“Until Tuesday. I couldn’t stay any longer than two weeks.”
I wished we’d been able to find each other sooner, on the front end of his trip instead of the back one. But I also was so grateful for any time at all, knew I couldn’t be greedy. I gave my bouquet another sniff, appreciating the floral earthiness of it, appreciating it all the more for how much he’d gone through to bring me this ten-dollar grocery store bouquet.
“I should probably put these in water,” I said. “Did you drive here, or…?”
Eamonn laughed. “No chance,” he said. “If nothing else, everything is on the wrong side and people drive like maniacs. Niall’s been getting me around, or I’ve been taking the bus.”
“Idrove on the wrong side,” I couldn’t help but point out. “In a stick shift no less.”
He could’ve pointed out that I’d done that for the easiest five-minute country drive ever, but he didn’t. “I know,” he said, pulling his phone out of his back pocket to start typing something into it. “It’s one of the things I love about you.”
There was such an easiness to the way he said it, like we’dalready graduated fromlovebeing the biggest word in the world to it being the most natural. I’d started heading toward my car, and I still couldn’t believe that he was there walking next to me, his forearms a little pink from the sun.
“Sorry,” he said. “Have to update the group chat. My sisters are very invested in this whole thing.”
He held up his phone to show me the messages coming in, some in all caps, a line of heart emojis. It made my own chest ache, even more so when the screen timed out and I caught a glimpse of his lock screen.
“Oh my god,” I said. “You did it. You got a dog?”
He looked a little bashful as he glanced down at the picture of a sandy-furred creature, one ear up while the other flopped over. “That’s Daffodil,” he said. “Paul’s staying with her while I’m out of town.”
Daffodil. I had so many questions, but Eamonn was already opening another app, his thumbs poised over his phone.
“Can I get your number?” he asked. “I’ll send a video of her.”
He said that like he was being so slick with that request, but he had to know he didn’t need to bribe me with cute dog content. I was more than happy to give him my phone number, my full name, the rest of my life if he wanted it. We’d reached my car, and I turned to loop my arms around his neck, probably smacking him with the flowers, but I didn’t care. I stood up on my tiptoes to kiss him, pressing my body as close to his as I could.
I whispered my phone number in his ear, even though I knew I wasn’t giving him enough space to type it into hisphone. It wasn’t like we wouldn’t exchange all that information. I wasn’t worried about losing him again.
“Now you know it,” I said.
He gave my ass a squeeze as he pulled me in for another kiss. “I also know how you look in jeans,” he said. “Which was something I gave a lot of thought to.”
“God,” I said, laughing, “I have been having themostexistential thoughts and you’ve been imagining what my butt looks like in jeans?”
“I can do both,” he said. “I’m ready to talk through all the existential stuff, and I’m also ready to get you out of those clothes. We can even do it all at the same time if that’s what does it for you. Is it all right if I spend the next three days at yours?”
I laughed again, squeezing him tight while I leaned in to nip his earlobe. “Three days is a start,” I said. “But I’m going to need more time. I have so much to tell you, and I’m so glad you’re here.”
Epilogue
Eamonn
The Following March
It was raining, which wasn’thow I’d wanted this day to go, but I couldn’t find it in me to mind. Rain, shine, it didn’t matter.
The flat was dim, even after I’d opened the curtains to see outside, the sky so overcast that the light that did filter through was gauzy and subdued. I could’ve turned on more lights in the flat, but I lit a few candles instead, liking the way their gentle flicker gave the room a warm glow.
Candles always reminded me of her, of that first night in this flat. Candles, pasta, lemon biscuits, Yeats. Really, there was no shortage of things that made me think of her. She’d called me out once on lying to her about not liking apples, and I’d had no idea what she was on about, had forgotten I’d donethat. She’d asked me the percentages on the clothes I gave her to wear after her shower that first night, and I said they were ninety percent that I didn’t think I could convince her to just stay naked the whole time and ten percent that I wanted to see her in my favorite T-shirt.
I thought about her in that shirt only an hour ago, my hand sliding up under to palm her breast, the way she’d turned to me, her body sleep-warm and pliant as I pushed into her, those breathy moans as she urged me deeper, her fingernails digging in as she held me tight.
I’d tired Jess out and then I’d left her up there to sleep, whistling softly to the dog at the base of the spiral staircase to let her know I was ready to take her out. Daffodil managed the stairs just fine—for the first few months if she went up I would have to carry her down, and I’d slept on the couch for a while to be nearer to where she liked to be. That had been the hardest time, both of us trying to adjust. Me to life without Jess, which was the same I’d been living for years and yet suddenly felt like no life at all, and the dog to her new home with an owner who was either fussing over her or staring into space. But now Daffodil came and went as she pleased.
Jess and I had done long distance for the first few months, getting by with long phone calls and emails. In the emails, we talked about what books we were reading—I’d finished that romance she recommended to me that night and enjoyed it, although some of that may have been influenced by the memories of what we’d done right after that conversation. I told her about any interesting car issue that came through my garage, the latest status with my family, and sent her pictures of thedog. Her emails were funny and thoughtful and often contained those observations that felt soJessto me, where she could find something soft or tender or romantic in any mundane moment. I loved her emails for the way I could read them over and over, but I loved the sound of her voice on the phone even more.
She moved to Ireland just after Christmas. I’d have taken her any time before, but as with my waiver to visit the U.S. we were stymied by a seemingly never-ending amount of bureaucracy and paperwork if she wanted to stay longer than a few months. It moved some of our timelines up, but I wasn’t complaining. I’d always thought time worked different for us, anyway.
