Page 81 of Wistful Whispers

Ronni shoots me a grin. “Really?”

“I watch it because of Clover,” I gush a little. “She’s smart, complicated, gorgeous—and not a size two. I grew up trying to emulate perfect, thin women and it messed my body image up immensely. Your show is one of the first to make women like me fell…uh,seen.”

Ronni’s smile softens. “So cool. Thank you. I get a lot of similar comments, which is exactly why I fought so hard to cast her.”

Seamus’s mom, Maureen, emerges from the kitchen. She’s fit and wiry, with thick auburn hair pulled into a braid. Here mere presence makes you straighten your spine. She wipes her hands on a linen towel as we enter.

“You must be Marcella. I’m Maureen.” Her Irish lilt is amazing.

“Lovely to meet you.” I try not to curtsy, though I want to a little.

She pulls me into a hug instead. “We’ve all been so excited for you to get here. He’s never brought someone home before.”

“Well…I hope I live up to expectations.” I glance over my shoulder at Seamus. He’s tossing one of the twins over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Maureen laughs. “You’re grand, love. Sit. Dinner’s almost ready. No, you may not help.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I lift my hands in surrender.

We gather around the dining table—long, dark wood worn smooth by years of use. Seamus sits beside me. Connor and Ronni with the kids on one end. Liam and Padraig opposite each other. Cillian, quiet and tired-eyed, tucks into a spot near their father. Rory carves the pork roast with ceremony, while Maureen brings out tray after tray of food—roasted potatoes, buttered cabbage, parsnips with thyme, a thick, onion gravy, soda bread still warm from the oven.

I can’t get over how similar the McGloughlins are to the Delgados. I feel right at home.

The conversation is nonstop—loud, overlapping, full of in-jokes and references I don’t catch. No one ignores me. If anything, they go out of their way to loop me in.

“Is it true you’re working on a case against the caregiver in the nursing home who overmedicated a bunch of the patients?” Padraig asks, pouring himself a splash of juice.

“I do represent three of the victims and can’t really talk about it, for ethical reasons,” I answer honestly.

Rory claps. “Aye, a woman with integrity and teeth. I like youse.”

I catch Seamus watching me, a slow smile tugging at his mouth like he’s proud. It’s been this way all day—his eyes always finding me, like he can’t help himself. There’s something else I’ve noticed. A quietness I hadn’t expected. Around his family, he fades a little—still warm, still engaged, decidedly less…open.

LessSeamus.

It makes me wonder. Is it the weight of being the youngest? The pressure of living up to the McGloughlin name? Or maybe it’s hard to be loud when everyone else already takes up so much space.

With me, he fills every inch of the room. With them, he pulls back.

I don’t think they notice.

I do.

As the evening unfolds, Seamus’s twin brothers fall into a low-grade argument about the band. Fireball is, apparently, riding an unprecedented wave of success. Liam nurses a soda water, the heat of his frustration barely contained.

“We finally getSNL,” he mutters. “We’ve been clawing for this for a decade.Nowyou want to breathe?”

Padraig doesn’t even flinch. “Yeah. Maybe I do.” He pours himself even more juice from the bottle on the table. “We’ve been pushing. For years. Maybe now’s the time to slow down before we burn out. Or our private lives get us dragged through the mud.”

Hmmmm. Interesting. Seamus looks at me and casts his eyes down and back again. He’ll fill me in later, I surmise.

Connor, with his arms crossed, leans forward—he’s calm but his tone is lined with something earned. “It’s not just about now, lads. LTZ hit our peak and we ran ourselves into the ground chasing every next big thing. You remember how it ended for us.”

The room goes quiet for a beat. Even the fire seems to hush.

“Took years to recover and we’re finally doing it right,” Connor continues. “Touring on a schedule we’re all comfortable with. Prioritizing our families. On our terms. Fame’s not worth shit if you lose everything else in the process.”

Ronni rests her hand over his bicep, her expression soft and knowing. “He’s not wrong.”

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