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Liz shrugged. “He’s so femme.”

Cordelia saw the time and her heart jumped. “I have to go.”

“Let me guess – you’re going to be only five minutes early instead of ten?”

“Ha ha. Bye, Liz,” Cordelia said, hanging up her phone. She put on a little eye makeup and mascara, a dab of gloss on her lips, and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“Liz, you’re a genius,” she muttered. Then she threw the nice bottle of wine she’d bought yesterday into her bag and headed out the door. Her father always said you should bring something when you get invited to someone’s house.

The rain that had been pattering against the windows all day had miraculously subsided, so she didn’t need to put the hood of her raincoat up. The air held a faint chill, but it was kind of refreshing. The sky was deepening to twilight colors as she walked, the lights of the houses in the distance shining like patches of gold over the verdant fields. The scent of grass and ocean brine filled her nose.

When she came upon the yellow farmhouse, it was so picturesque that her breath caught. Lights shone through white-curtained windows and a curl of smoke rose up from the chimney, mixing deliciously with the grassy sea scent. The faint strains of a guitar could be heard, and then the cheerful bark of Pocket. Cordelia smiled. Home for her had always been the brownstone in Carroll Gardens and then her apartment in Morningside Heights. This was the home of some ancient fantasy world.

Her dad had dreamed of moving to the country when he retired, buying a house upstate by a river with lots of land. He would have loved it here. Cordelia’s throat tightened and she blinked the tears back quickly. No need to arrive on Fiona’s doorstep crying.

She walked down through a break in the stone wall and across the grass to the front door. She could hear voices within as she raised her hand and rang the doorbell.

Niall could not. Fucking. Believe it.

He’d come to Inishmore to get away from Deirdre and Patrick, and now their faces were staring up at him in his mother’s kitchen.

“I’m so sorry,” Fiona was saying. “We thought you’d seen it already.”

“No,” Niall said, gripping the copy of The Irish Times so hard it shook. There was a big splashy article about the opening of Dublin’s newest gastropub – the Fallen Star. The name he had chosen, inspired by one of his favorite Neil Gaiman books. Deirdre and Patrick smiling at the camera, Patrick’s arm around her in the place where Niall’s had always been. Glowing reviews about the food – his food, the menu he had created.

His head spun. He couldn’t read it. He could barely look at it. He threw the paper down on the kitchen table and turned away.

“Oh, Niall,” his mother said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” she said emphatically. “It is not fine. If I could, I’d go right up to that – that – floozie and I’d give her a piece of my – ”

“Don’t, Mam,” he said. The iron spring was winding up into his throat now, tightening around his esophagus. How long could he go on like this? When would the pain stop?

The doorbell rang.

“Fiona!” his father called from the living room where he and Colin were sitting while Colin picked out a tune on his guitar. “That’ll be Alison and Róisín!”

Niall rolled his eyes. Like his father was incapable of walking five steps to the door.

“Coming!” his mother said, but Niall put a hand on her arm.

“I’ll get it.” He stormed out of the kitchen and down the hall to the front door. Thank god Róisín was here – she would keep everyone entertained and distracted and no one would ask him how he was doing. Maybe no one else had seen the papers yet.

Fat chance, he thought bleakly.

He opened the door, expecting Róisín’s pointed, discerning face and instead was completely thrown by the sight of the last person he would’ve possibly imagined.

“What are you doing here?” he asked Cordelia, who was staring up at him in equal shock.

“What are you doing here?” she retorted.

“This is my parents’ house,” Niall hissed.

Cordelia’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my god,” she said. “You’re Fiona’s son?”

“Mam!” Niall shouted back toward the kitchen as Colin scampered over to see what was happening, Pocket at his heels.