Just Like You Said It Would Be

by C. K. Kelly Martin

  “It’s done,” I confirmed. “I have to read it to the class tomorrow or Friday. The moment of truth. If they hate it I have to figure out something else to do with my life.” I said it casually, knowing when the time came I’d be genuinely anxious. But with Darragh beside me, I couldn’t feel anything but hyper.

  At the restaurant we sat in a corner table and this time I barely noticed anything about the place—the hostess, the waitstaff, the people seated nearest to us—everything aside from him was a blur. Over dinner we switched seamlessly between outright teasing each other and serious discussion. When Darragh caught one of my knees between his legs under the table my mind and body raced in sync. Clasps. Zippers. Buttons. What it would be like if he undressed me? What would it feel like to do things with him that I’d never tried before?

  When we slunk out of the restaurant later, we dove immediately into kissing in the middle of the lane until the sound of traditional Irish music lured us towards a pub across the street. I’d never been big into trad but with just under four weeks left in Ireland learning to appreciate it seemed like the thing to do. Darragh humoured me and said he’d go anywhere that would make me happy and that he could have another pint.

  So we sat close to the band upstairs in Oliver St John Gogarty’s while Darragh and I nursed our beers, tapping our feet and chatting with the middle-aged Australian couple closest to us who were head over heels in love with Ireland. I had to admit the music had a way of seeping into your bones—bursts of concentrated emotion set to tunes that made you want to whirl wildly. Maybe it was because I was born to it—half my genetic tree filled with Celtic crosses, pagan girls, and Irish high kings. And then again maybe it was just because I was so gone on the musical Dublin guy with his leg pressed against mine that I felt light-headed after a single beer. I kept checking my watch, simultaneously calculating how much time we had left and trying to slow down the minutes.

  Just after eleven Darragh and I caught a cab together (he’d left his Yamaha at home so that he could have a few drinks while we were out). “You’re beautiful,” he whispered to me in the back seat, his mouth sliding along my neck. “I don’t want to take you home. You know tomorrow’s my day off. We could spend some time at mine. Be properly alone.”

  A ribbon of longing spiralled through me. With Matias I’d always been the one to hit the brakes and had never been tempted to take things too far. But from where I was standing I wasn’t sure what too far was; the ground was shifting under my feet.

  I curled a lock of Darragh’s dark hair around my finger. “You’re being a bad influence. What about what you said Friday?” No pressure. I glanced at the cab driver in the front seat, hoping he wasn’t paying us any attention.

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Darragh whispered. “You’d be in charge. We both know where this isn’t going. But that leaves us some room, doesn’t it?”

  He’d said no pressure, but it was already building. And it wasn’t only coming from him. I felt it inside me too, like a steady knock against my ribs.

  “Okay.” My voice fluttered. “Come pick me up tomorrow after class.” I looked him in the eye where there was nowhere for my feelings to hide.

  Darragh grabbed the hem of my top between his fingers. “I’ll let you be the bad influence, all right?”

  I smirked and blushed at the same time, the knock well on its way to becoming a clamour. “You’re on.”

  Chapter 17

  If I can, you can.

  Being a couple didn’t change us. Change was the wrong word. It was more like evolution, like we’d become the thing we were meant to be all along. Day in and day out I walked around feeling like blue skies and sunshine ran through my veins. I’d discovered a secret island where anything was possible and Darragh was the one who’d discovered it along with me. We could visit it together, even when we were apart.

  Being together felt like some sort of magic. But it was real. And it was like nothing else.

  It wasn’t that Darragh was in my head again when I slunk into class on Wednesday morning; he’d never left. I’d hoped that knowing he’d be waiting for me afterwards would make me less nervous about reading my script. Instead I was doubly anxious and excited, the two emotions feelings like uneasy kin to each other.

  Clare and Gianni declared me pale-looking when they saw me that morning. I didn’t argue. The colour was draining out of my face, my fingertips tingling with nerves as I told them about my plan to volunteer to read first so I could put the experience behind me.

  “You are so melodramatic,” Gianni intoned, raising both eyebrows as his hand grazed my shoulder. “It will all be over in a few minutes.”

  It didn’t feel that way. But I knuckled down, reading the class Sebastian’s unhappy yet realistic story. Pride fought with nerves and sadness inside me as I flipped through the pages. I didn’t have Clare’s dramatic flair or Gianni’s charismatic intensity, but I thought I had something. I hoped it was in the neighbourhood of what Darragh had called depth and truth. When I reached the end, Dermot O’Shea’s and my classmates’ compliments rang in my head. The screenplay wasn’t perfect, but I could still improve it. And having finished one script I could do it again, better. This was only the beginning for me. If only that didn’t mean the course was nearing the end.

  Darragh was out in the IFI lobby afterwards. We were at his place by one-thirty, Darragh promising to make me lunch. “We have vegetarian pizza,” he said.

  “You have vegetarian pizza?” I repeated incredulously as we stood in his kitchen sipping tall glasses of ice water. Darragh loved to eat things that had once walked around on four legs. He’d said as much the times we’d talked about me being a vegetarian.

  “I think of these things,” he bragged. “Actually, my dad was going to Tesco yesterday and I jotted it down on the shopping list so there’d be something here to feed you in case you dropped round. He drives me mad sometimes, but he’s good about doing the shopping and things.”

  “So you’ll keep him,” I joked.

  “I’m considering it, yeah. He’s on probation.” Darragh’s hand curved into my hair and slid down my back. “Let me stick this pizza in the microwave so we can get the food out of the way.”

  “What time will your brothers be home?”

  “Not for hours. Five or so.”

  “So there’s no hurry.”

  “There is,” Darragh said lightly. “You’re going back to Toronto at the start of September and we’re still making up for lost time.”

  “We could pretend that’s not happening.” I stepped closer to him so that we were standing toe to toe. “That I’m not going anywhere.”

  Darragh’s hand dropped lower, skimming my ass. “That’s a dangerous idea. I could get too attached to you if I’m not careful.”

  “So you’re being careful?” I buried my face in his neck, covering it with soft kisses. “Guarding yourself?”

  “I’m not. But I should be.” He looked so sincere that my breath stuck in my throat. Then we were kissing, tongues sliding against each other as our jeans crushed together.

  He was hard where our pelvises lined up. I was used to that from my months with Matias, but I’d never felt as proud about it as I did in Darragh’s kitchen. I’d done that. He was hard from wanting me.

  Darragh stopped to finger the strap of my tank top. “So you’ll have to be gentle with me.”

  “And you with me.” I ran my fingers through his hair and spread my palm out against his T-shirt, feeling so incredible that I didn’t know what to do with it. He kept fiddling with my strap, stroking my shoulder.

  Then I understood what was happening. He was waiting for me to make the next move, like he’d said last night. Maybe we could’ve stayed in his kitchen like that for hours, making out against the counter, but I wanted to be that bad influence he was hoping for. I knew I couldn’t take things all the way, but there could be more between us…

  “Are you sure no one’s going to walk through the door any time soon
?” I asked, my skin breaking into goosebumps.

  “As sure as I can be. My dad rarely comes home in the middle of the day.”

  “Okay, so”—my hand fused to one of his—“let’s make ourselves comfortable on your couch.”

  We lurched into his living room together, first sitting on his couch and then kicking off our shoes and lying on it. Our bodies crammed together as we breathed life into each other. I kissed him everywhere I could reach. Buried my fingers in his hair. Pulled his mouth back to mine when it was gone too long. He cupped my ass in his hands and kissed me deep, our bodies moving together like it was all going somewhere.

  Running my hands under Darragh’s T-shirt, our mouths lost themselves in endless kisses, his fingers on my skin turning me warmer and warmer. “I can’t take this,” I whispered, my tongue darting out to play with his earlobe. Mercy.

  Darragh’s lips spread into a slow smile, his face flushed. “If I can, you can.” His hands inched up my sides and crept in towards my chest, over my top, his fingers gliding across my breasts in slow motion, like we had all the time in the world.

  I slid my hands up under his shirt, onto his back and this time I didn’t stop, I pulled it over his head, my eyes tripping on his shoulders. He was stunning in a way that made my lungs threaten to collapse, no six-pack but lean, smooth and naturally sculpted, his skin under his clothes paler than his face or hands. People say the female body is beautiful, but I didn’t think there was a woman alive more beautiful than Darragh.

  I peeked at the downy line of fine hair that trailed from his belly button and disappeared into his jeans as Darragh tugged my top up just far enough to be able to kiss my stomach. His right hand dipped between my legs—over my jeans—curling itself around me, his fingers gentle but insistent. “Is this okay?” he said huskily.

  “Yeah.” I reached to touch him the same way, over the fabric of his jeans, rubbing the shape of him as Darragh’s body pushed back against my hand. His jaw was set in stone, but his eyes were clear and yielding, his right hand still touching me through layers of cotton. For some reason it felt easier to touch him that way than it did having him do the same for me. Maybe because I wasn’t used to feeling out of control.

  I lost my breath, squirming under him because what I was feeling was almost too much. Like someone tickling you to the point where you’re not sure you can stand it. But I didn’t want him to stop. Any fear I had was just of what happened at the moment when I let go. I wasn’t even sure why I was scared of it except that I’d never shared that moment with anyone.

  Darragh groaned, his body tensing. He kissed my neck and buried his face in my shoulder. I felt him exhale into the crook of my neck and then he was shifting his weight to face me. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I wanted you to get there first. But I’ve been thinking about you so much.”

  “I’ve been thinking about you too.”

  Darragh smiled a smile I’d never seen on his lips before, a private smile that was just for the two of us. “Good,” he said. He ran his hand up my leg, tracing my curves until he was back at the spot he’d left me.

  I hovered there for the longest time. Kissing Darragh and leaning into his hand, moving against it, just like he had with mine, until I thought I’d explode like a piñata. He wanted it to happen for me just as much as I did and we kept trying, me perpetually on the edge of igniting, until we were both worn out from the effort.

  Switching gears, Darragh heated up our pizza and after polishing it off we watched Let the Right One In on his laptop while lying snuggled up on the couch together. I liked that he watched closely, as though it mattered, and didn’t talk through half of the movie the way my friends sometimes did, especially when a movie had subtitles.

  We waited until the end credits were rolling to start fooling around again. Only the anticipated arrival of Darragh’s brothers cooled things down. When they trooped through the door they were surprisingly well behaved compared to the last time I’d met them, chatting to me about zombie movies and characters out of The Walking Dead. Darragh had told Ciaran and Cillian that I wanted to be a screenwriter and that I was into some sci-fi and horror stuff.

  I guess that scored me bonus points. I wasn’t the American version of Ursula anymore and The Brash Heathens weren’t complete brats. But it would be a week before Darragh and I had a chance to be totally alone again.

  ______

  During my final screenwriting class I was awash in nostalgia before the experience had officially come to a close. Once everyone finished presenting their scripts and been given a multitude of feedback, for better or for worse, Dermot O’Shea congratulated us on a job well done. “Don’t just write the scripts that fall inside your comfort zone and don’t just write for the popular trends,” he advised. “Write to break the molds. Write what has meaning for you. Stretch yourself. Stay disciplined. Keep writing.”

  I felt myself tear up, not because Dermot O’Shea had been my Robin Williams or Sidney Poitier, but because he was the first person who’d given me a glimpse inside the door of the life I wanted. Several of my fellow students surrounded him at the end of class, reluctant to let their leading connection to the world of filmmaking disappear. I was tempted to loiter too, but Gianni and Clare were already urging me on from the hallway.

  Neil from class trailed me outside and suggested we all have a celebratory drink down the road at The Porterhouse. When we got there everyone seemed to be in a collective good mood that they didn’t want to go to waste. Sean Madding and Neil cornered Dermot O’Shea for information on the intermediate screenwriting course and me, Gianni and the others sat around in a big group laughing at virtually anything. Gianni teased me about not being able to order a pint because of my age and I zipped over to the bar with a mature expression and bought him one to prove him wrong.

  “Amira, I am going to miss you!” Gianni exclaimed, throwing one arm around me as he kissed my cheek. “Email me from snowy sunny Canada.”

  Clare, Gianni, and I strolled up the boardwalk together, stopping to say goodbye at O’Connell Bridge. When they’d gone I’d loitered there alone, gazing up and down the bustling street and across the slate-green waters of the Liffey. It didn’t normally look pretty but in the sunshine you could imagine it did, and it seemed to me that if you stood on that bridge long enough the entire population of Dublin would pass by. I leant against the railing and tried to commit every detail to memory—each storefront, statue and vender stall, the Luas whizzing silently by on its tracks and jaunty accents chattering away in the background. It felt as though I could’ve stood there until the end of the month, right up until the moment I was due leave for the airport, and that I still wouldn’t have been able to absorb the entire essence of Dublin.

  It was forever in motion. Never an empty moment.

  When I did tear myself away from O’Connell Bridge it was to roam the city streets, back along the quays, into Temple Bar and then Dame Street, following it east until it morphed into College Green where I hung a left onto Westmoreland Street and waited until the last possible moment to catch a bus home.

  There would be other days ahead. Dublin and I weren’t finished yet. But no matter how long I stood with the soles of my feet glued to Dublin cement, I couldn’t stop thinking that today was the first goodbye.

  Chapter 18

  Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.

  Because only Wednesdays at Darragh’s house offered any real privacy, there were days and days that we had to settle for makeout sessions on the lawns of public parks or between the cement-walls of the laneway at the end of my aunt and uncle’s road. The shortcut dumped you into the main road without having to circumnavigate their entire street, which meant it was fairly well-travelled.

  Twice we got wolf-whistles from neighbourhood children and teenagers. The first time it happened, facing the passing trio of young boys embarrassed me slightly. The brash group of co-ed teenagers, on the other hand, only made me defiant. I levelled a so-what stare at them until two
of the girls looked away. One of the boys smiled impishly, quipping, “Propagation of the species in action! Fair play to you both.”

  Darragh chuckled and as soon as they were out of sight we wound ourselves back together and picked up where we left off. To her credit, Jocelyn never lectured me when I told her how frustrating it was not having a spot of our own. Instead she asked me to snap a photo of Darragh so that she could get a look at him. “He’s not your usual type,” she said, once I’d sent it along on my phone. “But he’s so there.”

  When my birthday arrived, Joss, Yanna, and Kérane gathered in front of Joss’s laptop to sing Happy Birthday, a cupcake with a lit candle in Ker’s hand. Aunt Kate and Zoey has planned a small celebratory dinner too, one that included Darragh and Rory. A couple of hours beforehand my parents called to sing their own rendition of Happy Birthday. They sounded so cheesy together—my father over-exuberant and my mother tone deaf—that I laughed uncontrollably. “We miss you, Habibti,” my mom said afterwards.

  “Me too, Mom. But I’ll see you soon.” Soon. The word felt poisonous. Of course I wanted to see my parents. I just didn’t want that to mean leaving Dublin.

  “Yes, soon,” she repeated, her voice buoyant. “And, as you’ve probably already guessed, your dad will be moving back into the house once we’re back.”

  “Yeah, I had that figured out.” I wanted to tell them both not to do that to me again. No splitting up from now on. “But it’s still good news.”

  “I would hope so,” my mother said, hesitating. “Are you okay?”

  I wished I had the kind of mother I could talk to openly about a guy, but bringing up my feelings about leaving Darragh would only have made her anxious and skeptical. “Just getting a bit nostalgic about Dublin. After spending the summer here it’s starting to feel like a second home.” I held the phone in place between my ear and shoulder and padded over to the window. By my count there were two magpies in the backyard. Two for joy.