Page 5 of A Very Irish Christmas
‘You know I can’t do that, June! You know what they’re like. You know how important family is to them.’
‘Is it though? Your dad, yeah. He’s just like Nanna Nora with a Magnum P.I. moustache. But your mom, and your sister? When they’re on a roll, they make Cruella de Vil look like a pushover. They’d give Cersei Lannister fromGame of Thronesaself-worth problem. They’d eat Regina George whole, and have room left over for Nurse Ratched. They’d?—’
‘Okay, okay, I get it!’ I say, holding my hands up in surrender. ‘They’re mean girls. But they’re mean girls I’m genetically related to, and it’s just my fate. My Christmas destiny.’
‘Well, screw destiny as well – make your own. Do something totally different. Something that’s just for you.’
I tilt my head to one side as I consider this. I’m not totally sure what ‘just for me’ would even look like these days. I’d like to be more adventurous. I’d like to do something brave – but in reality, I suspect I might just sit here in my little apartment alone all Christmas, eating my way through a pile of take-out fortune cookies in the dark, in case Mom and Suzie did a drive-by.
‘You used to want to travel,’ she persists. ‘You wanted to see the world.’
She’s right, I did – but all of that was tied in with Ted. We’d made so many plans, but they all fell to pieces on our wedding day. When a guy jilts you at the altar with all of your friends and family there to witness it, it leaves a dent in your travel itinerary.
It also left a dent in me. It wasn’t just the very public nature of the jilting, it was the fact that the man I’d loved, the man I’d trusted, the man I’d expected to spend the rest of my life with, decided that I wasn’t enough. When the person who knows you best in the whole world rejects you, it leaves scars that nobody can see on the surface. It also made me doubt myself and my own judgement – how had I not seen it coming? How had I not known something was wrong?
I’ve felt constantly nervous ever since. Like nothing in life is solid, like nothing can be counted on. I’m always waiting for the rug to be pulled from beneath my feet. I even got freaked out by a trip to Macy’s today, for goodness’ sake – never mind anything further afield.
‘Remember how much you wanted to go to England?’ June continues, a determined look in her eyes.
‘That was during my Hugh Grant phase. And I’m sure England isn’t really like it is in the movies.’
‘Probably not – but why don’t you go and find out? Or see where Nanna Nora came from? I know you don’t believe in yourself anymore – but I believe enough for both of us.’
‘Well, that’s really nice of you, June, but I don’t think I can get a belief transfusion. England, Ireland… they’re on the other side of the world!’
‘Exactly. If you were in England – or Ireland, or France, or even Alaska – you’d have a really good excuse not to spend Christmas with your family.’
I have to admit that is tempting. It’s always tough, but this year will be even harder because Nanna Nora won’t be there as a buffer zone. She won’t be sitting at the Christmas table in her leprechaun hat. She won’t be leading a round of carols after the holiday ham, or drinking Guinness from her wine glass, or cackling away as my nephews make fart noises with their armpits. She won’t be anywhere, and even the thought of it chokes me up.
‘Nothing is quite the same without her, is it?’ says June quietly, knowing exactly where my thoughts have gone.
‘No, and her not being there will make Christmas even worse.’
‘All the more reason to just say no.’
‘But what about Dad?’ I say, blatantly looking for excuses. ‘What about work?’
‘Your dad is a grown-ass man who can fend for himself – and as for work, didn’t your boss send out that email, offering people unpaid leave?’
I mull it over, and reply: ‘Yeah. Okay. But it’d be so expensive. I’m not sure I can afford it.’
June makes the kind of duh-duh buzzer noise you hear on TV quiz shows when the contestant doesn’t know the capital of Venezuela, and says: ‘I’m calling bullshit on that one. You can use the money Nanna Nora left you. I honestly can’t imagine a better way for you to spend it. I’m worried about you, Cassie, and I know she was too. Ted’s married. You’ve spent the last few years scared of your own shadow. Something needs to change. Use the money – she’d call you afecking eejitif you didn’t.’
She probably would – after all, I am acting like an idiot. After the whole wedding-that-wasn’t, Nanna Nora was a rock. My mom and sister were devastated, but only part of that was for me. The rest was social embarrassment. They never vocalized it, but it was there, hidden beneath their subtle looks, the slightly judgemental tone, the way they’d go suddenly silent when I walked into a room. I’d made a mess, and they really don’t like mess.
Nanna Nora, though? She didn’t care how messy it all was. She told me she understood what it was like to have your heart broken, reassured me it was only a matter of time before it healed whole – and stronger than ever. I never quite believed her, but it was comforting. We’d always been close, but even more so after the wedding.
When she died, she left me a surprisingly large chunk of change in her will. We were all shocked, especially Suzie, who was gifted Nanna Nora’s ceramic cat collection. One last joke from Nanna Nora, because Suzie is allergic to cats. To be fair to my sister, she has them on display in her otherwise minimalist house, but even looking at them makes her sneeze.
Some money was set aside for Suzie’s boys, and she left small gifts for everyone, but the majority came to me. It’s not enough to retire on, but it would be enough for a really nice trip. If she’s up there watching me, she’ll be laughing, I think. Maybe she’ll raise a glass, and give one of her insane made-up toasts– something about the sun shining on my face and the plane staying in the sky and the runway rising up to meet me.
So far, I haven’t touched the money she left me. I’ve learned to live within my reduced means rather than dip into my little nest egg. Somehow, spending it would make it too real – it would mean that she’s really gone.
That’s a hard concept to explain, so I just say: ‘I was saving that for a rainy day.’
‘Sweetie,’ says June. ‘It’s already raining. It’s time to buy yourself an umbrella.’
FOUR
