‘We could do it,’ she says. I laugh in her face.
‘No, I’m serious,’ Kate insists. ‘Me and you! We could give Roger and Stuart--the whole firm--a run for their money!’
I stare down at my shot. ‘I don’t know, Kate. We’d be putting everything on the line, and I mean everything.’
‘What, there’s something else you’d bet your life on?’
She’s got me there. If there was any one person I’d go halves on a future with, it’d be Kate Foster. Maybe last Monday’s meltdown was the universe’s way of telling me to make the leap. I have the chance I’ve been waiting for to make my life my own, to become Julie Quinn the…(I don’t know what), but something much much more than the back end of a title or half of a couple. What had I been thinking, investing so much time and trust into the firm? And Brad?! Honestly, I don’t have anything left to lose!
I tip the shot back and shoot out my hand. ‘Alright. I’m in.’
Kate squeals and throws her arms around my neck.
A couple of shots later, we leave the club in a wobbly sing song, Kate broadcasting her vision for our would-be venture. I list heavily into her shoulder and try to figure this new plan into THE plan. Could it work? I let my head fall back and gaze up at the skyline.
‘You realize,’ I say. ‘This is the first time in my entire life that I don’t have a plan.’
‘Quinn and Foster,’ Kate howls and jabs me in the ribs. ‘That’s a plan!’
‘You know what I mean.’
Kate follows my gaze skyward.
‘Yeah.’
A group of students comes waltzing past us, singing a very sloppy rendition of a Marley tune.
‘Heyyyy,’ one of them cat-calls after me.
‘She’s single!’ Kate whoops, and the boys titter off into the dark, nerve gone.
‘Did I have that much fun when we were in college?’ I ask Kate as we turn the corner onto Broadway.
‘Nope.’
‘Five year plan?’
Kate nods. ‘I say you ditch the plan,’ she says.
‘To Quinn and Foster.’ I put a hand out to Kate.
‘To Quinn and Foster.’
She pumps my wrist, just as the red, white, and blue glow of the Empire State Building rears into view. The looming sight of it fills me with an instant thrill, then a sort of dread. I’ve never broken a promise to Kate, not even one of those little ‘I’ll call you later’ or ‘I’ll save you a seat’ or ‘I won’t laugh’ promises.
But now I’d sworn to take this upended turn in our lives and make a future for us. What if the whole mad plan blows up in our faces? I mean, setting up a private agency takes a serious amount of work. And money. What if the stress turns us both into nut jobs, and we end up scratching each other’s eyes out? I glance over a Kate. She’s singing to herself, an impromptu rap.
‘F to the R and Q to the N, we’re the baddest broads in digi marketing. Check it.’ She shoves an imaginary mic under my chin.
Oh Kate. You know I can’t resist the imaginary microphone. I grab it out of her hand. ‘Fellas better step, get the flip out of my business. Got so many spreads, yeah, you’d think we had a hit list,’ I sing out.
‘Woowho!’ Kate jeers into the narrowed dark, and I pitch forward in a sweeping bow. Far off, the spire of the Empire State holds steady on the skyline, and I lock onto it as if to a guiding North Star.
CHAPTER FOUR
I wake the next morning to a blast of light. Kate stands over me, curtain rod in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other.
Shit. It wasn’t a dream.
‘Morning,’ she smiles.
I groan into the pillow, my head splitting hot. Ah yes, this is what a hangover feels like. I’d forgotten how rotten they are. I’m pretty sure I might actually die! Yick. What is that awful taste?! Oh God--not Captain Morgan! He shows up to the party, and it’s YO HO to the porcelain god. I try to make out the bleary hands on the wall clock.
‘It’s one,’ Kate says. ‘Here.’ She hands me the coffee, and I pull myself onto one elbow.
‘My head feels like a burst couch.’
‘Good night, right?’ Kate laughs.
She isn’t the slightest bit hung-over. Is that a talent or a pitfall? I try to decide, but the effort sends a lightning ache across the inside of my skull. I roll over to go back to sleep.
‘Ohhh no,’ Kate says and pulls me upright. ‘We’re office hunting, remember?’
Are we?
‘For our firm?’ Kate prods.
‘Oh right,’ I nod, a sudden splinter of memory slicing through my brain. We’re really going through with this?!
Kate flicks on my laptop to scan the rental ads, and I pull myself to the edge of the bed and look over her shoulder at the long list of properties--all of them airy and city central and far too expensive.
My God--I knew office space was at a premium, but this is ridiculous! Twenty, thirty, fifty-five thousand a month?!
‘Try further out,’ I sigh.
‘Further out and no one’ll take us seriously.’ Kate shifts the laptop over to me and pops up to brew a fresh pot of
coffee. ‘You want anything to eat? Bacon maybe?’ she calls from the kitchen.
‘Noooo!’ The thought of food makes my stomach reel. What was in those drinks last night--Drano?
‘Good. I sort of ate it all.’ Kate potters back in, coffee pot at the ready, and a stack of mail tucked under her arm. ‘Cannot believe you didn’t at least crack the new Vogue,’ she says and pulls the magazine out of the stack. A letter topples to the floor and she snatches it up. ‘Mr. Cathal Heaney, Solicitor. What the freak…’ She turns the letter over in her hands and then squints at the postmark. ‘Ireland? You never told me you had a boyfriend in Ireland.’
A dead cold spasm jolts me to my feet.
‘Hey, weren’t your parents from there?’ Kate asks.
‘Yeah,’ I nod. My folks weren’t the watered down, silly hats on Paddy’s Day, ‘my great-great-granny was Irish’ Irish. They were from Ireland, and their parents had been from Ireland, and their grandparents backward to no one knew how far. That made them different--made me different--as if the three of us had been pitching on a raft between the Old World and the New. When they’d slipped off into the blue dark, it’d been up to me to dig in my hands and swim to shore. I’d promised myself that I’d make it. I’d find a way to live on alone.
My hands tremble just visibly as I reach out for the letter. Kate has it open and is reading before I can stop her.
‘It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you of the recent passing of your grandmother, Mrs. Josephine Tully.’ She looks up at me, eyes glassy. ‘You have a grandmother?’
Do I? Suddenly, a bright shock of memory flares at the back of my mind. Every time I’d dared to ask Mum about her family, a strange shattered look had come over her, and she’d launch into a monologue about some book she was reading or an impending heatwave.
‘I never met her.’ My would-be tone of well adjusted indifference quavers into a whisper, and Kate levels her eyes at me.
‘What happened?’
I shrug my shoulders and sigh at the floor. ‘She had this huge fight with Mum when she was eighteen.’
‘What about?’ Kate asks.
‘No idea. Any mention of it, and she’d change the subject. All I know is my grandmother never talked to her again. Like at all.’
‘Damn,’ Kate whistles.
‘And they never came to visit me, not even when--’ My voice falters at the memory of myself, standing alone at the foot of Mum and Dad’s graves.
‘You alright?’ Kate asks.
‘Yeah,’ I shake my head and realize that I’m hugging myself about the shoulders. ‘Keep reading,’ I motion to Kate.
‘Right. You have been named by the deceased in her final will and testament. Your presence is requested for the official reading of the will on Wednesday, 13 July--that’s what, four days from now--at 4 pm, Kilronan, Inishmore.’ Kate
oogles up at me, mouth gaping. ‘You’re rich!’
‘What?! Give me that.’ I snatch the letter away from her, reeling at the first class plane ticket tucked inside.
Holy shit!
Kate points emphatically. ‘See!’
I feel as if someone has just struck me hard and low in the back. I sink down onto the bed and take a shallow, gasping breath. Kate plops down next to me, beaming.
‘I bet it’s a castle! A big honking castle.’
‘Will you stop!’ I laugh uneasily. ‘It’s probably just some old shed and a few sheep.’
Kate balks, her eyes on the plane ticket. ‘Must be one helluva shed.’
I rub at my forehead with the flat of my hand. ‘I never even met my grandmother. There’s no way I can go.’ The thought of facing relatives I’d never met makes me feel dizzy.
Kate squats down beside me. ‘Why can’t you? This could be a life-changer, Jules. Think of what we could do with that kind of money!’
I bite at the inside of my cheek and turn away. ‘Not one of them came when Mum and Dad died. Not one! I was completely alone! And now, what? They want me to forget all that? I can’t.’ I look up at Kate, my eyes backlit by an old pain. ‘I’ve had to pretend they don’t exist to keep moving forward.’ I grab the letter out of Kate’s hands. ‘I mean, what kind of a woman blows off her daughter’s funeral?!’
‘But this is different, Jules!’ she says, a tremor of excitement creeping into her voice. ‘This isn’t about your parents. It’s about you!’
I shake my head. ‘I can’t.’
Kate blinks at me for a few seconds, then tries a different angle. ‘I thought you always wanted to go? See the place where your parents grew up.’
She’s got me there. I have always dreamed of seeing the island, maybe even meeting the people who knew Mum and Dad. Maybe then I’d understand why they’d left and never looked back.
Wait, this is ridiculous! I promised myself I’d leave the past in the past. If I went to Ireland, I’d be taking a big step backward. I’m starting my own firm! I don’t have time for this! I run a new search for uptown offices and try to blot Kate out with stilted real estate copy. I’m not going. Not on Wednesday, not ever.
‘Come on, Julie. Worst case scenario, you get an all expenses paid vacation!’
I nod absently and spin the laptop around to face her, beaming. ‘I think I’ve just found our new office.’
She eyes the page and rolls her eyes at me. ‘Whatever you say, Jules.’
On Monday, I tear across town to West 42nd to meet Kate at a chic office for a sneaky viewing. Frankie, the pin-striped estate agent, pulls open the door of the deco building with a little bow, and Kate follows me inside. It’s everything we’d hoped for: convenient location, modern fittings, and heaps of room.
‘How much is this one again?’ Kate whispers into my ear as we check out the view of Bryant Park from the south-facing windows.
‘Too much, but maybe we can swing it.’ I’d had every intention to keep my head and NOT fall completely in love with the place. but standing here, imaging how our dream could play out in this very real space, I feel the dangerous spark of wanting flicker upward from my belly and into my heart.
‘Let’s place a bid,’ I say resolutely to the estate agent, who grins ear to ear like a chimp.
A few moments later, we’re grabbing two pastrami sandwiches from the deli next door and heading to the park. The piano man at The Grill sends up a crescendo of bright notes as we pass; it seems to set off the reel of the fabulous plans Kate is hatching for the upstart of our business.
‘I know my clients will follow me--that’s a given. Yours too! We should throw a rager of an opening! Get all the big knobs to come out.’
‘And what, BTOB?’ I laugh. ‘Let’s get set up, then we’ll see about schmoozing.’
‘You’re right. Rent’s only part of our overhead.’
‘We’ll have to consider the initial cost of furnishings and utilities,’ I add.
Kate looks over her shoulder at the office block. ‘It’s drop dead though, right?’
I turn to admire the glinting windows through the trees. ‘It is.’
‘And you’d say if you thought we were biting off more than we can chew?’ Kate asks.
I look into Kate’s eyes and, for the first time, I have the clear sensation that this is the right thing to do. ‘If anybody can pull this off,’ I smile warmly, ‘it’s us. It’s what we’ve always wanted!’ I push a dark little second guess out of my mind.
Kate nods. ‘Yeah, I know. I just thought--’
‘You’d have the husband and the 2.5 kids first.’
‘Well,’ Kate smirks. ‘Rock star boyfriend at least.’ She squeezes my elbow. ‘This is our plan B.’
‘Right,’ I smile.
‘Of course, there is always plan C,’ Kate mumbles.
‘I am not going to Ireland!’
‘Shame,’ Kate sighs. ‘What if your granny’s left you a fat Irish bank account? I don’t know about you, but I don’t have 20K just sitting around. And it would’ve meant a lot to your folks.’
I squint at the horizon. ‘If it meant that much to them, they would’ve taken me themselves.’
Kate takes a big chomp on her sandwich and looks over the tops of the heads of the bench-sitters. ‘Not everyone gets the chance to do what they mean.’ She jerks her watch to her face. ‘Shit! I’ve got to run! Stuart will kill me if he finds out I’m using my lunch break to scout my own office!’
‘Me too. It’s Mum and Dad’s anniversary. I’m going up to say hello.’
Kate squeezes my arm. ‘Give ’em my love. And call me if you hear anything about…’ She nods toward the office block.
‘I will.’
Kate trips off down the sidewalk to the metro link, and I turn back to the street, breathing in the first grassy smells of summer. A street vendor wafts at a smoking stack of sausages. An old man leans on a low wall, chest bared to the sun. I breeze past a florist and a spray of forget-me-nots--my mother’s favorite--catches my eye.
Ten minutes on the #7 express, and I’m at the Woodside station in Queens. I hike up the road to the gates of the Calvary Cemetery, two hand tied bouquets tucked in the crook of my arm. My parents’ grave sits at the far end of a ridge, backdropped by a postcard view of the city. Dad gets his view of the skyscrapers and Mum the sea.
I stoop to take up a knot of wilted daisies and place the fresh flowers at the base of the headstone, absently crossing myself with the rapid triple tap Dad had favored, and mouth the words of the inscription:
‘May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields,
and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.’
I sit down beside the grave and let me eyes drift down the long swathe of green of the triangular park, past the cemetery gates. A snowy, jump-cut memory of my child self flashes behind my eyes: I’m chasing Dad from tree to tree, Mum trotting alongside, laughing, kicking up leaves. The dark, woody scent of autumn seems somehow to fill my lungs; I have to black out the vision of that child self to keep the tears from coming. You wouldn’t think it, but I miss them now more than the day I lost them. The years roll on, and still I crave their talk, their touch, the unobtainable nearness of them.
A far too familiar scene settles in front of my eyes like a wet fog. The three of us had piled into the car that morning, boxes and books jammed to the ceiling beside me in the backseat. Destination: college. The air was close and faintly electric, with the last soundless jolts of a late summer storm. Dad was driving, too slow I’d thought, his eyes wide and almost wet in the rearview.
‘New York, jaysus,’ he’d whistled. ‘I tell ya, Julie, it’s like the fella says, if you can make it there…’ He’d glanced over at Mum and blinked at her like he might have something in his eye. ‘It’s nothin
g you can’t be at in New York. Whole worlds of possibility. I tell ya, they make the American dream there, is what.’
‘I’ve been there, Dad.’
He hadn’t heard me, or he’d acted like he hadn’t, bless him. There was only one other place on the planet Dad talked about in song verses, and then only after at least six pints of stout--the Ireland he and Mum left before I was born. When I was seven or eight and didn’t know any better, I’d asked him about it. Why had they left and, why had they never gone back? A subtle choking had come up in his voice so suddenly that I was afraid, of what I don’t know.
‘Ah now,’ he’d said, ‘that’s a story for another day.’
There were several hundred times in the next ten years when I had my mouth open to ask again, maybe in a different way, but I never did. The better part of me was terrified to know what had happened on that island, what my Mum and Dad stepped lightly around in their remembering and whispered about in bed. To this day, I don’t know what it was that had made the three of us our own island adrift in New York.
My ‘taking on THE city’, apart from my becoming president, was the proudest I could’ve made my father.
‘Our Julie. At Columbia,’ he’d beamed at my mother. ‘Be God.’
She’d squeezed his knee and craned round to me.
Made With Love: I Love You Forever Page 6
