Page 44 of An Irish Summer

Still reeling from the pain of my final afternoon with Collin, I wondered if it would be easier to leave everyone else without

saying goodbye. Slip out unnoticed in the morning and send a text from home, dodging sad hugs and thinly veiled judgments

and pleas not to go.

My daydream was cut short by the crushing reality that the only thing worse than saying goodbye would be leaving without doing

so. Flo would kill me, and I needed to thank Lori, and Lars, so I flopped on my bed beside a pile of clothes, sent two texts,

then immediately returned to packing to distract myself from the impending responses.

Before I’d even finished emptying the wardrobe, Flo appeared in my doorway. She was out of breath and wiping greasy hands

on her apron, surely having run from the kitchen the second she saw my text. For someone who loved cooking, she jumped at

any chance to put off doing it.

“So this is it, then?” she asked. “Lori said you’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

“Afraid so.” I shrugged, and she was hugging me before I could even drop my shoulders.

“Good luck, Chelsea. They’d be crazy not to hire you,” she said. “Anyone would.”

“Thanks, Flo. For everything, I mean. I’m really going to miss you.”

“Are you trying to make me cry?” She made a dramatic show of wiping away tears, which made us both laugh. Then cry a little

more. “People come and go here all the time, Chels. But you made yourself an institution.”

“Oh, stop.”

“I’m serious. It isn’t going to be the same here without you.”

“You’ll all be just fine,” I said.

“And will you?”

“Of course I will.”

“I’m going to pretend I believe you,” she said, “but you need to work on your acting.”

I swatted her arm, and she pulled me into another hug. “If you ever aren’t, you know where to find us,” she whispered.

“Thank you.”

“Good luck, amore mio .”

With one more squeeze she was out the door, and I was left standing tearfully in front of the empty wardrobe. It took everything

in me not to crumple to the floor, but I had to keep moving. This was what I wanted.

When I arrived at the Wanderer a few months ago, I was already counting the minutes until I left. I would have jumped at the

chance to bump my flight home a day earlier, but now that I only had a few hours between me and that flight, I’d have killed

for an extra day. It was beginning to feel like I was convincing myself this was the right idea just as much as I was convincing

everyone else, and an extra day to get my head on straight would have been a gift.

I took out my phone and pulled up the website for Hotel Blue, swiping through the gallery and reminding myself why it was my dream to work in a place like this.

I thought of the events I could plan in their outdoor spaces and the kind of people I would meet.

I thought of how inspired I’d be with the myriad of colors, tumbling plants, and the trendy stretches of patterned wallpaper.

How much I’d enjoy working with the young, creative-looking people I saw in the photos.

How I could find an apartment within cycling distance and maybe even ride to work.

My new life unfurled before me with a few swipes of my thumb, and I released a dramatic exhale. If I was going to prove this

was the right decision, I needed to make it work.

By the time I was fully packed with alarms set for an ungodly hour of the morning, Lori appeared in my doorway the same way

Flo had hours earlier: out of breath and a little teary-eyed.

“Chelsea, dear,” she said, holding me at arm’s length like an old relative she hadn’t seen in ages. “You’ve been such an asset

to the Wanderer this summer. My sister wasn’t lying when she said you’d be irreplaceable.”

“Oh, please,” I said, fighting the blush creeping onto my face. “You’ll have someone new in no time.”

“Someone new, maybe, but no one near as good. Hard to find people who really embrace the spirit of this place, you know?”

She shook her head, waving off her own words. “Though I’m sure that’s not helping you leave, is it? You’ll be grand in whatever

you go on to do, Chelsea. I wish you all the best.”

“Thank you, Lori,” I said. “For giving me this opportunity. And for saying yes to all my last-minute plans.”

“I’ll miss those plans,” she said. “And I hope you know there is always a place for you here if you change your mind. The Wanderer never forgets the good ones.”

Lori and I hadn’t spent much time together this summer, but she had never hesitated to send an encouraging email or drop a

kind word when we passed each other in the lobby. She had a way about her that really made you believe every word she said,

and that only made this conversation hurt more. Being trusted so thoroughly by someone who hardly knew me struck a chord deep

in my chest.

Lars came by only a few minutes later, and I was more grateful than ever for his levity. We hugged, we laughed, we briefly

reminisced, I thanked him for my training, and he was out of my doorway and off to a volleyball tournament before either of

us could get too emotional. If only it could have been so easy with the others.

My only goodbye left was Collin. We hadn’t run into each other, and I had a feeling it was by design. We’d already said goodbye.

Maybe I’d tied up my time at the Wanderer with a sloppy bow, and the only thing left to do was leave.

I shook the thought from my mind, remembering the words of the people I’ve met here and the constant urge to embrace how I

felt. I couldn’t bring myself to just disappear.

I dug through my carry-on for the almost-empty journal, tearing out a page and sitting at my desk for the last time. After

nearly twenty minutes of staring out the window and trying to determine what was left to say and exactly how to say it, I

scribbled a note to Collin that I’d slide under his door on my way out.

My last night in the Wanderer passed much like my first: restless, anxious, unsure of what was ahead.

I was awake when my alarm went off, staring mindlessly at the ceiling, but that didn’t make it any easier to get out of bed and take the necessary steps to the door.

I reread the texts from Ada and my parents expressing their excitement to have me home, trying to psych myself up for the journey.

The sound of my door closing behind me was so final, I heard it rattling around in my brain for the long walk down the hallway.

I stopped outside of Collin’s room to listen for the silence inside. He was still asleep, which I’d hoped for, so I slipped

the note under the crack, dragged my feet down the stairs, and walked out the door and into the car waiting for me.

It wasn’t until we were halfway to the airport that I allowed myself to feel the weight of leaving Collin behind with nothing

more than an awkward afternoon and a last-minute note, and before I knew it: I was the Girl Who Cries in an Uber.

And then: the Girl Who Cries in Airport Security, and the Girl Who Cries on the Plane. Every time I went through the mental

montage of the summer—the picnic at Glendalough, the rain at the hurling match, spinning freely in Collin’s arms at the ceilidh,

falling asleep to the sound of his voice—I broke my own heart all over again.

Sleep evaded me on the flight much as it had the night before, so I arrived home in a daze. Tired, uncertain, in need of both

caffeine and a two-day nap. I only had to scan the passenger pickup area for a minute or so before I spotted my parents, waving

frantically while people honked and shouted at them to get out of the way.

“Chelsea, girl!” My dad called across traffic, holding his arms open and waiting for me to step into them. I was overcome

by a wave of emotion and instantly felt like a kid again, wanting them to protect me from the troubles of the world. “Welcome

home,” he said as I approached, pulling me into his embrace.

“Hi,” I said, but it came out muffled from my face being pressed into his shoulder. When I pulled away to hug my mother, she held me the same way Lori had the night before.

“Look at you,” she said. “My baby is home. Have you been crying? Your face is puffy, but you look thin. What’s that about?”

“Nice to see you too,” I said, letting her pull me into a hug. “I’m just tired, that’s all. Been a long day.”

“We’ve got a whole spread at home,” she said, leading me toward the car. “Bagels, lox, the whole nine. Even that babka you

like from Falk and Rosen’s. Maybe that’ll put a little meat back on your bones.”

“Don’t listen to her,” my dad whispered as he loaded my luggage into the trunk. “You look lovely.”

We shared a knowing smile before getting into the car, and it made me feel good to be home. I stared out the window on the

ride, basking in the familiarity of the roads. In no time at all our neighborhood came into view, brick colonial after brick

colonial, welcoming me home like soldiers at attention.

“Did you miss it?” my dad asked as he pulled into the driveway.

“Of course I missed it,” I said. “But I got used to missing it, so I didn’t think much about it after a while.”

“Good,” he said. “That’s how it should be.”

“How long do you think you’ll be living at home now that you’re back?”

“Wendy,” my dad scolded, “she’s hardly through the door. Let her get her bearings for a minute, will you? Chelsea girl, you

can be home as long as you need.”

“I wasn’t saying you couldn’t,” my mother added. “I was just asking. Of course you’re always welcome here. You know we love

having you at home, don’t you?”

I smiled, already making a mental note to start looking for apartments no later than the minute I walked through the door.

Unsurprisingly, nothing had changed since I’d been gone. Their house had the same smell, the same spotless entryway leading

to the same full kitchen, with the same pile of clean linens on the bottom of the stairs for the next person to take up with

them. It was the same old life I’d always known.