Page 2 of An Irish Summer

It was a fifteen-minute walk, which meant I only had to hold myself together for that much longer. Only had to put one foot in front of the other, slow and steady. I knew how to do slow and steady. Hell, until an hour ago I’d been building my entire future on slow and steady.

The sun was setting as I climbed the stairs to the front door, casting the brick house in an orange glow. My parents’ cars

were both in the driveway, so I skipped fumbling in my bag for the keys and knocked on the door instead.

“Chelsea, girl,” my dad said, swinging the door open and studying me on the steps. “Did we have plans tonight?” He ushered

me inside, taking my bag from my shoulder and hanging it on the hook in the foyer. “Wendy, did you know Chels was coming over

tonight?” he called to my mother up the stairs before I could answer his question.

“No, we didn’t, sorry. I just got some news, so I figured I’d come by,” I said, shedding my denim jacket and hooking it over

my bag. “I hope that’s okay. You didn’t have plans tonight or anything, did you?”

“Who, us?” My mother joined the conversation as she wound down the steps, kissing me on the cheek when she reached the foyer.

“Plans? Don’t be silly. What news? Are you okay?” She held my face in her hands. The speed with which she could become gravely

concerned came with the territory of being a Jewish mother, and I should have expected this as soon as I opened my mouth.

“Yes, I’m fine, everything’s fine,” I lied, if only to settle her nerves for a minute.

By the time we settled around the kitchen table with glasses of wine, I had hardly braced myself to repeat the conversation

I’d just had with Jack and Helen.

After a deep breath, I dove in. My voice wavered somewhere around the part about having to find a new job, and the tears were flowing freely by the time I got to the part about having to move out of my apartment.

“Oh, baby,” my mother said once I finished, reaching for my hand. “We’re so sorry.” I tried to wave her off, pretending it

would be fine, but we both knew I didn’t believe that.

“You know, Chels,” my dad said, “finding a new job in hospitality isn’t your only option for the future.”

I knew exactly where he was going with this. “Dad, please—” I started.

“I’m just saying, you know you could always join us at the office.” He nodded toward my mom, who clucked her tongue back in

his direction.

“For the millionth time, I’m not a podiatrist,” I said, hating how much I sounded like a whiny teenager.

“And for the millionth time,” my mother said, “we aren’t looking for a podiatrist. But our receptionist is going on maternity

leave in a few months, so you could always fill in while she’s away. And the benefits are fantastic, Chelsea. Really, the

health insurance is the best you’re going to get out here at your age.”

“Oh, wow,” I said. “Great health insurance. A job as a receptionist at my parents’ office. Just what every woman is looking

for in her late twenties.”

“These things are a privilege, honey,” my mother said, leaning closer to me. “Health insurance. A family. Job opportunities.

I know you’re upset, but that isn’t an excuse to be ungrateful.”

Even though I was an adult, my mom didn’t let up. She was never a woman to let anything slide, especially disrespect, and

I knew I was out of line.

“You’re right,” I said, turning the stem of the glass in my fingers.

“I know.”

“And thank you.” She nodded but said nothing. “I’m just not sure that’s what I want for my future.”

“Why not?” my dad asked. “You were a receptionist at O’Shea’s, weren’t you? I thought you liked that kind of stuff.”

“Hospitality and podiatry aren’t exactly the same,” I said. “And I wasn’t just a receptionist, you know. I was planning events,

organizing functions, that sort of thing. It’s going to be hard work to find something similar, but that’s still the plan.”

Anxiety crept into my voice when I thought back to my failed search not even an hour ago. “And then there’s the issue of where

I’m supposed to live.” I raked a hand through my hair, letting a few curls obscure my face when they fell back down. “I could

only afford the apartment above the inn because Jack and Helen cut me a deal. I could never find another place that cheap,

and even if one did exist, I couldn’t find it in a month.”

“Not with that attitude.”

“Dad, I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he said. “It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, Chels. If you decide nothing is going to work, then nothing is going

to work. You might as well give up now.” My mom swatted him in the chest, and he only shrugged, a gentle smile forming at

his own joke.

“I know the receptionist position at the office doesn’t have the best salary, but you could always live here,” my mom said,

gesturing upstairs in the direction of my old bedroom as if this was obvious. “At least until you could save a little cash.

This is your home, remember?”

The thought alone of moving back home and working as a receptionist for my parents was suffocating. And the more we talked

about it, the more I felt the walls closing in.

And the more appealing Ireland was actually starting to sound.

“Thanks,” I said, searching for a way to say absolutely not without offending her. I came up empty, so for the second time today I said nothing else.

“Think of it as a stepping stone,” she said. “I mean, you want to settle in a suburb of Boston eventually, don’t you? Have

a steady job, live in a nice house, be near your friends and family?”

“I mean, yeah, but—”

“But what? This is how you’re going to get there, honey. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices.” She took a big swig of her

wine, keeping her eyes locked on mine.

She was right, to some extent. That was what I wanted, wasn’t it? What I planned for? The steady job and the nice house in

the Boston suburbs? That’s what they had, and what everyone else in my life seemed to have, and what I definitely wanted to

have. And at the end of the day, there was happiness in security, wasn’t there? Wasn’t happiness a roof over your head, food

on the table, book club, local farmers’ markets, the things that shaped my childhood?

“Besides”—my dad shrugged—“what else are you going to do?”

The question crowded the air between us. There was no way I was really considering this, was there?

“I could, uh, I could move to Ireland,” I said before I could think better of it, my forced laugh echoing around the kitchen.

My mother’s gasp was quick to follow.

“You could what ?”

“That was Jack and Helen’s solution.” I tried to play it off like I thought it was ridiculous, but once the words were out

there, I no longer had such a clear picture of where I stood.

I mean, I knew it was ridiculous, but so was struggling through the summer here and ending up in my parents’ office, wasn’t it?

“Helen’s sister runs a hostel in Galway,” I continued, “and she offered me a job for the summer if I wanted to get away while I sorted things out.”

“Well, that sounds like one hell of an opportunity, doesn’t it?” My dad’s smile was growing by the minute, his eyes darting

back and forth between my mom and me. “What? You two don’t think so?”

“Alan, be realistic.”

“What’s unrealistic about that? Sounds like a job, housing, an adventure. Chelsea girl, why didn’t you mention this sooner?”

“I don’t know. Because it’s kind of crazy,” I said. “I have no business in Ireland.”

“And what business do you have in Boston now?”

“Alan,” my mother scolded. “She has plenty of business in Boston. Like coming to work at the office when Megan leaves.”

“No, he’s right,” I said, surprising myself. “Without the job and my apartment, I have nothing in the city, do I?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize we were chopped liver. Would you look at that, honey? We mean nothing to our own daughter,” my mom said,

bringing a hand to her chest.

“Ah, yes,” I said. “The Jewish guilt card. Nice play.” She winked, as if the compliment wasn’t sarcastic. “But still,” I backtracked.

“I’m not sure there’s anything for me in Ireland, either.”

“That’s a bold claim for someone who’s never been to Ireland,” my dad said, eyeing me from his spot across the table. “What

makes you so sure it isn’t for you?”

“It isn’t the city,” I said, gesturing vaguely around me like it was obvious. “I’m not a country girl, you know that. I’m sure all the space and the quiet is nice for some people, but not for me.” Too much quiet made my head spin.

“Galway isn’t the middle of nowhere,” my dad said, suppressing a chuckle. “It’s a city too, you know. Maybe not this big,

but one worth experiencing I would think. Don’t you think so, Wen?”

“Sounds like a big risk,” my mom said. “We have no idea what the hostel is like, or the people, or the room you’ll be staying

in. And this doesn’t really contribute to your future, does it? It just delays the inevitable?”

“If she has nothing lined up anyway, would it kill her to take a few months to figure out said future?”

“She’s right here, you know,” I said, gesturing to myself, frustrated they were talking around me like I was a child. At least

my dad had a little faith in, well, whatever decision I was about to make.

“Is that even something you might like?” my mother asked. “I know you like hospitality, honey, but would you really like working

in a hostel? It’s a far cry from O’Shea’s. And don’t you think you’d be homesick? You have such a nice life here, and I just—”

“You don’t think I could do it.”

“What?” She set her wineglass on the table. “Chels, that’s not what I’m saying; I’m... it’s just that—”

“It’s just that you don’t think I could move to a foreign country for the summer. You don’t think I have it in me.”

I didn’t even want to move to a foreign country for the summer, did I? I thought it sounded like a terrible idea from the

minute it left Helen’s lips. But that was before I realized my back was against the wall.

“I just don’t think you’d be happy doing it, that’s all,” she conceded. “And I want you to be happy, honey.”

I swallowed the groan that threatened to escape my throat.

“Have you talked to Ada about it yet?” my dad asked, saving me from the direction this conversation was headed.

Ada had been my best friend since we met at the local summer camp when we were kids. The only real time we spent apart was

four years of undergrad, but when we returned to the city after graduation, it was like we had never been apart at all.

“Not yet,” I said. I’d been too stunned to call her this afternoon, and I wasn’t looking forward to rehashing the news again.

But I had a feeling I knew exactly what she was going to say. She was one of those people who trusted her intuition and her

intuition often favored the bold.

“Might not be a bad idea to give her a call,” he suggested, sipping his wine with raised eyebrows. “Get another perspective.”

He nodded toward the door, giving me an excuse to get out of this kitchen and clear my head. Coming here wasn’t exactly a

mistake, but it wasn’t quite the comfort I’d hoped it would be. If anything, I was leaving more confused.