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I’LL BE SEEING YA, MOLLOY
APRIL 14TH 2003
AOIFE
Joey’s great-grandfatherdied on a Friday, and the following Monday, I sat with my father, in one of the pews at the back of St. Patrick’s church, as he and his family prepared to lay him to rest.
Dad went to show support to his apprentice that he was so fond of.
I went for the exact same reason.
Keeping our distance, we watched as Joey wrangled his brothers and sister into a pew behind who I knew was their great-grandmother. Their mother and father didn’t come, so the Lynch children sat alone.
Sitting in the second row from the front, Joey sat on the edge of the pew, with a baby on his lap, and his sobbing sister beside him.
The two younger boys sat beside Shannon and spent the entire service nudging and poking each other in the ribs, only stopping when their older brother leaned over and threatened violence.
Afterwards, at the graveside, I watched as he parented his four younger siblings with a proficiency that a grown man would struggle to master.
It was so impressive, so heartbreaking, and so incredibly hot all in one breath.
I waited behind my father in the queue to pay my respects to the family, dutifully shaking each one of their hands and mumbling the age-old “I’m sorry for your troubles” funeral line that was ingrained in every Irish person to grace the earth.
“Aoife!” Ollie squealed when I reached him in the queue. “Thanks for coming.”
“No problem,” I replied, offering him a warm smile and a handshake. “I’m very sorry to hear about your grandfather, Ollie.”
“Me too,” he agreed with a solemn nod. “It’s real sad, huh? Poor Granda gots the die-mone-ia.”
“Pneumonia,” Tadhg corrected, elbowing in his younger brother before reluctantly shaking my outstretched hand. “When are you going to learn how to speak, asshole?”
“Stop swearing, Tadhg,” Shannon whisper-hissed, as she balanced Sean on her hip, and gingerly took my hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I told her, giving her small hand a soft squeeze. “You too, little buddy,” I added, unable to resist the urge to ruffle the blond-haired infant’s curls, before moving on to the next sibling, which just so happened to be the one I had come for.
“I’m very sorry for your troubles, lad,” my father said, clapping Joey on the shoulder before moving along to the next mourner.
“Thanks, Tony,” Joey said, and then he flicked his surprised green eyes on me. “Molloy.”
“Joey.”
“You came.”
“I did.”
He stared hard at me for the longest moment before blowing out a ragged breath, and muttering the word, “Thanks.”
“Of course.” Sliding my hand into his, I squeezed and leaned in on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Joe.”
Nodding stiffly, he squeezed my hand back and then leaned away, gaze flicking to where my father was, clearly checking to see if he was watching us.
“Well, bye,” I whispered, moving along the queue, when all I wanted to do was stay right there in front of him.
“I’ll be seeing ya, Molloy,” he replied, with a small wink that was just for me.
“Yeah.” My heart hammered in response, and I quickly turned on my heels, and walked straight back, not stopping until I had my arms wrapped around his waist, and my face buried in his neck. “You will.”
Joey was rigid for a long moment before his arms came around my body and his pulled me tightly against him.
