Page 55 of Accidental Irish Daddy

“It’s beautiful.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he says, “I don’t remember getting it. It was right after I found out my father was going to marry my stepmother. My parents’ divorce was…ugly. My father left my mother for a younger woman.”

He rolls onto his back and sighs. “Actually, it turns out that it was much more complicated than that. My parents’ marriage was over long before they divorced one another. I didn’t understand that at the time, though. When my father found love again with my stepmother Sidney, I felt betrayed. Like…like he’d left us both somehow. I was already heavy into drinking and drugs…the events that happened with my parents just drove me deeper down in it.”

He stops talking for a while, lying with his arm over his head on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling. “The night I got this backpiece…I remember feeling like everything beautiful that I had in my life was going to shit. Just slipping through my fingers. I wanted something to have that beauty again without worrying about it going away.”

We lie there in silence for a while, listening to each other breathe. I notice that he’s starting to drift off, but before he does completely, he whispers, “Stay with me, Aisling. Ma was right…I am better when I’m with you.”

His words twist my heart, and I want to cry. This moment of vulnerability…he’s hurting right now, and I believe that he’s sincere when he says that. But staying isn’t an option and we both know it.

It’s going to hurt something terrible for me to leave…I don’t know how I’m going to do it…

17

Grant

Sex has become a regular occurrence between Aisling and me. Ever since that Saturday afternoon together, I’ve found myself in her room at night once Bridget has gone to bed. She never turns me away and there’s no denying that she enjoys being with me physically. I’m growing attached to her. I’m starting to develop a kind of need for her.

I’ve been restraining myself from touching her casually during the day. Starving myself for her affection except for the times when we’re in public, and even then, it’s minimal. Holding hands or a brush of my hand on the small of her back.

I drink up those moments like water in a desert.

I don’t think I can deny it to myself any longer.

I am in love with her. Desperately so. And it’s becoming impossible to hide it.

This marriage isn’t real and only exists to serve the purpose of her getting ahead in her life…but I want it to be real. I don’t want to think about the day that she will leave with Bridget for a lifewithout me in it. Not that I’ll be able to stop her when she does go. It’s just as well. I’m not the right man for her.

I think about how much younger she is than me or the fact that the last thing she needs is to have someone in her life with the hovering legacy of my drug and alcohol abuse. She needs someone good and clean. Someone who can elevate her life, not hobble it.

I just wish I could stop these feelings I have for her. I wish I could push them away. I find it ironic that I have all the money in the world, and I can’t buy something to erase this connection I have with her.

Martha invited us over for brunch this morning. We’re walking up to the house, with Bridget bouncing ahead, red pigtails bouncing in the sunlight. She knocks on the door and Martha opens it, inviting us in merrily.

She welcomes us with a smile, ushering us into the kitchen. “Come in, come in.”

We walk in, and the table is filled with a feast.

I look over at Aisling, whose smile widens.

“This is quite a spread,” she says.

“Thank you,” says Martha. “You can go ahead and dig in. I’ve got tea brewing and coffee for the coffee drinker.” She winks at me.

We prepare our plates and sit around the table, eating and talking. I’m trying to be subdued. Trying to keep to myself in this conversation, but Martha has always had a way of drawing the laughter out of me. Before long, we’re all laughing together around the table.

“Aisling,” says Bridget when we’re mostly done. “The peonies are starting to come in.”

Aisling raises her eyebrows. “Really? That’s wonderful.”

Bridget turns to Martha. “Can I show her, Martha? I promise we’ll be careful.”

Martha chuckles and says to Aisling. “I told her that Peonies were very delicate.” She pats Bridget on the hands. “Of course, love.”

Bridget and Aisling leave the kitchen, leaving Martha and me alone with the remnants of our meal.

She smiles, sipping her tea. “So, how are things with you two?”

---