Page 4 of An Irish Summer

“I’m so glad you decided to do this,” Helen said, standing beside me in the empty space that used to be my apartment. “I think

you’re going to love the Wanderer. It’s even more charming than it is here,” she whispered. “Not that I’d ever admit that

to Lori.”

“It’ll definitely be an adventure,” I said, because that was what people said about leaving the city for the country, wasn’t

it?

“It’s going to be great. I spoke to my sister this morning, and they’re thrilled. The current receptionist is leaving tomorrow,

so Lori will be able to turn the room over in the next few days and have it ready for you when you arrive at the end of the

week. It might not be your own apartment, but it’s really cozy.”

The end of the week. The end of this era, and the start of the next. I was moving in slow motion while everyone was bustling

to get ready around me. Helen’s sister, Lori, was scrambling to turn over one of the staff rooms above the hostel; Ada had

forced me to go shopping nearly every day this week; my parents were hustling to help me get the entire contents of my apartment

into storage. Yet it felt impossible to believe I was actually leaving.

“And I really get to live there without paying rent?” I asked again, still in disbelief.

“The seasonal workers all do,” Helen said. “That’s why the pay is so low. You’re mostly compensated for the accommodation.

And the property has a gym, laundry on-site, a few common areas for socializing and recreation, a bar, and a small restaurant

space, so it’s really quite a nice arrangement.”

That was more than I could have said for O’Shea’s, I supposed. Not only would I be saving on rent, but I’d be saving on extortionate

gym fees, and I’d have more than one room to hang out in if I needed a change of scenery. It wasn’t all bad.

But still, it wasn’t this. My now former apartment was so empty even the sound of our breathing echoed off the bare walls.

Gone were the antique lamps I used in place of the overhead light, the stacks of books I had wedged in every available corner,

the colorful collection of candlesticks that cluttered the coffee table. A faint urge to cry pricked the back of my eyes,

but a deep breath and a shake of my head was enough to suppress the tears.

“Thanks, Helen,” I said, fearing I’d hardly said it enough since she announced the opportunity.

“Ah, don’t mention it,” she said, waving me off. “Just a little summer work, that’s all.”

“Not just for the job. For everything. The years at O’Shea’s, this apartment, for looking out for me even after you fired

me,” I joked, trying to cover the wobble in my voice with a laugh. “I don’t think I ever thanked you properly.”

“Go over there and make me proud,” she said.

“That’s how you can thank me. Do good work for Lori, and don’t make me regret recommending you.

” We laughed quietly, not quite looking at each other.

“And go easy on yourself, will you, Chelsea? I know this might not be ideal but try to get something out of it. You might surprise yourself.”

“Yeah,” I said, thinking she was wrong but hoping she was right.

After another silent moment looking at the empty apartment, Helen closed the door: an action as literal as it was metaphorical.

In just a few short days another door would be opened, and I would be on the other side.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of buying rain gear, combing the travel section of the drugstore, and shoving the last

of my things into suitcases. I spent more time than I cared to admit weighing and taking things out and weighing again. The

packing was nearly as stressful as the move itself.

“I would be excited if I were you,” Ada said on my last night home, the two of us sharing a bottle of wine on my parents’

couch. “Who doesn’t love a good adventure?”

“Me,” I said, pouring a sizable swig into my mouth. “Adventures stress me out. Maybe you should go instead.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time. Let’s think of at least one thing you can be excited about. Besides the boring job stuff.

Come on,” she said, putting her glass on the table and turning to face me.

“This feels like a therapy exercise,” I said. “Do we have to?”

“Don’t make me make it five.”

“Fine,” I said, crossing my legs under me and turning to face her. “One thing...” I narrowed my eyes, and she gave me a

smug nod in return.

“I, uh, I don’t have to pay for breakfast anymore?” I tried. “Or rent?”

“Okay,” Ada said, trying to maintain her enthusiasm. “That’s... something! Are there any other perks besides free breakfast and no rent?”

I thought for a minute, trying to think of something real. If Ada was patient enough to tolerate my bullshit, the least I

could do was take her exercise seriously. It was for my own good, after all.

“I guess I’ll probably learn a lot,” I said eventually, slowly, like I was testing the idea. “I haven’t really traveled on

my own, and I’ve obviously never worked in a hostel, so I’ll probably learn at least something about myself and my career

while I’m there.”

“Yes!” Ada said, beaming. Her smile alone made me glad I played along. “Look at you. Already embracing your new-life life.”

I laughed, returning to my wine. “I’ve hardly done anything yet,” I said.

“Everyone has to start somewhere.”

Normally someone as chronically optimistic as Ada would get under my skin, but she had been such a fixture of my upbringing

that I had long since gotten used to it. Maybe in this case I could even learn a thing or two.

We spent the rest of the night with low-budget Netflix rom-coms, a second bottle of wine, and nonsense chatter to avoid talking

about how much we would miss each other. It was only a few months, but it was the longest Ada and I would be apart since college,

which felt significant.

“All right, this is it then, isn’t it?” she asked as we made our way to the foyer, prolonging our goodbye.

“Don’t make it sound so final.” I forced a laugh, and she smiled in return. “I’m coming back, you know.”

“You say that now,” she said, “but what if you fall in love with Ireland and never want to come home? Or worse, what if you

fall in love with a person and never want to come home?”

“Relax,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I can assure you; I will do neither.” I may have been open to finding love in Boston, but I had no interest in finding love in Ireland. What sense did it make to fall for someone in a place I only planned to spend the summer?

“If you say so,” she said, opening her arms to me. I stepped into the space, and we hugged for a long time, pulling away only

to laugh at our own drama. “And you’re sure you’ve packed everything you need? Toothbrush? Outlet converters?”

“Yes, Mom,” I said. “Triple-checked. Which you know because you were there.”

“You know, I’ve heard the Irish are sarcastic people. You’ll fit in just fine,” she said, and I rolled my eyes. “Good luck,

Chels. Text me as soon as you can once you’re there, okay? I want to know you made it safe. And I want to hear about how terrible

the communal bathroom is.”

“Not helping,” I said, shoving her toward the door. “But you know I will.” We hugged once more, said goodbyes and I-love-yous,

and blew a hundred kisses to each other as she made her way to her car. I watched her taillights disappear down the street,

missing her already. How was I going to survive in a new environment without my best friend? Or any friends, for that matter?

I shook the thought from my head, knowing full well if I didn’t, it would keep me up all night.

I was naive, really, to think I’d sleep at all. Night came and went, and I did little more than toss and turn and stare listlessly

at the ceiling.

And the following day passed in much the same way. It was nearly impossible to focus on anything with a midnight flight looming in the distance, so I moved through last-minute logistics like a zombie until it was time to leave for the airport.

“Chelsea girl, time to go,” my dad called from the foyer, and I heard the jingle of his keys.

My luggage thudded on every step from my room to the foyer like a countdown, ushering me toward the door. It felt eerily similar

to the morning I first left for college, except UMass was ninety-four miles from home, and Galway was nearly three thousand.

“Ready?” my dad asked at the bottom of the stairs, taking my suitcase from my hand and replacing it with a tumbler of green

tea.

“And if I wasn’t?” I said, my voice quiet.

He kissed me on the temple. “I know you are,” he said. “And I’ll remind you any time you forget.” I exhaled slowly, leaning

into the brief moment of relief. “You can be excited and scared at the same time, you know,” he added, hardly above a whisper.

I didn’t have to tell him he was right.

“All right, then, you two should be off,” my mother said, coming out from the kitchen and bringing us both back into reality.

“Don’t want you to miss your flight.” We all knew I had more than enough time, nearly four hours, in fact, but I was equally

eager to get the last goodbyes out of the way.

My dad was driving me to the airport, so he loaded the car while my mom and I went through the same routine Ada and I did

last night. Hugs, kisses, good-lucks, rogue tears, poorly timed jokes, and constant reminders to call as soon as I landed.

“And remember, honey,” she said as I walked down the front steps to the car. “You can always come home. There will always

be space for you in the house and in the office.”

I knew she was trying to be comforting, but her words had the opposite effect. All they did was remind me what I needed to do to get my life back on track.

“Thanks,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat of the car. “I’ll call you when I land.” She blew a kiss from the steps,

my dad put the car in reverse, and we were off.

Logan Airport wasn’t particularly crowded, so I got through security with plenty of time for an overpriced cocktail before

I had to be at the gate. Fortunately, my dad always slipped me some cash when he dropped me at the airport, so the cost of

the cocktail stung a little less.

I’d only been on a few long-haul flights in my twenty-eight years of life, and none of them were without a return ticket a

few days later, so a massive Aperol spritz was in order.

A few sips of my drink steadied my nerves, and I exhaled for the first time all day. This was happening. I’d be boarding the

plane before I knew it, leaving my life in Boston behind. I said a silent prayer that I’d sleep through most of the flight,

hoping I could arrive in Galway without having had a six-hour panic attack on the way there.

Thanks to the spritz my eyes were heavy by the time the wheels were up, and my journey was officially underway.