The Upside of Falling Down

by Rebekah Crane

  Clive gives me two thumbs up, and when Siobhan grabs my chin to turn my face toward her, I say with all the sincerity I have in me, “Thank you, Siobhan. For everything.”

  She remains callous. “It’s your fucking birthday. Don’t get used to it. Now close your eyes . . . Muppet.”

  Three weeks ago, I would have been hurt by her words, but today, nothing could feel better.

  Siobhan works on my face and hair for a while, without letting me see what she’s doing. She curls and pins my hair back, taking her time. Clive watches us, his reactions varying from surprise to amusement to awe. Occasionally, a customer comes down the stairs, and Clive yells, “We’re closed! Special occasion.”

  This isn’t what Stephen or I had envisioned for my birthday, but what has been? I’m beginning to think it’s a waste of time trying to predict the future. Life takes too many turns.

  “Final touch,” Siobhan says, standing in front of me. “Act like you’re going to kiss someone.” My stomach jolts.

  “If you could kiss anyone on your birthday,” Clive asks, “who would it be?”

  “I don’t know,” I lie nervously.

  “Someone famous, maybe?”

  “Stop asking her stupid questions, and let me work,” Siobhan says. “Now pout your lips, Yank.”

  Siobhan smooths on red lipstick and then stands back as I sit, my mouth still holding the shape. She says, so that I can hear, “I can see how someone would fall for you.”

  “What?” I whisper back.

  She turns and says to Clive, “She’s done.”

  “Let’s see,” Clive says, clapping his hands.

  He makes me model my new look, his face bursting with excitement, before I check myself out in the mirror. Siobhan has transformed me into a true pinup girl—black eyeliner rims my eyes, my lips as red as the cherries on my dress. My hair curls back from my face in an old-fashioned style only Siobhan could replicate. I barely recognize myself, but at the same time, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more like . . . me.

  Clive wears a goofy grin. “Sex, sex, and more sex,” he says. “This was a great idea.”

  Siobhan stands next to him, her hand holding the bottom of her belly, her face pinched. She takes a deep breath.

  “Are you OK?” I ask.

  She waves me off. “Stop asking so many damn questions.”

  The three of us stand in the empty store, me dressed to the nines, Clive and Siobhan watching me.

  “So . . . ,” I say. “What do I do now?”

  The store is quiet. All three of us wait as if an idea is just seconds away from presenting itself. But it never does.

  “This is an opportune time for a ball,” Clive says. “I wish people still threw balls.”

  “You’re having Jane Austen delusions again.” Siobhan rolls her eyes. “It’s becoming a problem.”

  “Well, she can’t go home. She looks too good. We need to show her off.”

  “In Waterville?” Siobhan says. “Nothing ever happens in this town.”

  “Actually . . .” My beautiful lavender shoes have my feet aching to celebrate the day. And my dress . . . Suddenly, I want to dance and twirl. Clive is right. “Would a party work?”

  CHAPTER 18

  Paudie’s Pub is crowded and loud. Kieran said it would be a rowdy party, and he was right. A band plays in the corner, its boisterous tempo intensifying the noise. People crowd around the players, singing at the top of their lungs and clinking pint glasses together. Men talk loudly with slurred speech and belly laughs. It’s exactly what Siobhan said it would be like when she refused to come with us, claiming she’d never be caught dead at an event like this, with men congratulating themselves for a day of whacking a ball with a stick into a hole.

  “All men want is to beat other men to the hole,” she said. “If they had any brains about them, they’d realize how metaphorical that is.”

  As far as I can tell, I’m the only female in the place.

  It’s perfect for a birthday celebration.

  The music changes to a more melancholy melody while I survey the crowd. Clive and I are out of place here, him in his black skinny jeans and matching tight T-shirt, his hair pointing toward the ceiling, and me, all dolled up and looking like I’m from another time. Clive even made Siobhan add smoky-black eyeliner to his eyes before we left.

  Kieran is nowhere to be seen.

  “You know this song?” Clive asks me. “‘The Fields of Athenry’?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You were humming along. I thought the only Irish song Americans know is ‘Danny Boy.’”

  I was? I listen, concentrating on the tune, but it’s as if the second Clive pointed it out, the notes are no longer familiar to me. These moments are getting easier to let go of—the result expected, the disappointment tame.

  “Of course, I know it,” I say, trying to act nonchalant. “You underestimate Americans.”

  Clive gestures to all the conservatively dressed men in the pub. “That’s a lot of sweater-vests.”

  “What do sweater-vests say about a person?”

  Clive cringes. “Never trust a man in a sweater-vest.”

  Even if Clive and I wanted to blend in, we couldn’t. I lean over and whisper, “Everyone’s staring at us.”

  “No, love. Everyone is staring at you. Come on. We need a drink.” He pulls me through the crowd, clearing a path toward the bar, pushing people back as we shimmy through. Loud men brag about their day on the golf course. “Did you see my putt on the fifteenth hole? Bloody brilliant.” “I birdied that hole. How’d you do?” “I never met a sand trap I couldn’t conquer.”

  Siobhan was right about men and golf.

  As we approach the bar, Kieran comes into view. Butterflies flutter uncontrollably in my stomach, while at the same time, my chest pounds. My heart-shaped neckline feels wildly low all of a sudden.

  The dress and shoes and makeup gave me false confidence in the Secret Book and Record Store, but here in Paudie’s Pub, with drunk men all around me, I’m not so sure getting dressed up like this was a good idea.

  “I take it back. This was a bad idea. Let’s leave.” I pull on Clive’s hand.

  But Clive counters my pull with a tug. “No, lass. It’s your birthday. You’re having a good time tonight whether you like it or not.”

  “I look ridiculous.”

  Clive leans into me, kissing me on the cheek. “You look fucking gorgeous. Now, stand up straight. Be that confident American girl I loved from the start.”

  “Confident? More like desperate.”

  Clive nods. “Confident.”

  Kieran is tending to the other side of the bar when we sit down, and he doesn’t notice us right away. My stomach ties in and out of knots as I wait for him to see me. Clive is talking, but I barely hear what he’s saying, my concentration elsewhere.

  When Clive notices my lack of attention, he grabs my face and turns me away from looking at Kieran.

  “What—” I can barely get the word out before Clive is smoothing another layer of red lipstick on my lips.

  “Now,” he says, glancing over my shoulder. “I’m going to the toilet. I’ll be back in a bit . . . Bunny.” He gives my bar stool a spin as he walks away, and I turn to find Kieran looking directly at me.

  Time moves in slow motion—Kieran’s eyes meeting mine, his pause, his measured pace as he approaches. His expression is unreadable, and I find myself wanting to turn away, but I’m unable to. There’s nowhere to go. And the truth is—all I want is to be here. For Kieran to come closer to me until there’s no space separating us.

  The band plays on loudly, but all I hear is my heartbeat in my ears. I sit up straighter, faking confidence when I really feel unsteady, and count the beats in my head. One . . . two . . . three . . . Kieran gets closer. My eyes can’t move from his. I’m pulled in, drawn like a magnet to my other half.

  “Bunny . . . ,” Kieran says as he approaches. My mouth pulls up in a smile at the sound of his voice
, my face beaming, but our connectedness comes to a screeching halt as another figure steps between us.

  “Lusty Lavender, is that you?” Andy from the internet café stands in front of me, beer in hand, blocking Kieran from my view. I startle in my seat. “Holy shit, you look hot. What are you doing here?”

  Words fail me. The shock of seeing him doesn’t let up as I try to find Kieran over Andy’s shoulder, but every time I move, Andy moves with me, his eyes alight.

  “This day was a total shit show until now. First, I’m forced to play golf with a bunch of dudes, then I’m forced to drink with them afterward. Too many dicks in one place if you ask me. And then you show up, like an angel. How about that drink I said I’d buy you?” And then Andy hollers at Kieran, who’s back at the other end of the bar. “No one understands good service on this island.”

  Kieran’s expression is blank as he walks back toward us.

  “Yes.” His jaw is tight.

  Andy smacks the bar with one hand and puts his arm around me. “I promised this beautiful girl a drink, and now you need to get it for her. Anything she wants. I’m buying.”

  Kieran looks at me, utterly confused. “You know him?”

  Andy hugs me in closer, keeping his body between Kieran and me, and says curtly, before I can get a word out, “Of course, she knows me. Now, how about that drink?”

  The words to explain all of this to Kieran sit in my mouth, waiting to come out, but I can’t find my voice. He turns too quickly to fill me a pint, and I shake Andy’s arm off.

  “Don’t talk to him like that,” I say.

  But my words go right over Andy’s head. “Damn, am I glad to see you. Do you know what my friends are doing right now?”

  “No,” I say, annoyed.

  “Girls. They’re all doing girls. In the Hamptons. While I’m getting acquainted with different patterns of plaid.” Andy gives me an exaggerated eye roll. “But then you walked in, looking like that. You might just be my soul mate.”

  “I doubt it,” I groan.

  “This is fate, Lusty Lavender.”

  Kieran sets a pint down heavily on the bar. “Her drink.”

  Andy casually hands Kieran twenty euros. “Keep the change, bro.”

  “What did you call me?”

  “Bro,” Andy says more emphatically.

  “I’m not your bro.” Kieran’s voice is flat and unforgiving.

  Andy ignores the comment and says to me, “See what I’m saying about the service here. God, I can’t wait to be back in America where people understand their place in life.” Then he waves his hand at Kieran. “You can go away now.” Andy turns to me, his mouth still moving, words still coming in a waterfall directed at me. I barely have time to digest what’s happening. “You know what I’ve done all week? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. There isn’t an entertaining thing to do on this whole island.” Then Andy surveys my body. “Until now.”

  He grabs my hands and yanks me off the bar stool. “Let’s dance, Lusty Lavender.”

  And before I can protest, before I can stop the train wreck that this night is becoming, Andy pulls me away from the bar, his hand so tight on mine I can’t let go. Kieran doesn’t help. He doesn’t even turn in my direction. It’s as if I’m a stranger to him. It feels like my heart could just break into pieces and scatter onto the dirty pub floor. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Why isn’t he coming to my rescue? That’s what Kieran does. Can’t he see I need his help?

  Andy pulls me into him, grabbing me around the waist. I press his chest back and adjust his hand that’s creeping too close to my butt, with an eye on Kieran the whole time. When he still doesn’t look my way, my feeling is of more than disappointment. I feel helpless again. Weak. Kieran gives me strength and takes away my fear. I can trust him, but right now, he’s pulling all that away.

  “Seriously, I’m going to have dreams about that dress,” Andy says. “I’m just being honest. You look hot.”

  He spins me out and then pulls me back in, trying to hug me closer. Even when I resist him, it’s useless.

  “I know people think this music is enchanting or whatever, but let’s be real—it’s fucking depressing,” Andy says. “Like I want to constantly hear about all the people who died in a famine.”

  “That’s horribly insensitive.”

  Andy continues without listening to me. “Now, St. Patrick’s Day in Manhattan—that’s a real party.”

  The need to cry tightens my throat. I do not want to cry. Crying is weak. I didn’t shed a tear when I woke up in a hospital without my life intact. But Kieran . . . he has the power to reduce me to a weeping teenager. This was a mistake. I’ve been transformed into a helpless person again, being led around by Andy, whose own interests mean more to him than anything else.

  I push myself away from him, peeling his hands off me.

  “Lusty Lavender?”

  “You want to know something?” I say. “You’re an ungrateful, arrogant American asshole with no appreciation for . . . anything.”

  “I know that,” he says with a shrug. “Now, come on. Let’s dance.”

  I groan. “Don’t follow me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t even look in my direction.” I turn with a huff and walk away from him. I will not be reduced to feeling less than feeble and powerless. I’ve come too far, survived too much. If Kieran won’t help me, it’s time I help myself. Time I trusted myself.

  I push my way through the crowd of men, ignoring their catcalls and whistles. My hair comes down when I pull free the pins Siobhan so expertly placed. I wipe clean the red lipstick with the back of my hand. This was all dress-up. It’s not me. If I could magically change back into my jeans and T-shirt, I would. Now I understand Siobhan even more—the way she dresses, the tattoos—she takes power in being wholly and truly herself. I can do that, too, even without knowing who I was before. And right now, I need to get out of here.

  I try to find Clive in a sea of clones, shoving sweater-vest after sweater-vest to the side, when someone grabs my wrists.

  “I said don’t follow me!” I pull away furiously, only barely glancing up in time to see Kieran with his hands up in the air, surrendering.

  “OK. I’ll let you go.”

  Kieran backs away, but I yell at him. “Why didn’t you help me?” He starts to respond, but no answer will suffice. “No. I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help. I’m leaving.” When I try to stomp away again, Kieran grasps my arm and holds me back.

  “Stop being so stubborn, Bunny,” he says.

  “I’m not being stubborn. I’m being strong. I am a mighty creature!”

  “I know that.” He says it so casually it gives me pause.

  “You know that?”

  “I knew it from the second I met you. I just came to warn you. That American guy . . . I know his type. I am his type. He’s got a raging Superman complex because he has more money than he knows what to do with, but he’ll get you in trouble.”

  “I don’t need you to warn me. I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m well aware of that.” Kieran’s face is unreadable.

  My tough exterior breaks. “Is that what you think of me? That I would want someone like him?” A sinking, aching feeling overtakes my chest. “You’re not like him at all. He’s an ass. You’re . . . you’re . . .”

  A flutter of a smile pulls at Kieran’s lips, like he bested me again. Like me breaking down in front of him is amusing. “I’m what?”

  “You’re an ass, too!” This time I really mean to stomp away, but Kieran doesn’t let it happen. One second he’s serious, the next he’s laughing at me. I have whiplash from his change in emotions. But before I can get anywhere, Kieran wraps his arm around my waist, his other hand lacing between mine. He presses me to his chest with conviction.

  I struggle to wiggle out of his grasp. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to dance with you. Would you stop fighting me?”

  Stillness. I can’t move my feet. “You wa
nt to dance with me?”

  “If you would just stop trying to run away.”

  Kieran’s hand presses into my lower back. A warm feeling cascades down my spine. Resisting him isn’t an option. My heart overrules my stubborn mind.

  “That’s better,” he says. “Now we move our feet.”

  We sway, keeping beat with the band, the tune they’re playing a sweet melody that gives me pause again. For a breath, it’s familiar. But with Kieran so close, the song fades into the background. His blue eyes run their way from my toes to my head, lingering in places, making my heart flip in circles. This is when I should back away and save myself heartache, but logic has no sway over me tonight.

  Instead, I say, “What do you think about my dress?”

  Kieran pauses, releases me, and scans me again. “Can I be honest?”

  “It seems to be the theme of the night.”

  Kieran grins. “I like you better in a worn-out T-shirt with paint on your face. This dress . . . it isn’t you.”

  Knowing that Kieran sees the true me only makes me want to move closer to him. My entire being, inside and out, calms.

  “So what prompted this . . . whatever it is?” he asks.

  “It was a birthday gift from Siobhan and Clive.”

  Kieran stills. “It’s your birthday?”

  “Nineteen, today.”

  Kieran’s eyes hold my gaze. “Happy birthday, Bunny.”

  The intensity in his eyes makes me electric. He wraps his arms around me again, and we dance more, the song shifting to another.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to give you,” he whispers in my ear.

  The closer Kieran is to me, the more delirious I am, floating, never wanting this to end. This is what I wanted for my birthday. Take away the stupid dress and the makeup and just give me Kieran.

  “You’ve given me enough already.”

  “Have I?” Kieran sounds unsure. He’s cautious still. I can see it. But he doesn’t need to be anymore. I’m not helpless. I’ve made a life for myself from literally nothing.

  Clive asked me earlier who I wanted a birthday kiss from. I muster a level of courage I haven’t felt before. Call it confidence or tenacity or the determination not to be weak, no matter the circumstances, even when life turns upside down. Stephen said I was a mighty creature. I didn’t believe him then, but I do now. I don’t need Kieran to save me. Control has been in my grasp this entire time. I’m done waiting for a life that may never exist again. Clementine may never come back. Sometimes letting go is braver than holding on until you break.