I just need something, and this looks like a good enough place to start. Bern’s bushy eyebrows move as he assesses my resume. He clears his throat and lets out a heavy sigh.
“The only reason I’m sayin’ yes is because we’re expecting a large group comin’ in for a brew fest. That’s it. We’ll use that as a trial basis, then evaluate it after that.” Bern stands and sticks out his hand, and I eagerly shake it.
“You won’t be sorry, and thank you so much.” I try to calm the hell down and excitedly leave the bar.
Things are finally falling into place. I’d purchased a brand-new camera and started dabbling again, taking pictures. It was therapeutic to do something just for me. Something I liked to do that had no attachments to anyone else. I had looked into starting a business and even asking for clients, but it was like stepping up to the edge of a diving board. Exhilarating, scary, and too intense. I wasn’t ready to jump, which is why I was groveling to Bern for a job.
Next, I just need my own apartment.
I try to ignore how one week from that conversation with Sam is turning into two and how my phone still hasn’t had Mason’s name come across it. I cling to what Sam told me, but he hasn’t uttered a word of encouragement since.
I found myself a little apartment above a bakery. It smells like heaven seven days a week, so the fact there aren’t three fireplaces, a glass roof, or a wall heater on each wall is easily looked over.
It’s Tuesday, and my thirteenth shift at the Irish Lily. I leisurely make my way down the steps leading to the door, shake my umbrella out, and close it. I push the door open and stand frozen in place.
Sitting on a wooden stool at the bar is Mason. My heart picks up speed, ready to clamor out of my chest at the sight of the man who stole it all those weeks ago. I mean, I can’t be too angry with him, he was only doing what I’d asked. But my fucking eyes that process reality and shit move to the person next to him. She has long blonde hair, big boobs, and she’s gripping Mason’s forearm as he makes a joke. He looks happy, tan from all that Californian sun, his hair lighter too. Everything about him looks fresher, cleaner, better.
A sob works its way into my lungs as I stand there, watching the two of them laugh and throw back drinks. Like this is hilarious. Like they are on a date. Like I don’t exist.
I turn away from the door and head back home. There’s no way I can go to work, let alone come to terms with the fact Mason is in Ireland with someone else. He’s here, but not for me. He moved on, just like I thought.
Mason
“EMILY, THAT’S RIDICULOUS.”
“No, it isn’t, Sam. Haven’t you heard the saying before?”
“Yes, of course I have, mo stor.”
I hear Sam’s voice groaning from the back patio of my parents’ house. I drop my keys onto the front table and remove my coat before walking down the hallway. The patio door is opened wide, allowing the cool, misty air to blow through the whole house. The rain has settled just long enough to enjoy the fresh air. When I step out onto the covered portion of the patio, I find Sam and Emily sitting at the small round wooden table, a bouquet of pink roses sitting in the middle.
Sam and Emily look up as I slide out a chair and join them, Emily giving me a small smile before turning her attention back to Sam.
“Monday for wealth,” she says, “Tuesday for health, Wednesday the best day of all—”
“Thursday for losses,” Sam cuts in, rolling his eyes. “Friday for crosses,” he sighs, sitting back in his chair. His shoulders fall as he tips his head back, looking up to the large canopy keeping us dry.
Emily leans forward in her chair, waiting for Sam to finish the rhyme, clearly annoyed.
I trade glances between them, annoyed myself. I didn’t come here to deal with Sam and Emily’s relationship and wedding issues.
At least they’re in a relationship.
“And Saturday no luck at all.”
Suddenly, as if seeing me for the first time, they both turn their heads to me. Sam smirks as Emily holds her hand out to me, turning to look back at Sam.
“Thank you, Mason. Saturday. No luck at all.”
“I heard you, mo stor, but that saying is as old as dirt.” Sam waves his arm around, glancing around the garden behind Emily. “It’s as old as... I don’t know... Ireland.”
“It’s bad luck,” Emily points out.
“No one wants to go to a wedding on a Wednesday, Emily,” Sam retorts. “It just isn’t practical.”
“They’ll go whichever day we choose because it’s our wedding. They’re celebrating us.”
Sam rakes his fingers through his brown hair and blows out an exhausted sigh.
“Wait,” I say, confused. “I thought you already set the date.”
“We did,” Sam says. “But since Emily is English, and she’s marrying me,”—Sam points to his chest—“an Irish man, she decided to look up Irish wedding traditions.” He turns back to Emily, eyebrows raised. “And apparently, our marriage will be doomed for all eternity, and we will live a life of treachery and misfortune if we marry on a Saturday.”
“It’s bad luck,” Emily scoffs, crossing her legs and arms.
“It isn’t.” Sam looks at me. “Tell her, Mason. Tell her it isn’t bad luck to get married on a Saturday.”
The air catches in my throat. I attempt to brush off the lingering disappointment from the day, but I know I’m unconvincing when I say, “I don’t think I’m the best person to be giving out relationship advice, much less wedding advice.”
Sam scoffs, and Emily looks at me with pity. My soul crushes, having her look at me like that.
“Speaking of relationships,” Sam says. “How’d it go? Did you talk to Charlotte? Did you profess your undying love to her and make up?”
Sitting up, I dramatically look over my shoulder.
“Well...” I drag out the word as I glance over my other shoulder, then sit up even farther, pretending to scan the garden, looking for someone. I sit back in my seat with a huff. “Do you see Charlotte anywhere?”
“No,” Sam says, pouting. “But geez, no need to be such a jerk about it. It was just a question.”
“I’m sorry,” I groan, my eyes roaming across the yard. I spot my childhood tree, surrounded by pink roses. When I look at the tree now, all I see is Charlotte beneath it, a book sitting between her crossed legs, the sun shining against her chestnut hair. “I don’t understand what happened.”
“I already told you, Mason,” Sam starts. He’s leaning against the table with his arms. Emily seems to have dropped the whole wedding conversation. I feel their pity and don’t want it. Sam sticks out his hand. “You actually have to go inside the bar to talk to her.”
“I did go inside, ya eegit.” I roll my eyes, already annoyed with my brother. “She wasn’t there.”
“Are you sure? I swear she told me she was working all week, including today,” Sam says, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He seems genuinely confused by Charlotte’s absence.
I sit back in my chair, feeling no better than I was the second I stepped out onto the patio, interrupting Emily and Sam’s debate of old Irish superstitions.
“I’m sure.” My heart sinks. I feel absolutely hopeless. I think back to seeing Charlotte’s name show up on my phone screen. I didn’t need her words or anything else from her, I’d already made up my mind to come here. I hadn’t called her back, was hoping this grand gesture would say enough. And now, It’s been a week since I left California and its perfect weather behind. There was something so empty about living in one of the most populated cities in the world.
As the weeks wore on at my mediocre job, only to drive in three hours’ worth of traffic to get home to a completely hollow, empty apartment, I realized more and more how much California was no longer my home. It was as if I was standing in the middle of a crowded room, filled with strangers—no one noticed me, no one cared. Yet at the same time, neither did I. I didn’t care about a single person around me. I held no
sentimental attachment to my job. I felt no more grounded to the sands of the beach down the street than I did to the apartment I had been living in for the past several years. Nothing and no one was holding me back. It was then I decided I needed to make a choice, and the choice was easy.
Every person I ever cared about was thousands of miles away, separated by an entire country and ocean. I had never felt more alone than I had in those last moments.
Finally, I’d gathered the strength to face the truth. While I waited out the standard two-week period after resigning from my job, I managed to secure another accounting position at a small firm in Limerick. Even though my new position was thirty minutes away from my parents and Charlotte, I decided to stay in Ennis.
A thirty-minute commute on the quiet highways of Ireland was definitely something I was willing to compromise on for the sake of keeping close to Charlotte. Not to mention, it definitely beat Los Angeles’ rush hour traffic. I had also managed to find a small flat at the edge of town, just what I needed.
Yet even as I found myself back home, my feet planted on the grounds of my childhood home, I still felt a gaping hole in my chest. It was then I knew the reason had to be Charlotte. It didn’t matter where I lived or where I worked. It didn’t matter if I was standing on the beaches lining the Pacific Ocean or the rocky edges of the Cliffs of Moher. Life didn’t mean shit without Charlotte.
After pressing Sam for every detail involving Charlotte’s move to Ireland, he finally told me she had landed a job at the Irish Lily. I ignored the twitch I felt at the back of my mind, disagreeing with Charlotte’s choice to work there. Having experienced it firsthand, I knew it was a place constantly frequented by County Clare’s more unsavory folks. I didn’t doubt Charlotte could handle herself. Maybe it was just I knew she had built this whole new life—without me.
It’s been seven days since I moved back home, and every one of those seven days, I’ve stood outside the Irish Lily, gathering the courage to open the door, hoping to find Charlotte standing behind the bar. But the nerves raging inside me kept me from opening that large wooden door.
I didn’t know what she would say.
Would she even be happy to see me? The ridiculous, irrational part of my brain had even ventured so far as to question if she would even notice me walking in. I imagined her standing behind the bar with her hair twisted endlessly in a braid, lifting her eyes to see a new patron enter and sees it’s me. Then I imagine her face blank, not a hint of recognition flashing across her face as I approached her.
Each day that passed, one where I didn’t open the big wooden door, I slowly felt another piece of myself crumble. What would I even say to Charlotte? I wasn’t sure there were any certain words that could accurately fix or mend what was already broken. Even after Sam’s countless reassurances, I still wasn’t sure.
Then today, as I woke up, listening to the rain rattling against my small bedroom window, I turned on my side, twisting the sheets and blankets with me. The bed was empty, and my stomach dipped when I found my arm wrapped around a fucking pillow. Fucking pillows. That was the second I couldn’t take my own bullshit anymore. The moment I left my small office, I raced to the center of Ennis and marched up to the Irish Lily. I knew I arrived earlier than Charlotte since Sam had told me when her shift started.
I didn’t exactly blend in with the Lily’s usual crowd, dressed in a button-up collared shirt, my tie loose around my neck, but I didn’t care. Ignoring the group of elderly men gathered in the corner, I sat down and ordered myself a pint and waited.
“I’m telling you,” Sam says, bringing me back from my thoughts. He pulls out his phone, his thumb scrolling across his screen. “She told me she was working today. Her text says it right here.”
He holds up his phone, but I don’t bother looking. I know he’s telling me the truth.
“So, what happened?” Emily asks. Her eyes are still sad, but the look of genuine concern is the only thing that makes me want to relive the afternoon.
“Well.” I take a deep breath and run my finger against the grains of the wood top table. “I got there before her shift started, determined to actually speak to her this time. I had it all played out, all memorized, everything I was going to say to her. I kept my eyes on the clock for what felt like forever when I felt someone sit on the seat beside me.” I sigh, feeling the defeat wash over me again. “For a split naive second, I thought it was Charlotte. Instead, it was some blonde woman, a tourist from New York, pretending to ask about the sites to see. I knew she didn’t sit beside me just to get directions and recommendations. We were in a bar. Anyway, I couldn’t get her to stop talking to me. All I wanted to do was turn around and look at the door and wait for Charlotte to appear, but I couldn’t because the woman slid her hand across my arm, essentially blocking my view. Even though she started flirting, I didn’t want to be rude.”
“You’re telling me…” Sam blurts out, “you finally gathered up the courage to speak to Charlotte, and instead, you ended up flirting with some American tourist? Wow,” he scoffs. “You sure are a magnet for those American women, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t flirt back, Sam!” I clench my fist and straighten my back. Sam knows I would never do anything like that to Charlotte. He knows I still love her, so his comment grates on me the wrong way, and I can’t help but feel the anger building inside me.
“I know you didn’t, Mase.” His voice is calm and relaxed. I can tell he senses I’m on the edge of falling apart. Like a pot of boiling water with its lid resting tightly on top when the water starts sputtering out from the sides.
“It was just an observation. I just meant it’s ironic you went there for Charlotte, yet you met another American woman. I mean, what are the odds?”
“You know,” I mutter, rubbing my fingers across my forehead, looking down into my lap before looking back up to Sam. I find myself smiling, but there’s no life behind it, more a smile of disbelief. “I find myself asking that same fucking question more times than I care to.”
Sam’s eyes stare into me, and I can see his love for both me and Charlotte. I’m lucky to have him as my brother even if he can be a dick sometimes.
“I don’t know what to do now,” I say on a sigh.
“What do you mean?” Sam asks. “You’re just giving up? You went in there one time, Mase.”
“Well, I guess the universe is trying to tell me something then because now, it just seems like its conspiring against me.”
“No, it just means you need to try again.”
My body tenses, my muscles tighten, the heavy weight returning to my chest, and suddenly, my body starts to ache. My eyes dart between Emily and Sam before landing on their hands. Sam’s fingers are woven through hers, his thumb rubbing back and forth across her skin. It’s the smallest of gestures, and my stomach twists, aching for a feeling I once had. I stand up, my patio chair sliding against the old red bricks beneath it.
“I don’t know, Sam. I think I need some air. I’ll talk to you both later.”
When I step into the house and quickly toss my jacket back on, I’m thankful to be away from Sam and Emily. Not because I don’t love being around them, but because they remind me of the life I could have, instead of the one where I find myself chasing after a memory.
***
Ten minutes later, I find myself walking through the door of the Irish Lily once again. I hesitate before crossing the room, my eyes roaming for the blonde American from earlier. I’m relieved when I don’t see her, but at the same time, my heart sinks. Charlotte isn’t behind the bar again. Instead, I spot Bern just as he emerges from the back office area. Noticing me right away, his face lights up.
“Well, if it ain’t the devil himself?” With the largest grin I’ve ever seen on his face, Bern reaches across the bar, grabbing my hand, giving it a firm shake. Despite the constant feeling of dread swimming in me, I conjure up a grin and return Bern’s shake.
“It’s me,” I manage to choke out.
> “Are ya here visiting your family again?” He picks up his towel and begins wiping down the bar in front of me.
“No,” I say, clearing my throat. “I moved back, actually. I’m working down in Limerick, but I have a place right on the edge of town.”
Bern leans back, disbelief washing over him. Charlotte’s name rests at the tip of my tongue, begging to ask him about her.
“That’s wonderful,” he beams. His hand resumes wiping the counter, and I take the momentary lapse of silence as my opportunity.
“So, I heard you hired Charlotte.” I rest my hands in my lap, wringing my fingers together.
Bern hesitates, and I start to wonder just how much Charlotte has told him about me. Did she tell him how we broke up? Does she talk about me while at work?
“I did.” I can hear the subtle regret in his voice. “At first, I didn’t want to hire her, thought she was too good to be bartendin’ for a bunch of old coots like the ones who frequent here. But,”—he takes a deep breath and releases it—“I knew she really needed to find work, and it was only temporary until she found another job. Plus,” he says, lifting his hand, still gripping the towel and points to his chest, “I knew she was safe as long as she was with me.” He nods, assuring me he was indeed making sure Charlotte was safe.
I swallow past the lump in my throat, a small twinge of irrational jealousy working its way through me. Jealous Bern is able to do things for Charlotte I can’t. All because of the way we left things.
I nod, keeping my lips pressed into a thin line. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I won’t be able to contain every emotion I have raging inside me. Bern turns around without a word, picking up a clean glass to fill it with fresh beer. He places it in front of me, but I slide it back across to him with my fingertips. I gently bite my tongue, forcing the words to come out.
“Thanks, Bern. But I’m okay.”
With just those few words, I slide off the barstool and walk out of the bar. When I make it to the sidewalk, I stand on the edge, unsure where to go. I can’t go back to my parents’ house, I don’t think I can take another second of being around Sam and Emily. No offense to them, but I simply don’t think my heart can take it. I don’t want to go home because I know I’ll likely climb under the sheets on my bed, wishing Charlotte was beside me instead of a million different pillows.
What are the Chances Page 22
