“He really was,” she says with an expression that is clearly chock full of fond memories. Then she hesitantly asks, “Do you mind telling me more about your dad? You don't have to if you don't want to, obviously. I want to know you, though.” There’s encouragement in her voice, but also a soft pleading to keep breaking down walls.
The grief creeps up on me like a thief in the night, almost closing my throat. I push past it, because she deserves to know about him, and he deserves to always be remembered. I edge closer to her and squeeze her hand.
“I don't mind talking about him. I want you to know about him. I want you to know me. You’ve allowed yourself to be vulnerable when we’re together, and I’m going to do the same. His name was Lachlan Malloy. He came over here from Dublin for college and didn't look back once he met my mom at a party there.”
“What did he do?”
“He was an excellent architect with a big firm, that's what made me want to do it. I loved watching him work. I couldn't do it once he passed though, and went straight to work,” I tell her, emotion creeping into every word, though I'm able to keep the tears at bay. I don't talk much about what my past dreams were, and it feels like getting rid of dead weight to confide in her.
She doesn't give me pity, only sympathetic understanding in her eyes as she nods for me to keep going. So I give her more of myself.
“My mom and I were just talking about how we still can’t even bear to have anyone sit in his seat at the table. It’s like no one else could ever fill it, even after 10 years. I can still hear his soft, deep Irish brogue talking me through homework, friends, girls, anything and everything. He was so larger than life that there was this black hole left when he was gone, always sucking us in and not letting us move forward. Grief is so odd. It’s not always rational, but it’s impossible to stop it.”
“Nothing about grieving a man you loved so much is irrational, you have to process it in whatever way you can handle,” she says with a squeeze of her hand. “I felt thesame when I lost my grandparents. They were such amazing, loving people, but it was a little more than that for me. Around them, my parents were always on their best behavior. There wasn’t as much sniping, or fighting. They were a safe space from the worst parts of my parents, especially after their divorce.”
Her face is so soft, open, and stunning when she holds my gaze that I feel myself melting. She looks as though it’s bringing her peace that we’re talking like this. I know it’s bringing me peace that I haven’t felt in 10 years. Words are failing me right now, so I squeeze her hand again as I nod in understanding.
We sit in easy silence while we keep eating, enjoying the music, and each other's company. There's idle chatter about our workdays, more about our families. I tell her that my mom is an only child, and my dad has two brothers, but they and their families are still back in Ireland. I hardly see them or talk to them except the occasional birthday or holiday greeting, especially after he passed.
Once we finish eating, I ask her to show me around her house. It's gorgeous and so perfect for her. The whites, blues, and grays she chose for a color scheme are soothing. I don't know much about style or decorating, but I can see she is in every detail. It makes me smile to see the framed pictures of her and Gina, and lots of pictures of what have to be her siblings, nieces and nephews. She points them all out and tells me their names, and although I try to make sure I remember them, I really hope she doesn't quiz me later. There's a stunning selfie of her and Brody on the beach with a deeply hued sunset in the background, and so many other personal touches. Her home office is full of books, and I take note of what she likes to read so I can read them myself. We then take Brody out back and throw theball for him until both of our arms start protesting, the pup has serious stamina.
Heading back in, we get Brody situated with food and water before we refill our own glasses. Sinatra is still playing, and when the song changes to “The Way You Look Tonight,” she turns to me with an expression I can't quite read.
“You're always asking me to dance, now it's my turn to ask you,” she says, equal parts shyness and determination in her voice, along with a clear moment of panic that I might say no flashing across her face. Oh, this oblivious woman, thinking I could ever say no to her. I take her hand and pull her in close, resting my cheek on her head while I splay my right hand on her back. My left hand holds her right hand as I lead her in a gentle sway. I croon the words softly into her hair along with Sinatra, and she just sighs as she melts further into me. This is yet another item to add to my domestic bliss fantasies. Slow dancing in the kitchen after a wonderful meal, and playing with the dog in the backyard. It's so simple, and yet it is making me unspeakably happy right now, without her even really knowing or trying. It's effortless. I move my lips toward her ear.
“You seem different tonight, Firecracker. Happier, or lighter or something,” I whisper. My lips at the shell of her ear and the warm breath ghosting across it make her shudder deliciously. She looks up at me with those big eyes, a luminous shade of jade today.
“Well, I got some news earlier, but I didn't want to drop it on you right when you walked in the door.”
“What is it? It must be good news if you look happy.”
She buries her head in my chest for a second, seemingly gathering herself. The suspense is absolutely killing me.Then she looks back up at me, making sure she holds my gaze as she starts talking again.
“I got the notification from my lawyer today. The paperwork is all filed with the clerk. I'm divorced,” she tells me carefully, gauging my reaction as she speaks.
A riot of emotions course through me. There is a lot of worry for her, sadness that she had to go through it, and anxiety about where we will end up now that she's officially single. Hope and elation manage to worm their way through me too though, as inappropriate as that might be in this moment.
“How are you feeling about it?” I finally manage to get out.
“I’m pretty ok, actually. It wasn't a super acrimonious divorce like my parents had. Ours was very cut and dry, and easy to navigate. I've made peace with the marriage ending. I had a productive teletherapy session at lunch today that really helped get me into a good mental place. Mostly, I feel relieved that the waiting and limbo is over.”
“I can imagine,” I murmur, giving her a squeeze.
We keep swaying as the playlist changes the song to "Night and Day.” I let my head nuzzle into her neck to breathe her in, and she moves her hand to my neck to toy with my hair at the nape. We're silent, but the tension vibrating between us is speaking loudly enough for the both of us. The words of the song filter through my brain and perfectly mirror my own thoughts.
Night and day, you are the one
Only you beneath the moon and under the sun. Whether near to me or far
It's no matter darling where you are
I think of you.
The overwhelming need to kiss her is almost taking me over, but I need to rein it in and go on her terms. How fast or slow we go now that she's officially single is something I am letting her completely lead after what she's been through. I'll stick to leading the dancing. I spin her out and bring her back in to dip her as she lets out a low but delighted laugh, her head completely thrown back. Her pulse is thrumming in her exposed neck. When I bring her back up, those green eyes are on fire with the pupils blown wide.
“Taran,” she whispers
“Yeah, Firecracker?” I breathe shakily as she searches my face. As if she heard my thoughts and knew I was just waiting for her to say the word, she takes my face in her hands.
