Page 4

CHARLOTTE

Between getting on the plane in New York and getting off in Galway, it’s like being transported to a different world. Sure, being dehydrated and mussed from oversleeping to get through the flight might add to the sense of a distorted reality, but something in the air buzzes along my skin.

I sigh as I drop into a chair beside the gate, watching as people mill about with direction I just don’t have. Colbéliard, my new castle, and the mysterious quest of finding myself await.

As my phone connects to the slow-as-molasses airport Wi-Fi, notification after notification comes through.

“What the—” I grumble as I unlock my phone, trying to take in the biblical-level flood of messages.

I go for the texts over the news and email notifications, knowing my family is going to want proof of life.

Momma Bear: Fly safe, sweetie

Momma Bear: There’s been a big announcement on the news. I don’t want you to panic. We’re just a call away.

Pops: You’ll be alright. Call me if you have questions.

Kenny Girl: HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEWS?!?!?

Kenny Girl: OMG, Of course you haven’t. You’re probably snoring on a plane and drooling on the shoulder of a stranger.

Kenny Girl: You know I love you, babe, but when it comes to flying, you turn into an eighty-year-old

Kenny Girl: Look at your texts first, no news apps until you get through it all!!!!!!! Mom is freaking out worrying about you.

The panic and confusion that settles onto my shoulders makes me curl deeper into the chair. My breath comes out in sharp little pants, and my heart rate kicks up. I kind of want to puke, but everything around me is too normal to warrant an all-out panic attack before even checking the news.

I leave my messages and click on the first bold banner that crosses my screen.

Monsters: Finally coming out from under the bed.

A grainy photo, which I assume is supposed to depict Bigfoot, Nosferatu, and a swamp monster, complements the dramatic flair of the headline.

I snort, clicking out of the app to check the date.

It’s not April first, but all this feels like some elaborate prank being played on me by my family.

How they got the app on my phone to display that headline is something I’ll have to ask about and steal when I plot my revenge, but for now, I call Kennedy.

“Ha, ha, very funny, Kennedy?—”

“Bitch, do not even! I take it you didn’t see the dragon spewing flames from the torch of the Statue of Liberty? A woman on the news pulled off a very fancy wig to reveal a head full of snakes too! I am losing my shit but am also weirdly fucking excited.”

The choking sound that slips from my lips is the only sign I heard her at all. All my normal faculties have stalled. I can’t breathe, and my heart races so erratically in my chest I’m worried I’ll go into cardiac arrest.

“In through your nose and out through your mouth, Lottie. Please don’t pass out in the airport. Well, actually passing out in the airport would be preferable to passing out where you’re headed—that rinky-dink little town,” she says teasingly, but tension laces her voice.

The city girl is none too pleased about my relocation to the middle of nowhere, Ireland.

I don’t know if Colbéliard has an emergency room or even a local doctor. The small town is two hours from Galway, heading south, with nothing advertised except for the castle and the local loch for tourist attractions.

“You still with me, Lottie? Wheeze once for yes and groan for no.” My sister-slash-best friend’s voice is tight.

She’s not a worrier, but this is an unprecedented situation. It’s not every day that monsters just…make themselves known.

“You’re really not kidding?” My voice is small, fragile in a way that makes me feel exposed.

“I’m not creative-writing class enough to come up with something like this, Lottie.” She sighs.

“Is it weird that I’m pleased to be an ocean away from the Appalachian Mountains?”

My question makes my sister laugh so hard she snorts, groaning at the horribly unladylike sound coming from her nose like it betrayed her on purpose.

“Of course, that’s the first thing you think about. You may be away from those woods, but Ireland is teeming with its own monsters. Oh, fuck me, I won’t be able to ride the subway ever again. I’m fucking terrified of the idea that rat people are real.” I hear her shudder through the phone.

“Just have Chad pay for all your Ubers to and from work. Make the finance bro work for you, Kennedy.”

She groans across the line in response.

“Did something happen that I don’t know about?” I ask, trying to keep up with the subject whiplash common in Kennedy conversations.

“Yeah, apparently he wants us to get serious, like meet the parents and come to holidays and shit.”

“But he’s the one who insisted you keep it casual?” I ask in faux horror.

Any of those finance bros and literal Chads with half a brain cell would be lucky to snatch up Kennedy if she gave them the time of day. The whole appeal of the actual Chad was that he was cool with flings.

“I know, right?! He said he has reservations with them next week, and he would just ‘love for me to meet them.’” She makes her voice more nasally and drops it an octave, giving her best Chad impression.

I hardly know if it’s a good one or not. I tend to zone out when he tries to make small talk.

“Tell him no. Tell him to take a long walk off a short pier on Coney Island.”

“Even I’m not that cruel.” She scoffs, and I roll my eyes.

“You can be when it comes to the numbers. Think of it this way. He’s trying to steal away precious time that could be spent riding monster dick.

Now that it’s out there, you can’t just settle for a two-pump chump who doesn’t even have the courtesy to get you off with his tongue afterward,” I huff, agitation sending tingles racing down my back.

The subtle prickles of static are sharp and exciting as I let myself tell her what’s really on my mind.

“Yuh know, I hadn’t actually thought of it that way. Look at you, yuh big horn dog, going right for the monster dick and taking no prisoners. Poor Chad is going to be crushed.”

“Good. He sucked, and you deserved so much better from the beginning. What do we say to Chads?”

“Not today in my vah-jay,” she intones.

Our little spoof of the fantasy TV show tagline never fails to bring a smile to my face.

“Good. OK, I’m going to go. I’m getting a lot of weird looks in the airport, and I think it’s just better to rip the Band-Aid off.”

“OK, I’m here if you need me. I’ll keep my phone on hand, and Mom would love to hear from you. Yuh know, signs of life and all that,” she says before smacking a kiss against the receiver. “Love ya, sister.”

“Love you, sis.” I hang up before I can analyze the burning starting in my eyes and the lump that suddenly welled up in my throat.

I miss her already. This whole time I’ve been fighting the urge not to miss them, but like a ton of bricks and a bad cold had a sinister lovechild, it always manages to catch up to you in the end.

Once I’m out of the airport, it’s impossible not to notice how much cleaner it is here. Even in the city just outside the airport. The drizzle that hangs in the air makes each lungful thicker, but nonetheless, it’s sweet.

Maybe Ireland is where I’ll magically discover myself and achieve nirvana and all that jazz.

If anything, I can make some good art. I’ve always loved painting clouds.

Rain clouds are a particular favorite of mine.

The nuances within the many layers of swirling gray have never been something I’ve been able to resist. There’s something so beautiful, so powerful and wild about the rain.

I take a steadying breath before making a mad dash for the open-air taxi stand.

Once under the light covering, I rock on my heels a bit, trying not to keep my eyes on any one person for too long.

I don’t know a lot about Irish mythology and legend or local lore, so I’m being cautious not to offend anyone or anything as I slip into the back of my cab.

“Where ya headed?” the older gentleman serving as my cabby asks, glancing back at me through the rearview.

“I know it’s a long way out, but I’m headed to Colbéliard. Would you be able to take me there, or should I try something else?” I ask, suddenly feeling foolish.

A low, sharp whistle flies out from between his lips, but he nods.

“I can take you. It’s two hours at a minimum on the roads, and with weather like this, it’s a guarantee that the time will stretch on. It’ll cost yuh.”

His words are gentle, well meaning, but they stir up a bit of rage within me. I’m a woman who was born and raised in New York City. If I can handle a ninety-nine-cent slice going up to one fifty, then I can damn well manage the cost of a taxi.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, trying to sound confident. “I just got here, and I’m already exhausted. If you’re willing to do it, I can pay whatever.”

“I can tell you’ve just arrived,” he says, nodding toward the airport. “Locals usually know better places to be on a Friday night.”

I hiss through my teeth. Of course it’s after midnight. It’s still Thursday back in NYC. Being in a different time zone than my family feels like the least weird thing to happen in the last twenty-four hours somehow.

“Right, um, OK. Let’s do this…”