by Zeia Jameson
“You didn’t tell her about the cider?” Moira asks jokingly.
“No. I forgot.”
Padraig grabs his glass, turns, and raises it to me. “Whiskey.”
“Yep. Got it.”
“Sláinte,” he says, before taking a hefty swig.
“Sláinte,” I repeat and take another sip. “It’s good,” I say with a weak smile. Padraig comes to my side, noticing my discomfort. “You don’t have to drink it,” he whispers. “We have tea, too, if you’d like.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. I like it, it just took me by surprise.”
Our eyes stay connected to one another. I have a million questions I want to ask him. I wonder if he feels the same about me. By the intense look he is giving me, I sense something in his head is churning. I hope we get to be alone at some point in the evening.
“Okay, loves, let’s eat.”
The food is positively delectable. For starters, Moira made fontina and mushroom crostini, tiny soda bread bites stuffed with buttery mashed potatoes, cabbage and corned beef, and veal meatballs each paired and skewered with a thinly sliced beet and radish. She made leek and watercress soup, clam and mussel broth, and cheddar and stout soup, along with another large loaf of soda bread for sopping. The main course was braised lamb shanks, with root vegetables, all topped with a dill cream mustard sauce, as well as smoked haddock sautéed in duck fat and topped with an arugula salad and lemon vinaigrette.
Dear God, this woman can cook. I sample everything, wanting to go back for seconds and thirds, but I restrain myself in fear of popping a seam in my dress. I don’t know how either Padraig or Moira are so thin with food like this at their disposal all of the time.
I pop one more stuffed bread bite into my mouth and rudely speak with my mouth full. I may have gotten too much into the cider and loosened up more than I should have. “Moira! This is all so fantastic! Why don’t you have a restaurant?”
Padraig and Moira side-eye each other. Both of them have had way more cider than me, and I wonder how loose they are with their lips. I have to know everything about them both.
Moira sets down her utensils and wipes her mouth with her napkin.
“Seamus . . .” She pauses, obviously unnerved about speaking about her ex-husband.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer,” I say after swallowing my food.
“It’s all right, love. Seamus and I were going to open a restaurant together. He’s become quite a wine connoisseur since sitting as mayor.” She shifts in her seat. “Four years ago, we decided together that he was not going to run for reelection. We were going to stay in the city and open a restaurant. We picked out a location over in Telfair Square. Then, one day, his staff convinced him to run again. I’m not exactly sure how, but I do know that bunch can be awfully convincing when they want to be. And so he did. After that, I knew we weren’t us anymore. The politics and his need to please everyone went too far. He tried to make it right with a compromise. He told me that we could still buy the restaurant and I could run the kitchen and that we could hire someone to run everything else until he was truly ready to leave office. I declined his offer. It’s not the way I wanted to do it.”
“So you left him?”
She nods. “I thought that if I left, he’d realize what was more important. But then . . .”
“Then that whore bitch with no brains weaseled her way into my dad’s life,” Padraig says with rage in his voice.
“Padraig, love.” She closes her eyes and softly shakes her head. He stands and kisses the top of her head. “If you’ll excuse me, I need a minute,” he says as he exits the kitchen.
Moira looks over to me. “Very sore subject for him. He loves his father and me both, and he hates that we’re apart.”
“Can I ask about . . . about Victoria? How did that happen?”
“I really don’t know. They were married two years ago. Padraig seems to think it was for convenience. That Seamus’s people told him he needed a wife by his side. Padraig doesn’t even think they have a romantic relationship.”
“You mean like . . . ?” I raise an eyebrow, heavy with suggestion. Seamus and Victoria don’t even love each other. And there’s a high possibility that nothing physical is going on between them.
She nods.
“Do you still love him?”
“I love that man and Padraig with every facet of my heart. I always will.”
My heart breaks for her.
Padraig returns and takes his seat.
“Okay,” Moira says as she claps. “Who’s ready for dessert? I made a whiskey chocolate cake.”
I’m stuffed to the gills, but I dare not deny.
“Moira, I have an idea.” I turn to her, deciding on whether to lick the dense chocolate icing off the plate. That was the best slice of cake I’ve ever had. “What if I got you to cater the Mayor’s St. Patrick’s Day Ball?”
“Ha! Don’t be silly, girl! Victoria would never go for that.”
“I don’t care about Victoria. I care about this food. And what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. People must try your food. It’s a sin to keep this all to yourself. Plus, I can talk with Phillipe, my current head caterer, and see if he’d be willing to work with you. Maybe learn some recipes so his team could help you prepare? All of it can be done under the radar.”
A smile of excitement and hope curves on Moira’s face. “I don’t know.”
“Wait,” Padraig interrupts. “You got that whore bitch to agree to your changes?”
“Padraig,” Moira scolds. Padraig rolls his eyes but keeps his focus on my response.
My hands go to my face. “Oh my gosh! With all of the excitement of meeting your mother, and the food, I completely forgot I had good news! Yes! Yes, she agreed to give me full design rein! Anything goes. If I fail, I’ll never work in event planning again, but I don’t think I’m going to fail. I feel like this party is going to be a smash!”
Padraig smiles at my enthusiasm. “I have no doubt you can do it. Especially if Mam is cooking.” We both turn to look at her, waiting for her to agree.
“I’ll make it all work,” I say. “I swear. And Victoria won’t know a thing. I can tell Phillipe what to make, but it’ll be so much better if you would help.”
“Okay, you’ve twisted me arm. Talk with your guy, and you all can come back here and we’ll get a plan together.”
“Great!” I jump to Padraig’s side and give him a hug. He squeezes his arm around my shoulder. It feels perfectly natural for us to touch each other.
Padraig and I say our good-byes to Moira. We leave and begin walking down Habersham Street back toward the river.
“Can I walk you home?” Padraig asks.
“Absolutely. But it’s almost twice as far as walking back to the Lily. You up for the walk?”
“Definitely.”
“Do you know how to get to Ellis Square from here?”
“I do. Do you live in a store?” he inquires sarcastically.
There isn’t much residential space in Ellis Square. I live in a loft above a coffee house. My apartment always smells heavenly, and I have a view of the beautiful water feature that is set in the center of the square.
“Do you live in a tattoo shop?” I retort.
“Fair enough.”
“I live above Beanz. There’s a loft apartment up there that the owner of Beanz lets me rent. I’ve lived there the whole time I’ve been in Savannah.”
“Ah.”
I look up at him as we walk. We have the quiet time I longed for. Now is my chance to take advantage of it.
“I have so many questions for you,” I begin, still a bit buzzed from the cider and the whiskey cake.
“I don’t want to talk about my father. Not tonight.”
“Okay. I do have questions unrelated to that.”
“Okay, but I have questions for you, too.”
“Can I go first?” I query.
“Absolutely.”
“Do
you live at the Lily? In that back room with the bed?”
“I don’t live there, but I do sleep there sometimes. Technically, I still live with my mother because I don’t want her to feel alone. But some nights, I can tell she needs her space. So I stay at the parlor. It’s all I need. An apartment of my own would be overkill and a waste of money.”
“You don’t ever stay at your dad’s –the mayor’s house?” I cringe a little, remembering he didn’t want to talk about him.
“Fuck no. I think the whore bitch with no brains would murder me in my sleep.”
I chuckle. He continues, “I go there from time to time to visit him. Also to take advantage of his extensive library. And to hang out in the garden.”
Ah, the garden.
“The garden is beautiful,” I mention, remembering our encounter there.
“Aye. The most beautiful the last time I was there.” I pretend I’m not affected by his sly compliment.
“Do you tend it?”
“No, the gardener does. But I’ve been known to help.”
“Are you a tattoo artist?”
“No. Luca is a friend of many years. He lets me crash there when I need to.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“This is the last question I answer for now. I haven’t had a chance to ask you anything yet.”
“Okay.”
“I’m a photographer for Zephyr. I do freelance work, too. I also went to SCAD.” He pauses and then continues. “Where did you live before you moved to Savannah?”
I’m surprised to know he went to SCAD. But with us being in two different fields of study, it makes sense our paths never crossed. The campus is spread out all through Savannah. It’s possible we never set foot into the same building. I’m even more surprised that he works for Zephyr. Zephyr is an artist who resides in Savannah and is famous for his work. He somehow captures real-life elements and turns them into visual masterpieces. His showcases always sell out. I had the privilege of having him as a guest lecturer in one of my design classes one year. He is a fascinating person. I want to ask Padraig even more questions about Zephyr. But I’m the one who has to answer the questions now.
“Everywhere. Navy brat. My dad’s last station was in Pensacola. When he retired a few years ago, he and Mom decided to stay there. I lived in Japan, Australia, Maryland, and Oregon before we made our way to Pensacola.”
“Are you close with your parents?”
“For the most part. I love them very much. I miss them. I see them once or twice a year. They’ve been doing a lot of traveling. For them, traveling has become second nature. They can’t seem to sit still. But me? If I never leave Savannah, I think I’ll be okay.”
I want to tell him more. I want to tell him everything. I hardly know him, but I feel like I’ve known him forever. I pause near the storefront of Beanz and point to the purple side door. “This is me.”
“So it is.”
I turn to face him. “Thank you for taking me to dinner. Your mother is so sweet and a phenomenal chef. I cannot wait to see her again.”
“My pleasure. But I had no doubts that you’d love her or her food.” He steps closer to me and runs his hands gingerly up and down both of my arms. “I’m glad you trusted me to come.”
I stare at him as he closes his eyes and inhales deeply. His eyes open again. “You smell like honeysuckle.”
“I’m a little surprised that you know what that smells like.”
“It’s all around the city. How can I not know?”
“Good point.” I close my eyes and inhale. “You smell . . . Irish.”
“What the bloody hell does that mean?”
“I have no idea, but I like it.” I open my eyes to see Padraig’s face coming closer to mine. He tilts his head, and suddenly our lips are connected and his hand is cupping the back of my head. My entire body quivers. He’s taken me completely by surprise, and I enjoy it thoroughly. He didn’t ask permission or make subtle hints that he wanted to kiss me; he just did it. And I take every second of it. I grasp his shirt with both hands for balance and inhale more of his Irish scent. My head swirls, not even concerning myself with the fact that I’m being kissed by a stud on the side of a bustling Savannah street. I think I hear catcalls in the background. Padraig breaks our connection and sears me with his smoldering gaze. I want to ask him to come upstairs, but as excited as I am to think what could happen, I’m also too scared at the moment to find out if it’s a possibility. I run my hands up his chest, feeling the firmness underneath his shirt.
“Padraig,” I start. Padraig kisses me again, a quick kiss.
“Aoibhinn, my sweet honeysuckle.” He brushes my hair from my face. “I will see you again soon.”
I nod. “Okay.” Other than that, I’m speechless. One last quick kiss with his fingers in my hair and then he turns without saying another word, shoves his hands into his pockets, and walks away into the night.
“Son of a bitch, you must be kidding me?” I hear Rachel yell from her office. We rent a fabulous space in Oglethorpe Square. It’s a row house divided into office spaces. And two blocks from Bay Street. Rachel has her own office with a door and walls. Kerry and I, when we’re here, occupy two desks that sit just outside her door.
I’m finalizing a contract for a wedding reception we’re organizing soon when Rachel marches from her office and plants herself in front of my desk.
“Can you believe that asshole, Bax, had the nerve to tell me he wasn’t available for the Foster event? Who does he think he is?”
“He’s a musician, Rachel, and a very popular one at that. He’s probably got another gig. You want him to drop a prior commitment just to make you happy?” I ask.
“Yes! I mean, it’s the Foster event,” she says, stomping her foot. “Who turns down a job like that?” I look up at her from my computer screen and arch an eyebrow. Sure, the Foster event is a big land for us, but not everyone has priorities like Rachel.
Her shoulders slouch. “Plus, he’s the only pianist I know. And they really wanted a pianist.”
“Is that why you’re so pissed? Because you don’t know who to hire?” I begin to wonder if she knows anything at all about event planning.
She nods.
“Shit, Rach. I have ten pianists in my contacts book, equaling his talent. Finding that will be no problem.”
Rachel claps her hands together. “Wonderful! Get on that, will you? Let me know who we hire.”
I don’t verbally respond, just roll my eyes. There is no point in telling her that I have absolutely no time to squeeze in hiring a pianist. All she’ll do is give me some lame-ass line about how she discovered me and I owe her everything. Similar to what she did when Victoria called her, confirming my changes of the mayor’s event. I had every intention of telling Rachel myself, but Victoria got to her first. Rachel then proceeded to tell me she was not happy with my decision to make changes without her knowledge and reminded me this was her company and not mine. In the end, Rachel was content with me moving forward with the changes because Victoria was happy with it. The detail about Moira, though, is still under wraps.
“Hey, Stella. Rachel. Sorry I’m late,” Kerry greets as she comes through the main entrance, shaking off rain from her arms, her hair and clothes soaked. “I had no idea it was supposed to rain today. I was halfway here, and the bottom fell out! Oh my God . . .”
I open my mouth to offer her my sympathy and tell her to hang out in the restroom until I can bring her a towel and some dry clothes. I always have supplies handy just for such occasions. We walk nearly everywhere we go in this city. Getting attacked by the elements of nature is nearly inevitable. Having backup gear is a necessity. But before I can get a word in, Rachel barks at Kerry.
“Dammit, Kerry. You’re dripping everywhere! And you know how I am about punctuality. You are so unprofessional. No wonder we didn’t get the Sacred Heart Dinner. I knew I shouldn’t have left you to it. I’m sure you found some way to screw it up.”
“Rachel!” I snap. “What is wrong with you? You know that had nothing to do with Kerry and everything to do with the fact that you refuse to offer a discount for repeat customers. All you had to do was shave a little five percent off.”
She glares at me. Hard. Perhaps she expects an apology, but I offer nothing but a stern look in return. She breaks the staring match and glances at her fake Rolex watch.
“I’m taking an early lunch. An early and looong lunch. Have a piano guy booked by the time I get back, and, Kerry, for God’s sake, clean yourself up.” Rachel dips into her office momentarily to grab her purse and umbrella and then makes a quick exit from the building. Kerry is standing there expressionless and shivering. I stand and go to her. “Kerry, hon, head to the bathroom. I’ll bring you a towel and a change of clothes.”
She nods and retreats to the restroom.
“You know she yelled at Phillipe? Yesterday when you went to Ladybug’s. He called to get specifications for the Stannis reception, and she bit his head off. I don’t know what he said to her exactly, but in response, she told him his hors d’oeuvre ideas were very 2003 and he needed to jump into this decade.”
“No she didn’t?” I say, appalled. Kerry nods her head as I help her towel-dry her hair.
“She’s cracking, Ker. She hardly does any legwork, and she’s cracking. It makes no sense. I’m concerned.”
“Me too.”
“I’ll call Phillipe today and apologize. We can’t lose him.”
“And he’s so sweet. Who yells at Phillipe?”
I shrug.
“Soooo, tell me about your dinner with Padraig! I’m dying to know where he took you.”
I shift my weight and blush slightly. The way we parted last night comes to the forefront of my thoughts. “He took me to his mother’s house.”
“You’re smiling and blushing, so that mustn’t be a bad thing.”
