you, and the second you met this girl, you’re suddenly grinning from ear to ear like the Joker.”

“Keeley and I spent a lot of the summer together,” I say slowly. “But we’re from opposite sides of the Atlantic. I have a job and a family back home, and she has a job coming up here in Boston. We’re both leaving.”

I’m just repeating the facts of why it apparently has to be this way. Maybe if I speak them aloud, they’ll seem more believable.

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