thirty
BÉBHINN
“I’m soglad you’re home and that you had so much fun, sweetheart.” Bébhinn’s mom hugged her tightly before they sat down at Aunt Raven’s dining room table in her third-floor flat.
Family get-togethers always switched among the sisters’ flats, or for larger groups, they would meet on the first floor of the O’Faolain building.
Raven and Bran made one of their all-time favorite Oklahoma dishes for lunch today. “God, I love chicken and dumplings,” Bébhinn said as she inhaled deeply over the big pot set in the middle of the table.
“Raven makes it the best of the three of us,” River admitted.
“That’s because I still order Bisquick to make the dumplings,” Raven laughed. “Nothing beats it. Everything turns out fluffier.”
“It’s true,” Rowan agreed. “There was nothing Mom couldn’t whip up with the stuff.
“I don’t care what it’s made from. I’m starved,” Jonathan whined.
Before Bébhinn could retort about Jonathan’s impressive skill at inhaling anything, no matter the taste, her phone vibrated in her lap. She expected to see a text from Gray, who’d been bemoaning earlier about not having anything “good” to wear to Murphy’s tonight, but when she glanced at the screen, her stomach curled tightly.
Dagr: Are you at family lunch?
Bébhinn: Just sat down. Chicken and dumplings at Aunt Raven’s. Yummmmm.
Dagr: Sounds…good?
She was grinning as her fingers flew over the keys.
Bébhinn: You don’t know what you’re missing. I’ll have to make it for you sometime. It’s an American dish and a family favorite.
Dagr: You do that. My grandmum taught me to make a mean shortbread. It became our thing as she got older. I would bake her a tin every time I visited. I’ll be responsible for biscuits and whiskey for dessert.
“Who are you texting with such a huge grin on your face, Bébhinn?” River asked. “It must be Mags.”
Caught off guard, Bébhinn felt her face flush and her eyes widen. Dead giveaways to the family now staring at her. “Oh, yeah. Mags.” She prayed it sounded more convincing to their ears.
Her mom and aunts gave her a sharp look, but true to their loyal hearts, they began dishing food onto everyone’s plates, diverting the men’s attention.
As casually as she could, she replied to Dagr. Already knowing what she would type and mortified at how forward she might come off.
Bébhinn: Deal. A few more weeks and classes will be over. I’ve been wanting an excuse to shop in London. I could meet you and create my culinary masterpiece.
Dagr: Damn. Client calling. Text later?
She sent a thumbs up, disappointed that the conversation was over but exhilarated that he’d initiated one in the first place.
Turning back to her plate, she scooped pillow-soft dumplings into her mouth, humming in pleasure at the gravy-covered carb ball.Thank you, Oklahoma.Her pleasure evaporated when she caught Bran’s eye. Her brother was staring intently, raising an eyebrow in query.
Apparently, food hadn’t been the diversion she’d hoped.
Ciar and his uncle cordoned off part of Murphy’s Pub for Ciaran’s party. No decorations, of course, but the food and drink were plentiful. She’d tried to convince her mother to come, but she’d declined, and because of her dad’s letter, Bébhinn accepted the decision and didn’t push.
Her dad had been right. He did know his wife better than anyone. His words freed Bébhinn from the constant worry for her mom.
She looked at Mags, Blair, and Gray lining the bar and laughed. Mags must have goaded Blair into taking a tequila shot,if the look of horror on Blair’s face was any indication, which was the exact moment Mags snapped a selfie. Blair would kill her.
Bébhinn joined her friends and all of them took turns taking goofy pictures, talking over each other, and singing Ciaran happy birthday, to which he shouted, “Feck off!” to the lot of them.
She was leaning back against the bar an hour later, flipping through some of the pics while laughing at the sight of Gray and Daniel performing some ridiculous dance moves to an old Irish tune.
