Pull At My Heart

by Ellie Malouff

  “You mean with Dylan?”

  “Yeah? Did something happen?”

  “Yeah, something did,” she says and then a huge smile blooms across her face. “I got into the dance program and my student visa has come through. I’m leaving for New York at the beginning of the year.”

  “Oh, Ruth, congratulations,” I tell her, and give her a big hug.

  “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without Murrough’s, so truly, thanks.”

  “Of course. So, you told Dylan?”

  She takes a seat in one of the chairs across from the desk and slumps over. “Yeah, I told him, all right.”

  I take my own seat and ask, “What did he say?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  I’m not surprised, not in the least. At the same time, I want to slap the eejit upside the head. I take a chance and ask, “Did you invite him to go with you?”

  “Not directly, no. But he’s known all along that I’d be doing this and he was the first person that I told once the arrangements were set. I told him that, but it didn’t mean anything to him. I don’t think I mean anything to him.”

  “Clearly that’s not the case. He’s obviously upset.”

  “Yeah, well. This is the end of the road for us.”

  I shake my head, hating that there’s nothing I can do to fix this. Juliana has told me that I’m going to have to let this one go, and I suppose I’ll have to. Plus, Dylan and I have made our business arrangements, so I’m guessing he’s really not going anywhere.

  “Oh, well,” she says, her eyes glassy.

  “Listen, are you free Thursday?”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m working here,” she jokes.

  “I’ve got a surprise planned for Juliana and I could really use your help.”

  “That’s intriguing—what are you up to?” she asks with the sneakiest smile.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s a text message, confirming that the biggest part of my surprise for Juliana is a go.

  Before I can reply to Ruth, the first applicant pops into the doorway of the office and we get to work hiring her replacement.

  Thanksgiving

  Julie

  As the double-decker bus pulls away from the stop in Ballycoom, I make my way up to the second deck and take a seat on the left side. Eoghan told me this morning that he wouldn’t be able to pick me up tonight, which is a little unlike him, but I figure he’s got work to do on planning the renovations.

  I’m so proud of him for going after his dream, and glad that at least one of us is in a good work situation. My job continues to be weird. Ever since that morning Aiden spied on us, I haven’t received any additional reprimands, but I also haven’t received any additional work assignments. I haven’t really heard from him at all since then. He was out of the office the day we were supposed to have our one-on-one meeting, and he never rescheduled it. When he has been in the office, he’s been meeting regularly with Deidre.

  Deidre has probably been the weirdest part. I used to think that she hates me, but lately she’s been incredibly polite when we’re around each other. Today she made me a cup of tea out of the blue, and told me that her door is always open if I want to talk.

  Talk about what exactly? Aiden? I’m not sure how much she knows, but maybe she’s caught on.

  To make matters a little weirder, she invited me to a conference call tonight to talk through some of the implementation plans of the merger. This isn’t all together unusual, since a lot of us work at night, but I’m pretty sure we could have handled it at work. So now I’ve got that to look forward to.

  Ugh. I’m so sick of thinking about work, especially today. It’s Thanksgiving, for crying out loud. If I were back in the States, I would have the day off. Not that I wish I was back there permanently, but it would have been nice to be there today.

  I open Facebook on my phone and scroll through my newsfeed. It’s still so early back home, so most posts are about watching the parade and a Turkey Trot my brother is running in. My whole family, aunties and uncles included, are there to support him. I cheer him on in my own way by commenting with a few hilarious gifs of people biffing it. I’ll have to call them later tonight when they’ve all settled in for turkey day. Then I tap out my own post: Happy Thanksgiving from the Emerald Isle. Hope you all have a fab Thanksgiving. I’ll probably be eating lamb stew or something else Irish-y for dinner :)

  As much as I miss my family, and those good old American traditions, I wouldn’t trade it. My life is here now, with Eoghan. Maybe I can convince him to make me something Thanksgiving-like for dinner. Knowing him, he’ll probably be able to whip something up. He’s just that cool. And wonderful. And handsome. He’s also been so supportive these rough few weeks. That’s incredible, especially at the start of a new relationship. The only thing he pesters me about is making time for photography.

  I open my email and go through the messages I’ve received inquiring about rates and availability. I could really kick Liam’s ass for this. Or maybe kiss him. I’m not sure how I really feel. It’s thrilling to know that I could actually make a little money doing what I love.

  There’s a message at the top of my inbox from something called Go Europe. At first glance it looks like junk mail, but the subject reads: Your Photographs. I open the message and read through it once, twice, and a third time. Apparently they found my portfolio online—the website that I’ve been sharing with family and friends for years—and they want to purchase them for their travel materials about England and Ireland, with an option to purchase more in the future.

  Holy. Shit.

  I can’t wait to show Eoghan this. I know he’s busy, so it will have to wait until I get home, so I go to the next best thing. She’s got to be awake. I’m not usually one for talking on the phone in public or on the bus, but I can’t contain my excitement. I make the call.

  “Hello,” Cara answers.

  “You are not going to believe this,” I start.

  “What?” she says, and I notice that it’s quite noisy where she is.

  “I got contacted by a European travel company that wants to buy my photos.”

  “No way! That’s incredible,” she says, and then there’s a large crash in the background and lots of people shouting. She muffles the phone and shushes them.

  “What on earth are you doing?” I ask her.

  “Nothing,” she immediately replies.

  “What’s all that noise?”

  “The TV.”

  “What? Are you and Reid hosting Thanksgiving today?”

  “Yep, we are,” she says hurriedly. “Hey, I have to go. Talk later.”

  And then she hangs up on me. Full on hangs up on me!

  I let it go, mostly because my stop is coming up and I need to get myself downstairs so I can get off the bus.

  It’s a typical Thursday night in Cork City. Commuters are on their way home, the shops are winding down, and the pubs are picking up. I expect a pretty full house by the time I get to Murrough’s. It’s always busy on Thursdays.

  I wind past the side entrance to the English Market and my favorite coffee shop that’s on the corner, and cut across the narrow lane that’s full of people. There’s an extra bounce in my step because I am thrilled about the Go Europe offer and can’t wait to tell Eoghan.

  When I get to the pub, I pull at the door and am surprised when it doesn’t budge. I try the other door and that, too, is locked. I take a step back and notice the sign—normally showing the daily specials and the name of the band playing that night—is replaced with a note that says: Closed for a private event.

  I’ve been so busy lately that I must have missed Eoghan telling me about this. It’s probably why he couldn’t pick me up.

  I fish out my keys from my bag and unlock the door. What awaits me on the other side blows my mind. The pub has been transformed. In the middle, there’s a long table made up of many little tables and covered with a beautiful lace tablecloth. On it, if I can believe my eye
s, is an entire Thanksgiving dinner.

  “What the…?” I ask to no one, because there’s not a living soul there to greet me or explain anything. I set my bag down and slip out of my jacket. “Hello?”

  Eoghan comes out from the office, holding two glasses of white wine. He’s wearing stone-colored casual pants and a layered dark blue shirt on white. Nothing terribly out of the ordinary, but somehow special.

  “What have you done?” I ask and meet him halfway.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, lass,” he says and hands me a glass.

  “You are incredible,” I tell him, and then stretch up on my tippy toes to give him a swift kiss on the lips. His fiery eyes meet mine and I’m so smitten, it’s sickening.

  “You are so loved. Do you know that?” he asks. I feel it. Oh, do I feel his love, but he goes on, “Not just by me, but by all of us.”

  “Who?” I say and look around him.

  “Come on out, lads,” he shouts.

  First come Dylan and Ruth. “Happy Thanksgiving,” they say, and Ruth gives me a good side hug. I get the usual chin lift from Dylan.

  Then Liam and the boys follow. Liam winks at me and I point at him, because we’re going to have words later about all those referrals. “Happy Thanksgiving,” they sing in unison, and I blush.

  To my utter surprise, Javier and Brigid come out from the office next. Brigid is as pregnant as you can ever get. She waddles my way, holding on to Javier’s arm the whole way. “Happy Thanksgiving…did I say it right?” she says, and the tears that have been forming in my eyes spill down my cheeks.

  “It’s so good to see you,” I tell her. “We’ve missed you at work so much.” It’s true. All of the shit I’ve been putting up with would be so much easier to handle if she were around.

  “I’ve missed ye too,” she says, and smiles at both me and Javier.

  And just when I think that’s it, it’s not.

  “I’ve saved the best for last,” Eoghan whispers in my ear and then shouts, “Come on out.”

  Cara and Reid pop out of the office and I just start screaming, and then she starts screaming, and we’re both screaming, and Reid—who is always so distinguished—is looking at us as if we’ve lost our freaking minds. I’m pretty sure we have.

  I push my glass of wine into Eoghan’s hand and run to my best friend and she greets me with open arms. We hug and dance and scream a little more and everyone is laughing and clapping.

  I’m just flat out crying now.

  When I get a chance, I turn back to Eoghan. He’s gazing at me so fondly. I mouth the words “thank you” in his direction.

  He mouths the words “love you” back.

  Eoghan

  Happiness is being with friends at a great meal. Joy is watching Juliana smile like I haven’t seen her smile in weeks. And lust? Lust is having her hand on my thigh all night and squeezing it every so often, usually when she’s laughing…and she’s done that a lot tonight. She’s still wearing her work clothes, a shimmery blue top, a black flowing skirt, and stockings underneath. Needless to say, I’ve taken a turn or two with my hand on her thigh, too. Christ, I can’t wait to take her to bed. Although I shouldn’t count on it, because I think Juliana and Cara are going to be inseparable the rest of the night. They’re regaling the table with tales of Thanksgivings past.

  I glance across the table at Cara’s boyfriend, Reid. He’s got his arm draped across her shoulders, possessively. He catches my look and simply shakes his head, I’m guessing at their silliness. It makes me smile in return. He seems to be a nice-enough guy and we’ve got something pretty serious in common. We’re both gone in the head about our lasses.

  The merriment is off the charts and the food isn’t half-bad, either. I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to pull off an American Thanksgiving supper, and I’ve got to say that it was a definite challenge. I’m also happy to report that I kicked that challenge’s arse. Except for the gravy. The gravy is a little lumpy, and I’m going to obsess over that for days to come.

  Ruth made a traditional pumpkin pie and she hasn’t shut up about it. On the flip side, Dylan did a superb job on selecting the wine and hasn’t said a word. Yin and yang, these two.

  “I ate too much and that’s saying something,” Brigid whines and pats her enormous pregnant belly.

  Cara is quick to respond, “That’s how you really know you’ve had a real Thanksgiving.”

  “Shouldn’t we be watching that dreadful game you Yanks call football?” Liam chimes in.

  “Don’t get me started, chaps,” Reid says. “It’s all they care about in the States.”

  “Hey, don’t you start!” Cara says. “This is officially American territory now. You will like our football and our pumpkin pie.”

  “Yes, you will!” Ruth agrees. “Because the pie is amazing and I can’t wait for you all to try it.”

  Everyone groans from being too full.

  “I will make you eat this pie that I slaved over if it’s the last thing I do before I go to New York.”

  There’s a collective boo, probably for the New York part.

  “Before anyone gets up, I want to take a photo,” Juliana says, and runs to get her camera and tripod from her studio. She sets it up swiftly, adjusts some of the lighting in the pub, and joins me back at the table. I wrap my arms around her and she uses her little remote control to snap a few photos.

  “My turn,” Brigid says, “A little less high-tech.” She slowly stands up and pulls out her phone. I continue to hold on to Juliana and this time, I nuzzle into her hair a little bit. Brigid takes the photo, sits back down, and starts tapping away, I’m guessing to post about it on Facebook or some such place.

  “Play us something,” Juliana tells Liam. “You owe me for all those referrals and I want to hear the Stormy Crickets as penance.”

  “If you’re mad now, just you wait, darlin’. I referred you about ten more times since yesterday.”

  Juliana just laughs and shakes her head. I can’t help but squeeze her tighter. I really hope that she finds a way to take on these jobs. She’s at her happiest when she’s taking photos.

  “Play,” she insists.

  “It’s a hard job, but somebody’s got to do it,” Iain says, and gets up from the table to lead the way.

  “You’re an evil wench,” Liam says.

  “Hey now,” I say and pull Juliana close to me.

  The band gets up and starts rearranging their chairs to start playing, fiddlin’ with their traditional Irish instruments.

  “And you are going to dance for us,” Juliana says to Ruth. “That is your penance for leaving so soon for New York.”

  Dylan flinches at that statement and Ruth groans. “I’m much too full.”

  “Don’t care! We’ve got to show Cara and Reid how we do it here.”

  “All righty,” Liam says. “Things are about to get all Irish in here. Happy Thanksgiving, y’all.” He’s the epitome of nonsense.

  The band starts to play a cheery little choon and the mood around the table gets even better. Juliana turns to me and says, “Hey, I actually got some really great news today.”

  “I love good news,” I tell her.

  “A European travel company contacted me. They want to buy my photos.”

  My mouth pops open. “No way.”

  “Yes way,” she says, and giggles a little. The light in her eyes is completely charming.

  “Well congratulations, lass. You really are the most talented creature I know.”

  “Oh stop, it’s nothing,” she says, being just as self-deprecating as any fellow Irishman, but she can’t hide that gorgeous smile from me. She’s proud of herself, as she should be. I brush her cheeks with the back of my fingers and then softly kiss her on the lips. She hums in satisfaction and I’m not sure my heart can get any fuller.

  As the band continues to play, everyone—Brigid excluded—gets up and starts clearing plates and refilling pints or pouring a cup of coffee for themselves. Dylan, the master
bartender, gets caught up in a conversation with Reid about scotch, while Juliana leaves us behind to give Cara a tour of the pub, her studio, and our flat. I do my part by cleaning up the best I can.

  “Can I get you anything?” I ask Brigid, who looks a little uncomfortable in her seat, watching the band play.

  She winces. “Do you have a seat cushion, by chance?”

  “I do. I’ll go fetch it,” I tell her and head over to the office to get it for her.

  I’ve barely crossed the threshold when Juliana follows me in and closes the door.

  “Hi,” she says.

  “Hey.”

  “We’re finally alone,” she says with a wicked little smile and then launches herself at me. I have to practically catch her. She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls my mouth down to hers and starts to shift me like I’m dessert. I expect her to slow down, but she doesn’t.

  I don’t know if it’s the wine or the fact that I pulled off this Thanksgiving surprise, but the lass is on me. Like, really on me. She crawls up my body and I end up holding her up by her arse, with her legs wrapped around my back. I take her over to the wall and plant her against it. Then I grind my crotch into hers and let her feel how hard she’s made me. She claws at my shirt, trying to pull it up.

  “Lass,” I say between kisses, both of us breathing heavily. “We have company.”

  “I don’t care, do you?” she says, and goes for my ear with her tongue.

  Pressure builds inside me and I don’t give a fiddler’s fuck that we’ve got company. I twist us around and take her to the desk before setting her down on top of it and then pulling her skirt up around her waist. I’m treated with the sight of her garter belt, stockings, and black lacy panties. I can’t look away. “You will be the actual death of me.”

  “I’m just trying to thank you, not kill you,” she says, and goes to work unbuckling my belt, but before she can get it undone, her phone starts ringing loudly from her skirt pocket.

  “Let it go,” I say forcefully, because I want her now. No, I need her now.

  “Just hold on,” she says, and fishes it from her pocket. “Crap, it’s my dad. I’ve got to take this.”