by KT Webb
“They get much busier at night. It’s one of the things I avoid on the few occasions I’ve visited Dublin,” Gannon says as we take a seat at a table in a corner.
I’m surprised by the number of people who are in a pub before noon, but I guess that’s part of the Irish charm, right? It isn’t too crowded, but it’s busy enough that I wonder how long we’ll have to wait for service. Luckily, we aren’t going to have to spend a lot of time figuring out what to eat, Gannon made up my mind when he said “full Irish breakfast”. The waitress takes our order and disappears toward the back.
“So, tell me a little about yourself, Blake. I know you came here because your grandpa wanted you to, but there has to be more to your story than that.”
I think about his question for a moment, I don’t even know where to start. There are things you just don’t share with a complete stranger. My baggage is ridiculously cumbersome, and I have no interest in spilling my sob story out for him. It’s probably best to stick to the necessary details. I decide it’s best to focus on my life, excluding the shit show that is my family.
“I’ve always known we were Irish. Obviously, both my grandparents came over from Ireland, but my father also married a woman whose grandparents emigrated. So, I’m about seventy-five percent Irish. I’ve never really identified as any one thing, though. It’s impossible to really say who you are when you have such limited life experience.”
Gannon nods at me as though he completely understands and is surprised that I came to understand something so complicated at my age. I don’t generally flaunt it to people, but I finished college at the age of nineteen. I was put in the gifted program in elementary school. High school was a breeze for me, so I did dual enrollment classes, and graduated both with honors. I was a high school graduate at seventeen, and a college graduate with a four-year degree at nineteen.
“So, mum tells me you’re a writer.”
“I’m working on it. I mostly write travel pieces for various travel blogs. I have my own blog too, it’s sort of eclectic. And I recently started a blog that’s basically letters to my grandpa, he died recently. I guess I’m still looking for my voice,” I shrug as though it’s a simple process.
Our food is delivered, so conversation stops for the time being. My plate of food is massive, I’m struggling with where to start. There are thick slices of bacon, sausage links, fried eggs, baked beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, and toast. Typically, I would only consider four of these things to be breakfast foods, but the mixture of smells and colors has my stomach practically begging to be fed. I’m not a huge fan of tomatoes or mushrooms, but I decide to give them a try before diving into the rest of the offerings.
I can feel Gannon watching me as I cut a bit of the mushroom off and pop it into my mouth. The roasted flavor isn’t bad, but I’m still not into the texture of mushrooms. I’m trying not to make the face that typically accompanies having things I dislike in my mouth. I’ve clearly failed as Gannon chuckles.
“Sorry, I don’t like mushrooms, but I wanted to give them a try. Do you want the rest?”
“No, thank you, I have plenty of my own,” Gannon continues to watch me as I do the same with the tomatoes.
Again, the flavor is there, but I cannot get past the mushy texture of the tomatoes. I grab my water glass and take a few gulps to wash the sensation from my mouth. Time to try something safer. Like a good American girl, I reach for the bacon. Let me tell you, I was not prepared for the amazingness that is Irish bacon. The thick-cut meat has less fat than the bacon I’m accustomed to; obviously, my accompanying moan of pleasure is a tad louder than intended.
“Is eating with you always this entertaining?” Gannon tries to suppress a giggle.
I finish chewing the bacon in my mouth and pop in the next bite. I’m not giving him any answers, just eating and staring at him with a blank look on my face. Apparently, that makes him uncomfortable because his cheeks are turning a bright scarlet, and he practically buries his face in his own plate. Everything else on my plate is delicious and seems so much fresher than anything I’ve ever eaten. I’m not sure if it’s just because I haven’t eaten in quite a while, or if the food really is that much better.
Gannon offers to pay for my meal, and I let him with only slight hesitation. I remind myself that he’s just being kind to me because his mother technically works for me now. I’ll make sure to get the next meal to even things out. Before I know it, we’re out the door and on our way to our next destination. It’s going to be an interesting day.
I’ve seen more in the last few hours than I expected to see in my short visit to Dublin. I’d planned to head straight to Kinnitty as soon as I left the airport. It’s easy to get lost in the exquisite history at every turn. Now, as we stand on Ha’Penny Bridge overlooking the River Liffey, I can’t help but wonder what life was like for my grandpa in Kinnitty. Dublin is a beautiful city, but it’s not where I’m supposed to be. Even though I love being in Dublin, I’m eager to trace my grandparent’s roots back in Kinnitty. The thought of meeting the Molloy family in their hometown makes me nervous. If things ended badly when my grandparents emigrated, what made grandpa think his family would want anything to do with me? I’ve been pushing my fears aside, knowing that I’m going to have to face it no matter how I feel about it.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Gannon asks, bringing me out of my silent reflection.
I nod, “It really is.”
“What’s on your mind? You look lost.”
I’m not sure how to put the jumble of feelings rolling around inside me into words. There’s happiness, excitement, fear, hope, and curiosity, all fighting one another for my sole focus. None of them seem to be the quite right feeling to encompass everything in my head. I look at Gannon, I’m still not sure about him, so I don’t know how much I can really say to him without sounding like a crazy person. I don’t even know if he would understand my feelings. He’s never had to experience anything like what I’m going through right now. I sigh, resigned to keep my internal struggle to myself for now. I learned long ago that I couldn’t trust anyone as quickly as I once did.
“I’m fine, just a little tired. Looks like we’re heading into the afternoon. How do you feel about showing me the Trinity College Library and the Book of Kells?”
“You know, I have to say, I think I may have misjudged you,” Gannon grins as he starts to head back over the bridge.
Watching Blake absorb every detail of the exhibits before seeing the Book of Kells is one of the most refreshing moments of my life. She’s completely enthralled by the rich history. Our resulting conversations have been some of the best I’ve ever had. I feel like a kid eagerly waiting to show their friends a new toy as we get closer to the steps leading into the viewing room for the Book of Kells. I’m practically dancing on the balls of my feet, loving that she’s paying attention to every bit of information she can soak up, but wishing Blake would hurry up so she can experience the beauty of the oldest known book.
Blake leans close to me and whispers, “I don’t mean to sound momish, but do you need to go pee?”
I can’t hold back the unexpected bark of laughter that startles no fewer than three old ladies nearby. She hasn’t moved away as she awaits my answer, and I can still smell her shampoo from her last shower. She smells amazing. No, Gannon, no. You cannot think like this. I’m just enjoying her company, that’s it. There’s nothing else there. Even if that’s true, there’s no reason I can’t enjoy the moment a bit. I lean close enough that my lips graze her earlobe when I whisper my response.
“No, but I’m pretty sure those ladies over there just pissed their pants.”
For a moment, I’m tempted to stay that close to her. I feel the familiar tug down below as I think about nibbling her ear and kissing her neck. Holy hell, what’s wrong with me? I completely missed her response to my joke, but I have to distance myself from her immediately. I’ve had enough lessons in love and life to know that I’m better off practicing celibacy and
avoiding women at all costs.
But we can be friends, right? I think so. And it would be entirely natural for a friend to take her hand and lead her up the steps. It’s a little dark in here, she’s probably tired and likely to stumble if she isn’t paying attention. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do. Blake has gone completely still after I invaded her personal space. Shite. I hope she isn’t upset with me. I guess there’s only one way to find out. I gently take her hand and lead her away from the last informational exhibit. I can’t tell if she’s upset by the gesture or not, but I’m suddenly so nervous I can hardly stand it, I should probably say something to make the situation less awkward.
“I can’t wait for you to see the actual book,” I whisper, still holding her hand.
She isn’t answering me. This can’t be good; I’m freaking her out. One glance at her expression tells me she’s gone back to that state of deep thought she was in as she stared at the River Liffey. There is something more to this girl, something more profound than she’s willing to share with me. Whatever is going on, I can tell she isn’t impressed by the hand holding. I release her hand once we’re up the stairs, hoping that the moment she sees the exhibit, her mind will be too occupied to think about my screw-up.
The enormity of seeing something like the Book of Kells is not lost on me, even though I have seen it more than once. Many school trips were centered around visiting some of the most critical pieces of our history. I’m grateful that my mum never held onto the fear of Dublin itself; the city didn’t kill my da, some drunk asshole killed him. We’d made more than a few trips into the city, but rarely did any of the things that would be considered tourist attractions. Mostly, mom and I come here for supplies for my pub and the bed and breakfast. I have to meet with suppliers from time to time, so I’m generally by the docks or at the Jameson factory. This trip has been surprisingly more enjoyable.
I don’t think I would trade this moment for anything else in the world. Seeing Blake’s face as she takes in the enormity of the age of this book is priceless. This girl is not looking for leprechauns, she’s looking for the magic of Ireland on a whole different level. It’s refreshing to meet a foreigner who is more interested in our culture than the commercialized attractions. I give her time to quietly observe, watching her face for signs that I’ve upset her. There are tears in her eyes. Shite.
“It’s beautiful,” Blake whispers to me, leaning in close once more.
“It really is,” I say just as softly.
“I’m trying to imagine how the people who created this book would feel if they were standing here with us. To see something they made had such a huge impact on so many people. It’s the ultimate dream of every artist.”
Oh, now, I understand. Her tears have nothing to do with me. I have no idea what to say in response, so I decide to stand next to her in silence while she takes in the moment.
When she sighs and tries to quickly wipe the tears from her eyes, I know she’s ready to move onto the next part of this particular attraction. The Long Room is the massive, historic library still housed within Trinity College. The books are still used from time to time, but only by students or professors. The college built a less intimidating library for everyday use years ago. At the top of the stairs, we see the first section of shelves packed with unidentifiable tomes.
“Damnit,” Blake says under her breath.
“Do books upset you that much?” I chuckle.
“No, I just had this tiny sliver of hope that this place wouldn’t be like the Library of Congress in Washington D.C., they restrict access to the books there too. I remember going for the first time, I was so mad they wouldn’t even let me smell the books.”
My laughter echoes through the massive library as though there are no other people with us. Nearly every other person in the room turns their heads to look for the source of the obnoxious outburst. I quickly clear my throat and try to appear nonchalant.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say they wanted to smell dusty old books,” I’m still trying to control my mirth.
“Seriously? I love the smell of the paper. Obviously, brand new books are best because they smell like fresh paper and ink. But I’ll sniff an old book if that’s all I have available to me,” Blake shrugs.
“You are a strange woman.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Blake laughed as she continued to explore the Long Room.
By the time we leave Trinity College, it’s heading toward late afternoon. We’re only about ten minutes away from the hotel on foot, so I think we can squeeze in another attraction before we find dinner and head back to check into our rooms. Since I own and operate a pub, I’m accustomed to late nights, but I don’t know if Blake is a night owl or an early bird. Christ Church Cathedral is just across the street from the Jury’s Inn, and if I’ve learned anything about Blake today, I know she’ll love it.
“Gannon?”
For the first time since I met her this morning, the tone in Blake’s voice is tentative. We’ve been walking in silence in the few blocks we’ve covered since leaving Trinity College. I assumed she was still contemplating the Book of Kells or the Long Room. Or thinking about how depressing it was that she wasn’t able to stuff her nose into one of those old tomes and take a deep whiff.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for doing this. I get the feeling this isn’t your thing, and I really do appreciate that you’re taking the time to show me some of Dublin before we head to Kinnitty.”
I’m a little surprised by her statement. Of course, in the days leading up to my trip to pick her up at the airport, I’d been dreading the idea of traipsing about the city with a shallow American. But my feelings have changed considerably. I’d misjudged Blake Molloy. She’s nothing like I expected her to be; it’s both refreshing and dangerous. If I don’t keep reminding myself to maintain my distance, I could get myself into a lot of trouble with someone like her. I don’t know how to put any of that in a way that won’t make me sound like a pretentious douche canoe, so I opt for a safer route.
“You’re right. I don’t like this kind of thing. I wasn’t looking forward to having to tote you around Dublin, and I was pissed at my mum for essentially guilting me into it. But I’ve had a lot of fun with you today,” I pause and nudge her shoulder with mine, “You’re not as bad as I expected.”
“You’ve definitely come a long way from the curmudgeon who picked me up at the airport.”
I laugh in response. Blake is not wrong; I was really letting my asshole flag fly this morning. I’m not usually a jerk, but I don’t have a lot of patience for frivolity. I work hard every day. I haven’t had any reason to be carefree in longer than I care to admit. Sometimes things change you, and you can’t ever return to the way things were before. For me, that change happened just after college. Her name was Madigan, and I’d loved her since we were in diapers. The past is behind me now, but I won’t forget how much it has affected every decision I’ve made since the day she left for something bigger and better than I could ever offer.
“Let’s get checked into our rooms so we can both freshen up a bit before we grab dinner or venture out to some pubs,” I suggest.
Blake wrinkles her nose a little. “Do they have a restaurant and bar in the hotel? I don’t know that I want to go out again. I won’t exactly be excellent company if I stay up too late today.”
I nod, “Of course, it’s been a marathon day for you. We can definitely call it a night if you’d rather. They have room service available.”
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t mind having dinner with you and maybe even grabbing a drink afterward. I just don’t think I’m up for the pub scene tonight. Besides, I’d rather get a good night’s sleep before I check out your pub tomorrow night.”
“Fair enough,” I reply with a grin.
It doesn’t take long to get checked into the hotel. We make a quick stop at the truck to grab a few of Blakes’ bags and my overnight bag. I’m sure she wants to take
a shower before we do anything else, she probably hasn’t showered in over twenty-four hours. Our rooms are on different floors, so we ride the elevator together until her stop arrives. Part of me doesn’t want her to leave, it’s a part I have to push down quickly. I just met this girl; I can’t start growing attached. Blake turns around and smiles at me, crinkling that adorable button nose.
“I’ll be down in about thirty minutes,” she tells me as the doors close.
As soon as I’m alone, I release the tension I’ve felt since we stepped into the elevator by heaving a massive sigh. I run a hand through my hair. I’ve got to figure out how to be her friend without thinking about how much I want to kiss her. I need a cold shower before I see her again.
I don’t think I’ve ever taken a more satisfying shower. Washing the airport grime from my body is a euphoric feeling, but using the hot water to release the tension from my sore muscles makes me want to stand under the hot water for hours. Once I’m done in the shower, I go through the motions of getting dressed, pausing to stare longingly at my fuzzy pajama pants and a tank top. I only spend a few seconds contemplating the idea of wearing those to dinner. Nope, that won’t work. I’m not going to Wal-Mart; I’m going to dinner in a nice hotel with a ruggedly handsome Irishman.
