Page 34 of An Irish Summer

Flo to keep me in check.

As we walked in the direction of the hostel, Collin dropped back so the two of us lagged behind the group.

“That’s Reg, the one with the uncle,” he said, indicating a guy with a buzz cut. His arm was linked with the woman next to him, and Flo seemed to have already met them both. “There should be one more car following behind, and then that’s everyone.”

I made a noise to confirm I heard his voice, but I wasn’t entirely focused. As Dublin unfurled beyond the parking garage,

I began to realize what I was getting myself into. The city was more Boston than Galway, and I was at once at home and overwhelmed.

I hadn’t been away from home for very long, but the size and scope of the city intimidated me in a way cities never had before.

Was I already losing my edge? And if so, how badly did I want it back?

“This here is the Ha’Penny,” Collin said as we approached a bridge, pulling me from my thoughts. “First iron bridge in the

country. Used to cost a ha’penny to cross.”

I was tempted to tease him as he turned on his Tour Guide Voice, but the echo of his accent over the water changed my mind.

It was melodic, and I remembered that many come to Ireland to be inspired. People came to the Wanderer and to Collin to be

inspired. As much as I tried not to admit it, he had a way of making people see Ireland the way he did. Myself included.

The hostel stood three stories tall and was unusually thin, sandwiched between an old pub and a cheap sushi restaurant. Curated

graffiti splashed across the brick exterior, and a neon sign not unlike ours welcomed us above the door.

As we filed into the lobby, we were greeted by Reg’s uncle. The man welcomed us to Dublin, told us we would be sharing a twelve-bed

mixed dorm, then said a handful of other things that got lost in his accent.

“Did you get a word of that?” Flo whispered to me in the back of the group.

“Not one,” I said. “You?”

“ Niente. ”

“Breakfast is from seven to nine, we should make use of all the amenities, and the Wi-Fi password is on the room key,” Collin

whispered. “Anything else I can do for you ladies?”

“Yeah, make yourself busy so we can get ready,” Flo said, pretending to toss her hair over her shoulders.

“Easy enough. See you back down here in half an hour, then,” he said, heading to the downstairs bar, but not without a glance

over his shoulder.

“Oh, girl, you’re never going to make that interview.” Flo laughed, shaking her head and watching me watching Collin.

“I don’t have a choice, remember?”

“There’s always a choice, cara .”

For a second, Helen O’Shea flashed into my mind. The choice is yours, Chelsea , she’d said to me when she slid me the pamphlet for the Wanderer moments after she pulled the rug out from under me. At the

time, choosing the Wanderer felt like upending my entire life. But that didn’t mean choosing the Wanderer would always feel like upending my entire life. Maybe there could be a time when choosing the Wanderer would simply be choosing my life.

But that time wasn’t today, and I had to do what I told myself I would do.

“Well, either way, I need to choose myself,” I said eventually, figuring that was the closest I could get to the truth. “And

that means moving on with my life, which means doing this interview.”

“Anything else you plan on doing?” She glanced in the direction we had just watched Collin depart, and I groaned so loud I

was sure they could have heard me back in Galway.

“Yes, actually,” I said. “I plan on getting ready and having a good time, so I don’t regret this trip altogether.”

“Let’s do it, then,” she said. “We can prep you for the interview while I do your hair.”

“Your arms are finally rested from last time?” I teased.

“Don’t remind me or I’ll change my mind. And by the looks of you now, you can’t afford for me to change my mind.” I gasped

and she grabbed my arm, dragging me up the stairs and toward the room.

Flo was reminding me more of Ada by the day. Riling me up, calming me down. She was stepping into dangerous close-friend territory,

and I was suddenly aware Collin wasn’t the only one it would be hard to leave.

Forty minutes later, we were ready to go. I glanced at myself in the mirror, marveling at Flo’s ability to create a salon-quality

blowout in a hostel bathroom. She’d insisted her little black top would be perfect with the jeans I’d packed, and despite

my protests, she was right. The asymmetrical neckline left one shoulder uncovered, which felt like just the right amount of

exposure.

When we arrived back downstairs, Collin was sitting on a barstool with one ankle crossed over his knee, sipping a dark beer.

I studied the faded ink on his ankles that I noticed the first night we met, wondering how it was possible he was ever a total

stranger to me. Wondering what else about him would become this familiar by the time I left.

“It’s about time,” he said, swallowing the rest of the beer in one gulp as we approached.

“Seems like you kept yourself occupied just fine,” I said.

“Lucky you two are worth the wait.” He addressed us both but looked only at me. He wore a charcoal-gray shirt that changed the color of his eyes, turning them the same deep, stormy green as the Liffey.

The three of us made the short walk to the iconic bar together, winding down glistening side streets, under colorful awnings,

and through groups of other twentysomethings looking for a good time. This corner of the city was so lively it was impossible

not to get sucked in, and I could already feel the night taking hold.

As we turned the corner and the Temple Bar came into view, I was momentarily, unexpectedly stunned. I’d seen it in pictures,

of course. It was one of the most famous bars in the world. But as I stood there on the cobblestones between Collin and Flo,

staring up at its cherry-red exterior dripping in string lights, the reality of my circumstances set in.

I was in Ireland. Living in Ireland. I had made a temporary home in a place people dreamed of going. A place people came to be inspired, to spend

time in nature, to be healed. A place people came for adventure. A place with culture and history and stories older than America

itself.

And I’d been hell-bent on resisting that magic. Sure, I’d seen and experienced some of the country, but had I really taken

it in? Had I really been present, or had I spent this much of the summer with one foot out the door?

A combination of shame and embarrassment washed over me, leaving me as open and exposed as the windows of the bar. I wanted

nothing more than to lose myself in the people inside; I practically skipped over the cobbles as I followed Collin and Flo

through the doors.

Inside, the bar was as loud and energetic as I’d hoped.

A large band crowded a small stage, and everyone on the floor seemed lost in the music.

Bartenders and servers performed a choreographed dance through the tight crowds, carrying trays of shots, Guinness, and gin and tonics high over their heads.

I let my eyes roam greedily, admiring the traditional dark wooden beams and the clutter over every inch of the walls: photos,

bunting, flags, postcards, coins, advertisements. I roamed the faces of patrons, from all corners of the world, clinking glasses

and dancing to the sound of an electric fiddle. Eventually, my gaze landed on a bronze statue of a well-dressed man in the

middle of the room. With his arms raised in the air and his head low, he looked how I imagined we’d all look after a few drinks

tonight.

“Who is that?” I asked Collin as we made our way toward the bar.

“Aye, that bloke there? They call him the unknown drinker.”

“There’s just a statue of a random drunk man in the middle of the bar?”

“Of course there is,” he said. “You should know Ireland well enough by now not to be surprised.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

After Collin ordered us drinks (beer for him, gin and tonics for me and Flo), we took to the floor, milling around and finding

a spot against the wall with a small ledge to rest our drinks.

“Should we find the others?” I shouted over the music. Unlike the night at the ceilidh, I had to avoid being alone with Collin

if I wanted to stay focused on the interview, but I knew it was going to be harder than I’d hoped.

“I’m sure we’ll see them eventually,” Flo said, waving a nonchalant hand. I recognized the look in her eyes as she scanned the crowd, and I pulled her close to me by her elbow.

“Florence, you cannot hook up with someone tonight,” I whispered.

“Why? Because we’re in a dorm? People hook up in hostels all the time.”

“No, because you can’t leave me alone,” I said, gesturing discreetly in Collin’s direction. Fortunately, he was watching the

band, ignoring our conversation.

“Did you not just hear me?” Flo said. “People hook up in hostels all the time.”

When I glared at her she only smirked in response, sucking down half her drink through the tiny straw and returning her gaze

to the crowd.

Once we had another round under our belts, we alternated comfortably between mindless chatter, people-watching, and dancing

to the music. No overthinking. No thinking at all, really. Just friends, drinks, music, and the Temple Bar.

As the bands changed over, there was a brief lull during which we could actually hear one another. A man from a nearby table

approached Flo, a shy smile on his face. I’d seen them looking at each other more than a handful of times, and I was thrilled

that he’d finally come to introduce himself.

But I was afraid for myself, because it meant I’d be alone with Collin after all.

After a minute of small talk that I couldn’t quite hear, Flo turned to me with pleading eyes.

She’d been such a good friend to me from the moment I arrived at the Wanderer; it would be horribly selfish to ask her to stay.

I nodded my consent and she kissed me on the cheek, then disappeared with the man onto the dance floor.