Page 26 of An Irish Summer

“Look at you!” Ada said as soon as she opened FaceTime. “You look great. Ready for the big interview?”

“I’m not so sure it’s ‘The Big Interview,’” I said. “It’s just that tourist center by the water.”

“Hate to break it to ya, babe, but at this point, any interview is a big interview.”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “Don’t remind me. I miss you. And Boston. And iced coffee. All the drinks here are warm, even in the summer.

I don’t know how they live like this.”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” she said. “And missing cold brew is a weak excuse to want to come home, just so you know.

But you need to focus, here. This is important for you.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” I said, saluting her. She rolled her eyes, and I knew she was right. Only it didn’t feel as important

as it did a few days ago when I originally scheduled the interview. Before the abbey. Before the kiss. Now, the interview

didn’t feel quite so big. Or so necessary.

“It would be okay if you changed your mind, you know,” she said, reading the tone in my voice even from three thousand miles

away.

“Why on earth would I ever change my mind?” I said, even though I was beginning to sense we both knew the answer to that.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe you’re into Ireland now. Maybe its kissing has charmed you into staying.”

“I thought I was supposed to be focusing on my interview.”

“You shouldn’t have told me about the kiss, then,” she said. And again, she was right. If you gave Ada an inch she took a

mile. “You can be two things at once, Chels. You can be interested in this fling with Collin and trying to get your plans

back on track at the same time.”

“How does that make sense?”

“First of all, not everything has to make sense,” she replied. “That’s what makes life interesting. And the whole point of

a fling is that it’s short-lived, isn’t it? Don’t all summer flings burn hot and bright for a few months and then fizzle out

come September?”

She had a point. Though now was not the time to define “flings,” so I tried to let it roll off. Or at least roll elsewhere

until I had the bandwidth.

“You’re blowing my concentration,” I said eventually, though we both knew that Ada wasn’t the problem here. “I need to finish

preparing and get this thing over with. I feel like an idiot in this shirt.”

“You look like a goddess.”

“Wish me luck.”

“ Bonne chance ,” she said, blowing me a kiss. “Call me later.”

I agreed, ending the FaceTime and staring at myself in the reflection of my phone.

It was the first time I’d really put myself together since I’d been living in Galway, and I hardly recognized myself.

The freckles under my eyes were all but covered by a layer of foundation, and the unruly curls that had been framing my face all summer were slicked into a low bun.

While I waited for the hiring committee to join the video call, I looked over my notes one last time. The tourist center had

undergone serious renovations in the past five years and was looking for a community recreation coordinator to oversee the

planning and execution of a variety of events in the surrounding neighborhoods. I didn’t feel particularly enthusiastic, but

it was close enough to what I wanted.

The interview went like they always do. Tell us about yourself, what experience can you bring to the role?, what are your

greatest weaknesses?, whatever corporate nonsense they needed to include.

“What does success look like for you?” one of the interviewers asked as we neared the end. I couldn’t remember her role and

she hadn’t spoken much the whole time, so her voice was as jarring as the question.

“For me, success is excelling at a job that makes a positive impact on my community,” I said, instantly hating that every

candidate probably gave the same answer.

“And beyond work?” she pressed. “What is your full picture of success, Ms. Gold?”

Had this woman spoken to my mother before we got on this call? Was she wearing a wire?

“It’s, uh...” I stalled. This should have been a layup. My whole life was constructed around my idea of success. Surely,

I could verbalize what that was. “Balance,” I said eventually, simply. “And the kind of confidence that comes with security,”

I added.

At the very moment she was thanking me, I realized I hadn’t said a word about happiness. It was only her soft, sad smile that made me realize my answer was lacking. I’d answered in a way that would have made me proud five years ago. But right now, I felt embarrassed.

“As for Ireland,” she said, dragging me from my introspection and back to the interview. “You’re willing to relocate?”

“Oh, I don’t live here,” I said. “I mean, I do right now, but it’s only for the summer. I’ll be home to Boston in a month

or so. And I’ll be there for good.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I must have somehow overlooked that this was only temporary. My apologies. I’ll make a note of your brief,

uh, departure from your career in Boston and your intention to return.”

Was she on the phone with my mother before the interview, asking for tips on passive aggression? I knew this was a risk, but

surely I wasn’t the first woman in her twenties to move away for a summer while she sorted her life out.

After a few awkward goodbyes we ended the call, agreeing they’d be in touch next week, and my thoughts continued to swirl.

Was I finally defending my choice to come to the Wanderer? Collin’s smiling face from the driver’s seat, the Atlantic roaring

behind him, flashed across my mind. The unfamiliar feeling that I didn’t want the summer to end lingered in my chest.

No. I couldn’t even entertain the thought. Boston was the right call, and one mildly awkward interview wasn’t going to deter

me from my plan.

I considered updating Ada right away, calling and telling her the interview was a bust, but I decided against it. We had another

staff bonding activity tonight, and I promised Flo I would join as soon as the interview was over. Above all, I needed a drink.

I knew Collin was going to be at the function, and I was grateful I didn’t have time to dwell on what it would be like to see him after the kiss.

Just thinking about it made my chest flutter, and any more time I spent on it would have me pulling out a diary like I was in middle school.

The interview had been the only time I’d spent in the past twenty-four hours thinking about anything other than how much I wanted to kiss him again, and now that I no longer had that to distract me, I was hopelessly single-minded.

Fortunately, I found Collin sitting on a makeshift stage tuning a banjo the second I walked into the multipurpose room. Was

there anything this man couldn’t do? He didn’t see me right away, so I watched for a minute as he plucked strings and listened,

turning knobs with nimble fingers.

He looked up at the exact second Flo called my name, and we made eye contact just long enough to ignite every nerve ending

and send a raging blush to my cheeks.

“Thank god you made it,” Flo said as I approached, kissing both of my cheeks. “I was getting nervous.”

“Sorry, sorry,” I said. “Just finished up the interview.”

“How’d it go?”

I shook my hand side to side. “Eh,” I said, searching for the words. “I felt like they were judging me for leaving Boston

after I was let go.”

“You were just giving yourself a hard time about the same thing, no?”

“Florence!”

“What? It’s true, tesoro . Hard to convince them you didn’t run away, if you can’t even convince yourself.

Here, help me with this.” She handed me a case of beer, and I was grateful for her short attention span.

Regardless, she was right. If I was berating myself for leaving Boston, why didn’t I expect others to do the same?

“I didn’t run away,” I said, apparently willing to finish the conversation after all. “I’m going back. I’m just doing something

else while I sort my life out.” I busied myself with arranging the cans in a cooler as I spoke.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Chels,” she said. “I actually did run away. And it was the best decision I ever

made. Who am I to judge? Also,” she continued, “selfishly, I’m glad the interview was bad. I’m not ready for you to leave

the Wanderer.”

“I’m leaving either way,” I reminded her.

“So you say,” she said. “But do you have a backup plan? If you don’t find a job, I mean. Then what?”

An image of my parents’ office flashed behind my eyes, and I swallowed hard to stop a lump from forming in my throat.

“I’m going to find a job.” We stood in silence for an uncomfortable beat, but I knew exactly what she was thinking. I was

trying to convince myself that was true, not Flo. And I wasn’t convincing at all.

“Remind me what all this is about?” I asked, gesturing to the stage and trying to change the subject for good.

“Variety show,” she said. “Meaning: terrible stand-up comedy, some decent instrumentals, and whatever other talents are running

wild in this place. And before you panic, it isn’t mandatory. You can just sit in the back and get drunk with me.”

Was I that predictable that she knew I was going to panic? And was I so boring that I clearly didn’t have a talent for a variety

show?

The rest of the staff rolled in after a few minutes, and Lars started a sound check.

“All right, all right, welcome,” he said as everyone filed in. “Find yourselves a bevvy at the back and grab a seat for the Wanderer’s annual Summer Staff Variety Show!”

Collin had since disappeared backstage, and I was grateful Flo hadn’t seen me looking at him. I hadn’t told her about the

kiss, but I had a bad feeling it was only a matter of time before she—and the rest of our coworkers—found out.

Once everyone was settled, Lars welcomed the first act to the stage.

“Everyone please make a little noise for Marta, who will be opening our evening with some original slam poetry.”

Marta, a petite blonde wearing a pair of corduroy overalls, took to the stage and began her set. She spoke in varying volumes