Pull At My Heart

by Ellie Malouff

  That’s supposed to be me and Eoghan. We should be taking cheap flights on the weekend to all these European places so we can relax and explore and dance and make love. The photos I would take would be breathtaking.

  God, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.

  My heartbreak is visceral and horrid.

  Right as they’re finally wrapping up, my phone rings and it’s Brigid. I consider sending it to voicemail, but decide it’s probably best to catch her in case I can’t reach her later.

  “Hey Brigid, can I call you back? I’m checking my bag.”

  “No, I think you’ll want to take this call,” she says.

  I glance back at the line that stretches behind me and then check the time. Hopefully, I’ll have time to go back through it.

  “Okay,” I say, and then step to the side and motion to the next person in line.

  “Are you somewhere you can talk?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then find a place,” she says, and she’s so serious that I ditch the line altogether and go to a quiet area across the way.

  “What’s up?”

  “Deidre’s on the other line. I’m going to conference her in.”

  “Deidre?” I ask.

  Before she can answer, there’s a couple of odd sounds and then Deidre’s there. “Hello, Julie?”

  “Deidre, hi, what’s going on?”

  “A lot, since you left yesterday,” she says. “I felt terrible, after I saw the way Aiden was with you.”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “I was trying to figure out what to do, and then Brigid called me.”

  “Brigid?”

  “Yeah,” Brigid speaks up. “Please don’t be mad, Julie. I couldn’t sit by and let all this happen to you. So, I called Deidre, figuring that maybe she’d also had her own troubles with him. I told her about what happened with you and then all that happened with me.”

  “But what about Niall? Did you tell him?”

  “I did.”

  “Is he mad?”

  She laughs. “I just had the man’s giant baby,” she says, as if that explains everything.

  “Well,” Deidre goes on, “after hearing everything, I had to report it to Human Resources. I’ve got an obligation to do that sort of thing and honestly, fuck Aiden Kelly.”

  My heart is beating a million times a minute. “So, what happened?”

  “They’ve put him on administrative leave, but they want to get your statement.”

  “If you tell them what happened, it will seal the deal, Julie,” Brigid says.

  “Okay, of course,” I tell them, because I have nothing else to lose and I want that fucker to go down in flames.

  “Grand. I’m going to put you all on hold and conference in Ann McConnell, CSS’s HR chief.”

  The time on hold feels like an eternity. I’m pacing in a circle around my suitcase, because I can’t stand still.

  “All right. Julie, Brigid, you there?”

  We both hum in the affirmative.

  “I’ve got Ann here. Go ahead, Ann.”

  “Julie, Brigid, thank you for coming forward to speak to us. Brigid, we already have your statement. Julie, please start from the beginning, and if you don’t mind, I’m going to record this.”

  “That’s fine,” I say.

  “Okay, please start.”

  And then I do. I tell her the whole sordid tale and then she asks a few questions and I have to answer for all the petty demerits he tallied against me and sent to HR.

  “Clearly retaliation,” Brigid says, but Ann doesn’t respond to that.

  “This obviously would have been much easier to handle if you had come forward earlier, Julie.”

  “I’m sorry for that. I’m ashamed and embarrassed, and I didn’t think anything could be done.”

  “I understand,” she says genuinely. “I think everyone on this call has experienced something similar.”

  “So, what happens now?”

  “Well, we’re going to consider all of this and make a decision about what will happen to Aiden.”

  “And what about me?” I ask.

  “What about you?”

  “Do I still have to go back to San Diego?” I hope beyond hope the answer is no.

  “Oh…well, yes. What we’ve uncovered so far is that you should have never been brought here in the first place, Julie. That action alone plays a very big part in this.”

  “Oh,” I say, and the last bits of my hope disintegrate.

  “I’m going to turn off the recording now,” Ann says. “Brigid, Julie, and even you, Deidre, you are all within your rights to seek representation.”

  “And do what?” I ask.

  “Sue CloudSoft,” Brigid says, as if it’s a no-brainer.

  “I didn’t say that,” Ann responds and chuckles a little. “Okay, I need to write this up. Thank you, ladies.”

  “Thanks, Ann,” Deidre says, and then it’s just the three of us left on the call.

  “What do you think will happen to Aiden?” I ask.

  “That knob jockey is going to be massively sacked,” Brigid exclaims.

  We all laugh at that and then Deidre chimes in, “I wouldn’t put it exactly like that, but yeah, I think he’s gone.”

  “Aiden Fucking Kelly,” I tell them, and then smile.

  “I’m sorry, Julie,” Deidre says.

  “For what?”

  “That you can’t stay,” she answers.

  “Me too,” Brigid says.

  “Thanks,” I say sadly. “It means a lot that you guys helped me. I really should have done something earlier, like Ann said.”

  “Stop, Julie. You were the victim here, you got that?” Deidre says.

  “Yeah, I know,” I reply, and let that really sink in. For so long, I’ve felt responsible for this shitty situation with Aiden, but really, so much of this was beyond my control and truly unfair. “Well, I’ve got to get checked in or I’m going to miss my flight to London.”

  “Have a safe flight and we’ll be in touch,” Deidre says.

  “I’ll miss you,” Brigid says.

  “You have no idea how much I’ll miss you all, and how much I’ll miss Ireland. It was a real pleasure. Thank you.”

  We finish our goodbyes and I put my phone back in my pocket. The line to check in has shrunk considerably in size, which is a good thing. I make my way through the rope maze and wait my turn. Man, it feels good to know that Aiden is getting what he deserves. But feeling good about Aiden doesn’t pull me out of my funk at all. I’m still leaving. I’m still walking away from Eoghan and from the life I was building here. That we were building together.

  This place became my home.

  No. That’s not right.

  It’s not Ireland. It’s Eoghan.

  Eoghan is my home.

  How can I leave my home, my heart, my everything?

  As the line quickly moves forward, I’m consumed with three thoughts.

  Fuck CloudSoft Solutions.

  What if I just walk away?

  Will Eoghan take me back?

  Sure, I’ll have to figure out a way to make money, but he’s right. He was so right about everything. As long as I have him by my side, we’ll figure out a way to make it work. And who knows, maybe there will be a legal settlement of some kind?

  “Next,” the gate agent calls and waves me over.

  My instinct stops me in place. Should I do this? Should I walk away from the job and make my way home?

  “Next,” he says a little louder.

  And what if Eoghan won’t take me back? If he loves me, and I really believe he does, then of course he will. Right? I could make him see reason, especially after I apologize.

  “You’re next,” a woman says from behind me.

  Going back to San Diego isn’t right for me, I know it in my heart.

  “Ma’am,” she says, and then steps to my side and looks concerned, as if maybe I’ve just stroked out or something. Maybe I have.
This is crazy and this is bold, but this is right. I’m choosing to follow my heart and follow my instinct.

  “Are you going or not?” she asks.

  “Not going, as it turns out. I’m going home. Thank you,” I say and squeeze her shoulder.

  “You’re welcome?” she answers, but I don’t stick around to explain myself. If I had the time, I’d tell her that I’m going home to the love of my life and that we’ll be back soon enough to jet off to new lands, in love and so magnificently happy. I’d tell her that there’s no job that could ever tear me away from him. I’d tell her that I’m a proud Cork girl now and if she bought me a Murphy’s, I’d sing her a song about the banks of the lovely Lee. My heart is in Ireland.

  My heart is with him.

  But I don’t have time to tell her those things, so I grab hold of my suitcase and wade through a crowd of impatient passengers and then through a team of athletes, tripping more than once on their giant duffle bags. A couple of them reach out and try to help me. “I’m fine. Truly, fine,” I tell them. “Where’s the door?”

  They point in the right direction and I’m set, out the door, and on my way home. I just need to catch a cab.

  Eoghan

  Thank God it’s a Saturday morning and traffic is light. I don’t have much time before she goes through security. Not that it would really stop me, because I’ll buy a feckin’ ticket if I have to.

  As I shift into fifth gear on an open stretch of road, I curse myself for the hundredth time. My dad was right. I’m a bleedin’ eejit for pushing her away. Sure, I was hurt, but what the situation needed was love, not the hate I spewed at her.

  From the first moment I saw her, standing on that curb, brand-spanking-new to Ireland, I knew she was somehow special. And it’s been quite a journey since then. The day she moved in, I wanted her to stay forever. Kicking her out…well, I can’t think of any other way I could have hurt myself more. I accused her of giving up on us, but I’m the one who gave up. I’m the one who refused to have faith that we could make it through a separation. The truth is, I’d wait as long as those Drombeg stones have been standing for her to return. Who am I kidding? I’d wait forever.

  There’s a future for us, and I can see it so clearly in my mind’s eye. One where I’m cooking in the gastropub and she’s upstairs taking photos in the studio, and when we’re not doing those things, we’re traveling together, seeing the world and being madly in love and completely unbreakable. It’s within our grasp and I’m going to make it happen, somehow, some way.

  But first, I’ve got get her back, and thankfully, I’ve reached the airport.

  Knowing that time isn’t on my side, I pull into the taxi lane and park behind a lad I recognize from my previous airport stints.

  I shut the car off and jump out, ready to sprint across the street, but I stop dead in my tracks because the doors slide open and there is my lass.

  Juliana.

  She’s coming out of the airport, just like the first time I ever saw her. Only this time, she doesn’t look lost. She doesn’t look new. She looks desperate and impatient, but so fucking lovely, I can hardly believe my eyes. She’s even more beautiful than my original memory of her, and I think it’s because she’s mine.

  I don’t make a sound. I barely make a move. I just stand there, in front of my taxi, waiting for her. She’s dashing through the crosswalk when she looks up and sees me. She stops instantly and her jaw drops.

  I’m smiling so wide at her as the realization drops on me.

  Juliana is staying.

  And in this moment, I know it’s for good.

  Her shock turns into a stunning smile and she starts running in my direction.

  Tears well in my eyes and my throat closes up as I open my arms for her. And then, just like that, she’s jumping into my arms and I’m holding her up off the ground and so close to me. I bury my face into her hair and whisper a little thank you to the lord above.

  Who knows how long we hold each other, but eventually I set her down and cup her face with my hands. Her big brown eyes are shining and telling me everything I need to know. I see love there, so much love. And hope, an unbelievable amount of hope. I use my thumb to wipe away a stray tear and she melts a little more in my hands.

  “You came back,” I whisper.

  “I came home,” she says.

  My eyes flutter closed as I absorb her words and then I can’t wait a moment more to kiss her. Those rosy red lips that I’ve loved since the first day she got into the back of the taxi are so soft and warm as my mouth presses against hers. We put everything into that kiss. It’s passionate. It’s real. It’s all heart.

  Epilogue

  Julie

  One Year Later

  The last round of tapas is hand delivered by Martín, the chef at one of Barcelona’s hottest tapas bars. “Ostras con holandesa,” he says, and stands beside our table with a towel draped over his shoulder. We’re his special guests tonight.

  “Oysters with hollandaise sauce?” I ask, my mouth impossibly watering, considering how stuffed I already am.

  “Sí,” he replies with a bit of a smile.

  Eoghan nods in a way that I’ve come to learn in the past year and half means he’s really interested in something. We both select an oyster and give it a go.

  “Es excelente,” my boyfriend says. God he’s sexy when he speaks Spanish. Let’s be honest, I find him sexy pretty much all the time.

  “You inspired this one,” Martín tells him.

  My eyebrows raise a little, but I’m not surprised. One of Eoghan’s best dishes at Murrough’s is his take on Oysters Rockefeller.

  “I’m going to steal this one. You’ll have to come back to Cork to see how I’ve butchered it,” Eoghan replies, never quite taking the compliment he deserves.

  Martín laughs a little, nods once, and says, “Feliz Año Nuevo.”

  “Happy New Year,” we reply in unison, and watch as he goes back to the kitchen.

  I lean across the table and say, “I like your hollandaise sauce better.”

  He rolls his eyes, always the self-deprecating Irishman.

  “Okay, so we’ve both got red underwear on,” I say, mentally ticking off the list of New Year’s traditions, Renee, my editor at Go Europe!, told me to do.

  “What’s that one about?”

  “I can’t remember, it’s on my phone somewhere. Something about good luck, of course.”

  “Ah,” he says and then leans across the table. “Are you wearing that little red g-string I love so much?”

  My smile confirms it.

  “I’m suddenly a massive fan of Spanish traditions,” he says, and reaches for my hand.

  That makes me giggle. I twirl his brown beaded bracelet as I wink at him.

  “Oh! And we can’t forget to eat twelve grapes at midnight,” I remind him.

  “Martín has some for us, from the valley of Vinalopó in Central Alicante. They actually ripen them in paper bags for this occasion. He says it gives the grapes a really fine skin that makes them easier to chew and swallow.”

  “That’s brilliant.”

  “Right,” he says and glances at his watch. “So, it’s getting close to midnight…what do you want to do?”

  “Well, I promised Renee some shots of the plaza at midnight, where lots of people gather to party and watch fireworks. Mind if we head over there?”

  “It’s your job, so of course we can,” he says with a chuckle.

  And hearing those words makes me smile, too. I still can’t believe I’m a professional photographer. Every time we take a trip to a new location or I’m doing a photoshoot in my studio at home, I have to pinch myself, because it feels like a dream. Better than a dream, really. It’s a godsend, because it helped us stay afloat and now it’s taken off.

  Those first couple of months after quitting CloudSoft Solutions were a little scary. Eoghan was going forward with the kitchen and front of the house remodel, with the help of his parents, while I was trying to
pull together my photography business. I didn’t know if it would pan out, but it has beautifully, thanks to my contract with Go Europe! and—of course—Liam. I’m booked months in advance these days, with new clients coming in like crazy. It was a bittersweet day when I retired my old camera for a new top-of-the-line one. And probably the most fun I’ve ever had shopping was for the lenses…oh, the glorious lenses. My precious lenses…I’m basically Gollum with those things.

  Eoghan and I make a quick trip to the kitchen to tell Martín that we’re headed to the plaza and he invites us back after the festivities for hot chocolate and fritters. I swear to God, I’m going to gain ten pounds on this trip.

  With our grapes stowed away, we walk with the crowd toward the plaza. We’re holding hands with our fingers interlaced and I notice that his hand is a little sweaty. He’s carrying my camera equipment, so maybe that’s why, but he usually carries that stuff like it’s no big deal, so I glance up at him. He’s a little lost in thought.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask him.

  He glances down at me and then smiles. “About a lot of things.”

  “Tell me one of them.”

  “Well, lass. I was thinking about how grand it is that we’re here and that you get to take photos…for money.”

  “Right? That never gets old.”

  “Never.”

  “Neither does cooking for money, does it?”

  “The money is great, but much like you, I do it because I love it. Murrough’s was always going to make money. Now I get to play.”

  “And I’m lucky enough to receive the delicious benefits.”

  “And I’m lucky enough to have you, lass,” he says, and brings our joined hands up to his lips.

  “I’m the lucky one,” I tell him. “Red g-string or not.”

  He looks down at me and our eyes lock. His gaze is steamy as all hell. Without warning, he takes hold of me and we’re moving into an alcove, and he’s backing me up against a wall. His lips graze against my ear as he tells me in his huskiest voice, “I’m going to peel that little g-string off you later tonight.”