Page 49 of The Bossy One

I made the same noncommittal sound she’d made when I suggested she move back to Ireland. We Byrnes were excellent at avoiding emotional conversations.

But it occurred to me this was an area of my sister’s life I didn’t know much about.

“Have you ever had something real?” I asked. “With, I don’t know, a bloke in the States?” Was a bad relationship the thing that had tipped her over into alcoholism?

“What, like falling in love and all that? No,” Sinead said. “It’s not exactly easy to date around as a single mum.”

I felt a twinge of guilt, for all the little ways her life was harder than mine.

Sinead’s voice softened, turning reflective. “I think the closest I’ve ever come to love was with Catie’s dad. But we were both so young. I knew he wasn’t ready to be a parent.”

I blinked, surprised. When she’d first gotten pregnant, Mum and I had pleaded with her to tell us who the father was, but she’d refused to answer. Eventually, we’d come to the conclusion that he was a one-night stand, and she was embarrassed to admit it. But if she’d had feelings for him, that mattered.

“Are you ever going to tell me who he was?” I asked.

“Wait, is that what this is about?” Sinead asked defensively. “Did you bring up relationships so you could pry into my past? I won’t have your judgment, Declan.”

“I’m not judging you,” I protested.

“You’re always judging me,” Sinead shot back.

“I just don’tunderstandyou,” I said, frustrated.

“Maybe it would be better if you give me your nanny’s number,” Sinead said. “I should talk to my kid.”

I bit back my frustration, sent her the number, and ended the call.

Sinead and I had fought plenty as kids. We both had big emotions, and while we loved each other, the ways we picked to show it didn’t always mesh. I tried to show my love by looking out for her, taking care of things for her—but it never seemed to work out the way that I hoped. But she’d also known that I always had her back. And there had been good days too, when a rare mood would strike her, and she’d decide we were going on some kind of adventure, whether that meant going down to the shop for crisps and candy bars or a day at Salthill.

I saw that side of her in Catie. That impulse to seize the day and do something marvelous.

So why couldn’t Sinead and I manage a proper adult relationship? I didn’t want to bicker like children. I wanted tohelp.

Why didn’t she trust me?

* * *

“Knock knock,” Olivia said cheerfully as she knocked on the door to my office. I didn’t particularly feel like working right now, but I had to catch up on emails, and it was better than thinking about my inability to have a functional relationship with my sister.

“Just wanted to say Catie’s down for the night,” Olivia continued. “I’m glad you thought to give Sinead my number, in case you have to work late again.”

I grunted in acknowledgment.

“Okay, then,” she said. “If you don’t want to talk about anything, I’ll just turn in for the night…”

“Grand,” I said, without taking my eyes off the screen.

Olivia turned and left.

Two minutes later she returned. “Nope, I can’t do it. I can’t leave you all grumpy and alone. You are insucha bad mood. Did something happen at work?”

“Work is fine,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Olivia insisted, hands on her hips. “If it’s not work, is it your family? Is Sinead okay?”

“She’s fine,” I said. “She’s just Sinead. She’s got it in her head she can’t trust me, and if I ask an innocent question, I’m apparently trying to judge her past choices in men, which, let’s face it, were pretty atrocious. So if Iwasjudging her, it would be absolutely warranted.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow.

---