Page 109 of Experiments in Offline Dating

His voice was quieter but angrier. “I don’t remember asking for your damn opinion on my life. What would make you think that you have the right to comment on any of this? You just stepped off the fucking plane, and you feel the need to judge me?”

I shrugged. “I mean, everyone is judging everyone else all the time, it’s just that I usually come out and say what I’m thinking instead of hiding everything.”

“Well, I guess I should be grateful, then! I’d forgotten you were the authority on how people should be treated. You’re making a living out of going on fake dates and making fun of strangers for your audience to laugh at. And then you’ve come here for what? Because we’re your next joke? Poor old Ned with that toupee, and me on that dating game, my father—I guess we’re all just fodder for your next episode, your next joke.”

I started shivering. I could see his breath in the air between us. Had the temperature dropped that quickly? Maybe it was the ice in his words. He’d aimed them perfectly.

“It’s not like that, Tadhg. That’s not fair. If you listened to it, you would see for yourself. I’m the joke. The podcast makes fun of me. Because I’m weird and awkward and because I don’t get it. Because apparently, I’m less human than everyone else on the planet. An anomaly. So I make fun of myself, and I make fun of all this crazy modern dating stuff, but I’m not making fun of my dates. I’m the problem. Not them.”

I grabbed the bottle and took a drink and tried to calm myself. I took a sip, and then another, and finally chose to follow my own advice. “Look. I’m sorry. Never mind. I don’t know why I brought all this up. I was feeling awkward and I was trying to distract myself, and it just sort of slipped out. It’s my fault. I’m protective of your father. And I think maybe you can understand that, because I think you’re a protective person too.”

He scanned me with narrowed eyes but didn’t say anything. Is there something else I’m supposed to say? What is it? How do I fix this? Can I ask him that, or will that make it feel fake?

“I’m sorry. Can we just . . . you know . . . forget about it? Finish the bottle. Go to sleep.” I held the bottle out to him.

For a long second, I was trapped in his gaze. This was such a stupid thing to do. To pick a fight when we were both so tired and he was already angry. I just never knew how to filter my thoughts. Never knew how to keep things in. Tonight I hated myself for it.

Then he scoffed. “Fine. Sure. Whatever you want.”

He drank, in one go, half of what was left, then he shoved the rest at me.

I thought about it for a second, and then I tipped the bottle back and did the same.

“Get under the fucking covers. You’re shaking like a goddamn leaf.” Even this concern for my welfare was angry. And it was not a request.

I put on my fuzzy socks and did as he said. But when I sat down, the whole mattress moved and let out a rubbery whine.

Tadhg, who was unbuttoning his shirt, spun around with a scowl that could melt the ice caps.

“No! You have got to be joking!” His eyes were wild. Insanity gripped him. “Is that a fucking AIR MATTRESS?”

Chapter 32 An Experiment in Being Slowly Consumed, but Not in the Way You Want to Be

Tadhg got in, and we both immediately rolled to the middle against our will.

“This cannot be happening,” Tadhg said as he tried fruitlessly to wiggle his massive body closer to the edge. Unfortunately, as he tossed his ton of muscle, the mattress acted like a trampoline, and I went bouncing back, landing nearly on top of him. “Fuck this. I’m going to sleep in the fecking Jeep.”

I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. He was just so angry. With the long day and the argument and the tension, and with being absolutely frozen like a Popsicle, I couldn’t help it. “You can’t sleep in the Jeep! You’re too big! Have you ever seen that Simpsons character”—I gasped for breath—“the huge man in the tiny car. That’s going to be you in there, folded up like a pretzel, trying to sleep.” I tried to choke down the giggles, but that only made them worse.

“You’re right. I won’t sleep, then. I’ll drive straight through the night to Lisdoonvarna, find my dad, and choke the ever-loving life out of him!”

He was just so furious. It was like something out of a movie. His face!

I laughed. He growled.

“This! This is the man you want me to forgive?”

I nodded, helpless with laughter. He grabbed the duvet and shook all the rose petals off with a vengeance, as if, magically, his dad might feel the violence of it from County Clare.

Then Finn jumped up and we all went bouncing together. I almost fell off the damn thing and flung myself back into the middle in an effort to stay on. My head knocked into Tadhg’s solid-stone shoulder. “Ow!”

Tadhg tried to steady us by grabbing me by the upper arms, but when he shifted his weight, we fell into each other again, bobbing around, no control. I rubbed my head. I was laughing so hard that I was making raspy wheezing noises.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said again.

Finn, deciding that it looked like we were having a fabulous time, barked, jumped, and then pounced on us.

“No! Fionnuala! Down! No!”