Page 18 of Since We're Here
For just a moment, it turned out.
We’d go for drinks at the local bar around the corner after our shift and order a pitcher of beer. I took it slower with him, insisting we were just friends until he gently kissed me by the Pac-Man arcade game in a quiet corner. It was only when we’d been sleeping together for three weeks—athis apartment, not the back of a car—that I realized he was also sleeping with another server named Heather.
I hated that job. My hair smelled like tacos all the time.
Breakup Reason: He had another girl on the side. Or maybe I was the side girl? Hard to tell.
My Distress Level: 2
Lesson Learned: Don’t trust the restaurant flirt... you’re never the special one. Also? No more waiting tables in restaurants that serve tacos.
I’m down by the harbor in Dingle, standing next to my wobbly rented bike, drenched and frozen from the persistent rain that’s fallen for five of the five days I’ve been in Ireland. According to the sign taped on the front window of the rental shop, biking is the best way to see the area. Overlooking the beautiful harbor, it feels like that might be true. But I’m not yet brave enough to ride out of Dingle and bike along Slea Head Drive, the famously beautiful circular route along the Atlantic Ocean. Maybe another time.
Every day since arriving, I scour the internet and send my sisters a new borrowed photo of Saint Lucia. I’ve been on social media, stock photo sites, blogs, and travel websites, taking screenshots and editing away watermarks. Luckily there’s a ton of idyllic photos online of the white-sand island. Reese and Stella have seemed satisfied so far, although last night Reese directly asked if I’d seen Blue. I haven’t responded to that question yet.
Reese and I had our last huge fight two weeks ago—shortly before I found Blue’s new girlfriend’s Insta. Reese had accused me of looking sad after he hadn’t picked up a FaceTime call forthe fifth day in a row (accurate) and suggested maybe it was time to move on (unhelpful). I shouted something sarcastic likeStay out of my business, Mom,and stomped down the hall, slamming the guest bedroom door.
But Reese was right.
Blue and I broke up over text, but not until after I called him multiple times. Called. Him. On the phone. He didn’t answer, so I left a voicemail. Avoicemail. Maybe even more than one; I’ve blocked it out. I haven’t left a voicemail in a decade. Or... ever, maybe. I might’ve screamed in one of them. Did I cry? I dunno.
I’m not sure if it was the reality of losing Blue, or the realization that I’d done it again. I’d let myself fall too hard, too fast. Obviously, I’m still a terrible judge of character.
But I’ve closed that chapter of my life. Things will be different from now on.
The rain drips down my face, coming down harder than it has all day, and I stare out at the colorful ships with tall masts tied up along the water. The skies are gray, the wind is whipping around, and I basically want to die, despite the beautiful scenery. I might, actually, because I didn’t get a helmet when I rented this contraption, and my biking muscle memory hasn’t quite kicked in. Plus, my eyes were bothering me this morning so I’m wearing glasses instead of contacts, which means my visibility while riding the bike sucks.
Yup. Gonna die.
I’m probably the first human being to ever visit Ireland and absolutely hate it. And I hardly ever hate anything.
My phone buzzes and I fish it out of my pocket, hunched over it like a cave goblin to keep it dry.
Reese
How’s it going in Saint Lucia, Mads? I’m so envious. It’s freezing today, and all the snow that fell the other day is still on the ground
Stella
Send more pictures, please! It’s actually sunny in London, but still cold. I would kill for a Caribbean beach right now. You guys have no idea
I half-scream into the harbor.Oh, but I do have an idea, Stella.
After returning the dodgy bike,I trudge back up Main Street and duck into O’Brien’s. I need something to warm my belly, but more so, I need to see a familiar—if not friendly—face. Even if it’s the man who is avoiding me with every bit of his soul. Yesterday, I spotted him from five storefronts away and he ran from me. Literally ran.
The pub is warm and dry and I’m so happy I could cry. It’s a Tuesday at two o’clock in the afternoon, so there’s no one here, just Patrick perched at the end of the bar staring at his laptop.
He glances up and appears to sigh deeply at my very existence.
“Christ. What happened to you?” His eyes rake over my dripping hair, spotted glasses, soaked hoodie, soggy leggings, and squelchy sneakers.
“I went for a bike ride.” I blow a breath up my face and water droplets scatter.
“You’re dripping wet. Onto my floor.” He nods toward the little puddle at my feet and grimaces with distaste, but I swear one corner of his mouth twitches up. “You’re a mess.”
“Those are facts.” This man does not pretend to be friendly at all, but I kinda like that about him. I get the impression he just says what’s on his mind. He comes off as standoffish and grumpy. Maybe it’s just a front.
I’m gonna assume that’s right and not let him scare me away.
