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He’d have found it cruel if he hadn’t been the one who chose for it to happen that way. It also took him aback, though he somewhat enjoyed her newfound confidence.
“I should have,” he said.
If braver he’d have said more. Said he’d spent more time thinking about how different that night could have gone, than time spent towards studying for the Leaving Cert. That he was so embarrassed by what he’d done, he could barely speak to her the last few weeks.
Áine didn’t give anything away, and he began to fear his time was running out with her to the point of his anxiousness morphing into a sickly feeling.
“Come outside with me?” he asked.
“Alright.”
“Will we go to the smoking area or the front where it’s quieter?” He hoped she might gauge where he was going with this.
“I don’t smoke, remember?” she said instead like she was telling him to remember the last time they had been together.
“That’s right, yeah.” Fionn was sure without the alcohol he might have gone red-faced already. “It’s probably busy out there anyway. We’ll go out the front? It’ll be quiet out there with most of the pub not wanting to risk going past the bouncers twice. You’re eighteen now, yeah?”
“I am, yeah.”
Fionn wasn’t sure why he’d asked when the night of her actual birthday he’d gone back and forth for hours about whether to wish her a happy birthday. In the end, he left it. Mostly because he didn’t want to be bothering her on what was probably her most favourite day of the year. That’s how he presumed it was for all normal people anyway.
Áine picked up her pint and headed to the front door. “C’mon then.”
Once outside, Fionn noticed Áine had created distance between them he didn’t like. It made him uncomfortable, as if she was brewing to give him a justified scolding. He lit his cigarette to combat the fear, a sense of elation accompanying that alcohol always seemed to enhance.
“So did you want to talk to me about something or?” she started.
“Right, yeah. I suppose it would look that way.”
Áine’s continued waves of hostility ached his chest more. She was already starting to see him for who he really was. That his opening line wasn’t enough to heal what he’d done.
Fionn had never wanted more in his life to be honest about his regret of rejecting her, but it seemed not even the drink could pry out this truth. The truth that he feared Áine Meaher’s worthwould be drained to compensate for his lacking. That if he were to love her whole, he’d be taking from their unified pool. She’d be suffering a recycled version of her own life. And if he knew anything about them, two children who had barely a crumb between them, it was that he refused to let her go out into the world with another second-hand commodity when she deserved the best.
The cruel irony of all of this was he’d only realised this to be the case after their night on the riverbank. After the night he began to fall for her. Or better yet,realisedhe’d fallen for her long before.
Still, some honesty managed to surface, “I know this is going to sound really stupid, because it is, but sometimes when I’m talking to you about things, when I’m describing something to you, I wish I could do it ten times over. Repeat the same point so that you could pick from them the parts that most impressed you. And those elements combined would be the precedent I would always need to strive for when talking to you.”
She didn’t answer.
“Fuck.” He laughed and shook his head, hitching his eyebrows with a thumb and his middle finger. “Maybe I am drunk.” Then just as the feeling of foolishness made him want to leave, she stood, this look in her eye that suggested maybe shehadforgiven him.
That this was his second chance.
Taking it before it slipped away, his hands cupped her cheeks which felt so very right being touched by him alone.
“You’re definitely drunk,” she spoke with dipped eyes.
In an attempt to beckon them back, he smiled and said something simple but with enough connotations that she might realise how much he wanted her. “I’m not. I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry. I panicked, alright.”
He could feel her resistance against his hands. The distrust in her body.
“And now you’re not panicking?” she asked.
He held her gaze to reinforce his feelings. “No. Now I’m not. Áine when I’m with you I’m my whole self. I can’t say that for anyone else in this world. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for months.” His breath felt shaky like some tiny shift of tectonic plates had caused a convergence of hope in his body. That if those bets paid off, maybe everything would finally work out for him.
“I kind of live in my own head because the world is a bit too much for me,” she said, and even though it might have been one of the saddest things he’d ever heard, she didn’t look sad. “And you . . . sometimes you manage to visit me in there, make me feel less alone for a while.”
He pressed his lips to hers, gently for how delicate her whole being was.
