Page 37 of An Irish Summer

I was awake an hour before my alarm. Rather than study my notes for the interview, I studied the way the sun cast a sliver

of light across Collin’s chest. For a few glorious minutes, it was like the interview didn’t exist. Like the only things on

Earth were that bar of sunlight and the freckles under Collin’s eyes. There was a nearly unrecognizable feeling coursing through

me, likely the result of the best night’s sleep I’d gotten in months.

In those glorious minutes, I realized what I had to do.

Perhaps I’d even known it last night, only I wasn’t ready to admit it then. Now, however, I didn’t have the luxury of time.

I had to make a decision, and it was as clear to me as the blue sky beyond the curtain.

I was canceling the interview.

Sending the email didn’t take more than a minute or two, but I had a feeling it would take a little longer to unpack once

I finally said it out loud. Collin must have felt me staring, because the room was otherwise still silent, but he stirred

all the same, opening one clear eye and pinning me with his gaze.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, opening the other eye and propping himself up on his elbows. “What’s wrong?”

“I canceled the interview,” I blurted.

He shot up, so close to me he nearly knocked our heads together. “You what?”

“It was a bullshit job, anyway.” I shrugged, fighting a smile at the look on his face.

“The job you were so worried about yesterday? The one you’ve spent days preparing to interview for?” He rubbed his eyes, whether

to rid them of sleep or to make sense of what I was saying I wasn’t sure.

“I mean, the job isn’t bullshit, but it was bullshit for me . It was in hospitality, sure, but it was on the corporate side, which I never even pictured myself doing. It’s not like it’s

that event planning one I’ve been dying to interview for. It’s just another random job in a series of random jobs.”

“So why did you apply?”

“Haven’t you been listening all summer?” I laughed. “To get my plan back on track.”

“But I thought that plan was to get a job you wanted ,” he said. “Unless I’m wrong? Have I misunderstood something?”

“No, no. I think I misunderstood something,” I said. “Or rather lost sight of something. I almost missed out on an incredible night because I’ve

been so strung out over a job that I’m not even interested in just because it’s in Boston.”

“But you didn’t miss out on the night,” he said. “Chelsea of a month ago wouldn’t have even considered it. You haven’t lost sight of anything,

you’ve just gained perspective.”

“You don’t think I’ve made the wrong decision?” I bit my lip. The decision came easily, but the aftermath had more waves than I’d anticipated. “Like I’ve changed too much and now I’m doing things that are out of character?”

“Of course you haven’t failed, Chels. Traveling is supposed to change how we see things. That’s why we do it. What good would seeing the world be if it didn’t alter our perspectives?

And besides, making a difficult decision in your best interest is the opposite of failing yourself.”

“How do you always know the exact right thing to say?”

“Helps that you’re letting me get to know you.” His voice softened to match the morning light, and it took everything in me

not to collapse back into his arms and spend the rest of the day in bed.

“They’re going to think I’m such an idiot.”

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t want the job, anyway.” He smiled, pushing my hair out of my face. “Your perfect job is out

there somewhere, Chelsea. And you’re way too good to settle. It’ll come.”

Somewhere in the unseen depths of my brain, I wondered if it might already be here.

“Let’s take your mind off it,” he said suddenly, getting out of bed and running his hands through his hair. He was the embodiment

of the energy coursing through me, and his suggestion made me eager to channel it into anything other than overthinking my

decision.

“I like the sound of that. What do you have in mind?”

“How d’you feel about a roast?”

“A what?”

“God, Chels, could you even pretend you know anything about this country?” He shook his head. “A Sunday roast. Big bit of meat, roasted potatoes, some veg, that kind of thing. Whole families get together, have some drinks. It’s tradition. And I do think you could use something immersive today.”

“And where do we do this roast?” I could feel the energy practically buzzing off his body. Whether it was from waking up next

to each other or the adrenaline from canceling the interview, there was an undeniable energy to the morning neither of us

could resist.

He sat back down next to me, leveling his eyes with mine. “I was thinking we could go to my family’s house. Back out west,

just past Limerick there, out in the countryside.”

“Like... with your family?” Was this what I thought it was?

“I mean, yeah, it is their house and everything. And it’s the best way to do a traditional roast. But it doesn’t have to be

a formal ‘meet the family’ kind of thing. It can just be a casual Irish education kind of thing. Though I do think it would

be nice to introduce ya, while you’re still here. Unless it’s too much and you’d rather do it down the pub?”

“I’d love to,” I said, surprising us both. “To do it at your family’s house, I mean. Not the pub. If I’m going to have the

experience, I want it to be authentic. And I think meeting them sounds nice.”

“You don’t think it’d be too much?”

“We’ve already shared a bed, haven’t we? What’s a little family time?” I shrugged to emphasize how not-a-big-deal this was,

arguably more for my sake than Collin’s.

“You know, Chels, you’re being surprisingly casual about this.”

“I’m a casual woman.” He laughed a bit too hard for comfort. “Or at least I’m trying to be,” I added.

“Since when? Five minutes ago?”

“People can change, can’t they?”

“So it’s a yes?”

“Will you stop looking at me like that if it is?”

“You don’t like how I look at you?” He flicked his eyes down to my lips, almost imperceptibly, then back up to my eyes.

“It’s a yes,” I said, hoping to dodge his question.

“I should warn you though,” he said. “They aren’t perfect.”

“No family is.”

“They can just be a bit, I don’t know, rough around the edges.”

“All families are. Are you trying to change my mind?”

“No, no. I’m just trying to make sure you know what you’re agreeing to.”

“Are they ax murderers?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Then I’m not worried about what I’m agreeing to,” I said. I thought back to last night and our conversation about expectations

and disappointments, and I tried not to hold it against them that they could possibly be disappointed by Collin.

Who cared if they were rough around the edges? The same could be said for my mother, especially when she met someone new.

I didn’t mind, because they were important to Collin, and what was important to Collin was quickly becoming important to me.

“Right, then.” He exhaled, and a smile formed on his face. “I promised Lars my truck this afternoon though, so it’ll be the

train from Galway for us. But you’ll love the ride.”

If he’d been right about one thing, regardless of how hard I’d tried to fight it, it was that I’d been loving the ride.

On the drive back to Galway, I thought back to my own childhood home.

One look at my small bedroom with its figure skating trophies, bat mitzvah photos, and the acoustic guitar I bought in high school but hardly ever played would tell you nearly everything you wanted to know about me.

And that’s without even talking to my parents.

One conversation with them and you’d know more than I was ever willing to share.

I wondered if Collin’s home was the same way.

I wondered if I was prepared to know him on a deeper level.

And I wondered how much harder that would make leaving.

The train station was quiet on a Sunday morning, so we spoke in hushed tones as we grabbed two coffees for the ride and waited

on the platform. When the train arrived, I watched the way the wind ruffled his hair, remembering how it felt in my hands

the night of the ceilidh.

We wandered the length of a few cars, scanning either side to find two seats next to each other. The entire train was upholstered

in a pattern likely chosen to hide any stains, but it was still cleaner and quieter than any form of public transportation

I’d taken in the States.

“Aye, these are perfect,” Collin said as we finally approached an empty pair. “Big nice window for ya. You’ll get some brilliant

views on this ride.”

I slid into the window seat, shoving my tote under the seat in front of me and making myself comfortable. As the train dragged

itself from the station, Collin nudged me with his shoulder. “All right, no going back now,” he said.

“Should I want to?”

“I’d hope not.” His eyes were so earnest it formed a knot in my chest.

“I’m sure it’ll be grand,” I said, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders.

“God, I love when you say that. Grand. Like you’re a local.” His compliment, while it made my face warm, tightened the knot. I wasn’t a local, and I could never be a local, and I feared he wished it was different. Wished I was different.

As the train reached a steady pace and the countryside began to stretch itself beyond the windows, he rested his hand on my

knee, like it was something he’d been doing all his life. The weight of it steadied my nerves. I vowed to get carried away

in the views, counting the shades of green to keep my brain from ruining the moment.

It only took a mile or so for Collin to be right about the landscape. The hills tumbled over one another, reaching higher

as they moved farther away from the tracks. Farmland spread in all directions, and I allowed myself to slip into a daydream

about what it might be like to live on the land. No corporate ladder, no coworkers, no ridiculously expensive Whole Foods

groceries. Just land and sky and baking bread and drinking tea by the fireplace.