Page 42 of Since We're Here
“Da? Mam?” I call out to my parents as I slip off my runners on the front mat. I’m a wet, muddy disaster from the soccer game and drove here shirtless in an attempt to dry off. My mobile buzzes and I fish it out of the bag with my dry clothes.
Maddie
Does the bike mean you’ll go for another ride with me?
Me
Unsure. I don’t really have time for fun
Maddie
So you’re saying I’m fun?
I bite back a grin. Maddie watched me strip off my wet jersey, which also makes me smile, something I seem to do a lot around the American tourist.
“In here,” my father calls from the family room.
“I’m just going to grab a quick shower.” In my parents’ bathroom, I turn on the hot water and strip off the rest of myclothes, shoving them in a plastic bag. I’m in and out of the shower in five minutes, all the mud and rain washed away.
My parents live about a kilometer from me in the house Saoirse and I grew up in, which felt too small when we were kids, but is perfect for them now. Saoirse also lives close, so when I had the chance to buy my cottage... it’s exactly where I wanted to be.
I peek my head in the family room. Dad’s sitting on the couch with a newspaper—probably one of the last houses in Ireland to get an actual paper delivered—a blanket on his lap and a thick wool sweater on his body. His feet are resting on one of the last pieces of furniture I finished before taking over the brewery. I’m proud of that one, and the fact that they finally let me replace their decades-old coffee table.
It was only after Dad’s stroke six months ago that I truly accepted that my parents were aging. Of course, I knew it all along. I’d be gone for long stretches while playing soccer, so each time I visited, I’d see differences in a marked way.
But until last year, it didn’t feel as real.
“Hello, son. Your mam’s in the kitchen.” Dad smiles at me and nods his head in my mother’s direction. Even the way he says her name showcases how much he loves her. It’s soft and sweet and always said with a smile. It’s hard to believe that they were separated for an entire year when I was young. They never told us what happened, or how they worked it all out. But they did and are blissfully happy to this day.
Letting go of the brewery was their passage into the next stage of their lives. I’m still furious that their first instinct was to sell it, not pass it to me. Apparently New Dingle—Liam—had approached them multiple times over the past few years with offers to buy. I had to practically beg to get them to give me a chance. I think they didn’t want to burden me with a barely-profitable, complex business. They thought I was happy with just the pub.
I think they keep hoping I’ll meet someone and settle down, start a family.
I’d been back in town for a year after breaking up with Cara when I started a new relationship with a local woman. She was sweet and open and so full of life. I tagged along with her for six months, trying to heal myself from the hurt from my broken engagement. I thought it was working... but she broke up with me.I don’t think you even like me,she’d said, amongst other things.It’s like there’s nothing there.Andmaybe you’d be better off alone.
I tried to tell her I did like her, that sometimes I can’t figure out how to say the right things, but the words came out all wrong. I knew then it was hopeless to try to find a woman who would understand me. I ruin any romantic relationship just by being myself.
And since the woman still lives in Dingle, I have to see her all the time. It’s a small town. She’s nice to me. Kind. Always has been. But having to see your ex regularly? Even one you weren’t serious with? It’s painful.
I decided I’d only do one-night stands. Brief encounters, and only with people passing through. No awkward conversations, no misunderstandings, no broken promises.
At almost forty years old, the desire for love, a relationship, or a family of my own is all gone.
“I’ll get you tea.” I reach down to hug my father from his spot on the couch.
I find my mother in the kitchen, cleaning up bowls from a meat-and-potatoes stew, the smell of which reminds me of my childhood.
“Hi, Mam.” I kiss her on the cheek. She looks up at me and smiles, the lines etched in her seventy-year-old face another reminder of time passing.
“So tell me more about this American woman.”
“What?”Christ.
“Saoirse told me some. She’s quite lovely, according to your sister. Pretty, sweet, and apparently you took her on a cycle of Slea Head Drive.” Mam flips off the water and turns to me, a knowing look in her eyes. But also hopeful. Shite.
“She’s Oliver’s fiancée’s little sister, Mam.”
“Lovely, so she’s not some random lass passing through, then.”
