by Mari Carr
Mia’s eyes widened. “Seven? I knew it was a pretty big family, but I had no idea. To tell you the truth, I’ve sort of made it a game to figure out who’s who in the Collins tribe. I figured out who your grandfather was, but where’s your grandma?”
“She died a long time ago.” He started to add the word “cancer” but stopped himself. He recalled how she’d stumbled over the word when talking about her own grandmother. Padraig had started to compile a list of triggers when it came to her sadness. “My aunt Keira is the oldest of the seven kids.”
“So give me the abbreviated family tree. I want to see how much I’ve gotten right.”
Padraig laughed. “Even abbreviated, this could take a while. How long do you have?”
“Six months.”
He laughed at her joke even though he didn’t get it, and he noticed she didn’t crack a smile. “That should be enough time. My aunt Keira married a man named Will, and they have two kids, Caitlyn and Lochlan.”
“Caitlyn is the one who’s dating Lucas Whiting, right?”
“She hates that everyone in the world knows that.”
Mia took a quick sip of her coffee. “There’s no way the world isn’t going to know that. The guy is a billionaire and Baltimore hottie. Hard to open the newspaper and not see their picture coming and going from some ritzy fundraiser.”
“True.”
“So who came next?”
“Teagan.”
“I still can’t believe Teagan Collins and Sky Mitchell are your aunt and uncle. That must be amazing. Have you gone to a lot of their shows?”
“Do their impromptu concerts at the pub count?”
She considered that, and then nodded. “Yeah. I think those might count twice. It’s like getting your own private show.”
“Never thought of it that way, but I guess you’re right.”
“Ailis is their daughter, right? The lucky girl who’s dating Hunter.”
Padraig rolled his eyes. “I knew it. You’ve got the hots for Hunter.”
“Every woman has the hots for Hunter Maxwell, now that he’s won February Stars and is destined for stardom.”
“Good point. Ailis has a sister named Fiona. She’s writes for television and lives in L.A.”
“That sounds like an awesome job. Who’s next?”
“My dad. He and my mom had me and Colm.”
“The twin brother who looks just like you. I have to admit, it freaked me out the first time I saw you two together. I didn’t know he existed and then boom, suddenly there are two of you.”
Padraig laughed. “We get that a lot. Used to switch places to try to fool friends and teachers at school.”
“Did it work?”
“More times than it didn’t. Of course, we’d always get in trouble for it later at home. Our parents were never fooled.”
Mia pushed her almost-empty cup away.
“Want another one?” he asked.
“No. I’m afraid the caffeine from that one will keep me up all night as it is. Must be cool having a twin. Or even just a sibling. I would have loved to have a brother or sister.”
“Colm is awesome. My best friend.”
She smiled. “You’re so lucky.”
“I know.”
“And after your dad came…?” she prompted.
“His twin brother, Killian.”
“Are they identical too?”
Padraig nodded. “Yep. Killian is married to Justin and Lily.” He paused, studying her face as she absorbed that information.
“Both of them? Is that legal?”
“Lily is married to Killian, according to the state of Maryland, but in their hearts and minds, it’s the three of them. Always has been, apparently. They all went to high school together.”
Padraig didn’t go on with his family history, waiting instead to see if Mia would make a disparaging comment about the threesome. He’d certainly heard enough nasty things muttered under the breaths of others. In his mind, the easiest way to learn someone’s true nature was to see how they responded. He had no respect for people who passed judgment on three people who had fallen in love with each other.
“I think that’s sweet. Do they have any kids?”
He released the breath he’d been holding. “Just one. Fergus.”
She counted on her fingers, doing the math. “Okay, so that’s four kids. Three more to go.”
“Next is Ewan, who runs Sunday’s Side with Aunt Keira. He’s married to Natalie and they have one daughter, Yvonne.” One of the two cousins he’d considered calling earlier when Mia fell apart. “She lives upstairs in the Collins Dorm, along with…well…a bunch of us.”
Mia laughed. “Now that part I had figured out. I heard your aunt Riley, the cook, call it that, and given all the cousins I’ve seen going in and out of the door that leads upstairs, I figured there must be a big-ass apartment up there.”
“Touché. Extra credit for figuring out the living arrangements. Speaking of Aunt Riley, she and my uncle Aaron have three kids, Sunnie, Darcy and Finn.”
“Finn is the cousin who’s covering your shift tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“That was nice of him.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“So is there a last, but not least?” she asked.
“The youngest is Sean. He’s married to Lauren and Chad, and they have one son, Oliver.”
“You might have the most interesting family in the history of the world.”
He could tell from her expression she meant that sincerely and kindly. “They’re the best. How much of that had you figured out?”
“Less than fifty percent. Terrible, huh?”
Padraig drained his own coffee, feeling the effects of the caffeine himself. While it was getting late, he was pumped up, energized. He liked talking to Mia, liked getting to know her. The more time he spent with her, the more he realized his first impression was right. She was a very nice person.
And pretty. He’d never really noticed her appearance prior to tonight. Never let himself dwell on her bright green eyes or strawberry-blonde hair. Even with the red-rimmed eyes left behind after her crying, she was attractive in a wholesome, clean-cut, freckle-cheeked way.
“I need to say thank you, Padraig. For tonight.”
“It’s nothing.”
“No,” she disagreed. “That’s just it. It’s not nothing. I…”
She’d been on the verge of revealing her pain to him. He knew it. And once again, the words got jammed up.
“Say it,” he urged with a whisper. “Just say it, Mia, and I promise you, I’ll help you deal with it. No matter what. Okay?”
“I’m dying.”
3
Mia wanted to suck the words back in the second she spoke them. For one thing, saying them aloud seemed to make them all the more real. And secondly, Padraig had been very kind to her tonight, and she felt incredibly guilty, dropping something like that on him without any preamble or warning.
His shell-shocked expression told her she’d handled it badly.
“Dying?” He was shaking his head, as if wondering if he’d heard her correctly.
She couldn’t repeat herself. It had taken her hours to be able to say it just once. And even now, she was still struggling to believe it.
An inoperable brain tumor.
The words had been echoing over and over in her disease-riddled mind ever since Dr. Richards had pointed to the shadowy mass on the X-ray and told her what it was.
She’d gone to him because of migraines. At least, that’s what she’d thought was the cause of the headaches. That or stress.
If only it had been something so simple. Something treatable.
Dr. Richards had pointed to the tumor and explained that because of the size and location, it wasn’t something that could be removed. And while he offered radiation and chemotherapy as options to slow the growth, neither treatment would cure her.
Her choices had been limited to two: Accept her
death sentence and try to make the most of her remaining days; or fight the ticking time bomb in her head with poisons that would ensure the few months she had left would be spent in hospitals, miserable and sick.
She’d told Dr. Richards she would consider her options, and left. Then she had walked around the hospital corridors for the better part of two hours, trying to make the words sink in.
Finally, she’d caught a cab back to her place, thinking perhaps it would be easier to come to grips with it in a familiar, comfortable environment.
She’d paid the taxi fare, looked up at the window of her apartment, then turned around and walked straight to Pat’s Pub.
“Mia,” Padraig prodded, pulling her out of her nightmare memories. “What do you mean, you’re dying?”
“Brain tumor.” Funny how those two words weren’t any easier to say than “I’m dying.”
Padraig shook his head again, as if denial would change the truth. That had been her initial response as well, and oddly, she took comfort in that shared reaction.
When Dr. Richards called her this morning, he’d urged her to bring a family member or friend with her to the appointment. That request had been a pretty major red flag. One that felt equally horrible when she’d had to acknowledge she didn’t have a single person on the planet to take with her.
She wished she and Padraig had had this conversation earlier. Maybe if they’d moved toward friendship prior to tonight, she would have felt comfortable enough to ask him to go with her.
As it was, the more hours that passed, the more she realized she’d only heard about a tenth of what the doctor had said after he’d told her she was dying. She would have to get a grip at some point so she could go back with a list of questions, and a way of holding the numbness and disbelief at bay so she could absorb the information she needed.
Maybe Dr. Richards would let her record the next visit.
He’d given her brochures and suggested some websites she could use to find answers as well. They were tucked in her purse and, even now, she couldn’t make herself pull them out to look over.
“You can’t be dying, Mia. You’re young. You’re healthy.”
She’d said the same things. Assured Dr. Richards that apart from the headaches, she felt great. “Apparently, tumors don’t just seek out old people.”
“They can operate. Take it out.” Padraig was grasping for all the same branches she’d reached for.
“Inoperable. It’s in a bad place.”
“Drugs. Chemo.”
She shook her head. “Wouldn’t help.”
“Fuck this!” Padraig’s voice grew louder, and she soaked up his outrage on her behalf like cooling aloe on scorched summer skin. “We’re getting a second opinion.”
She laughed. She didn’t mean to. What he said wasn’t funny. Rather, it was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. We’re getting a second opinion. Not you. He’d joined her team, tied himself to her. The girl who had only ever been a singular pronoun was suddenly part of a plural.
“I mean it,” Padraig said, unsmiling. “We’re not taking one quack’s word for this. He’s wrong.”
“We?” she asked, trying—but failing—to hide her grin.
“Of course, we. Jesus. I’m not a heartless prick. You’re new to the city with no family or friends to help you through this. Do you seriously think I’m going to say, ‘Hey, good talk,’ and walk away from you?”
“Tonight is the first time we’ve ever really spoken. How would I know what to think?”
He sighed. “You’re right. I get it. Up until a couple of hours ago, we probably couldn’t have even said we were acquaintances. But now…”
Padraig reached over and took her hand. It wasn’t the first time he’d comforted her with that small touch, but now that he knew—knew and wanted to help her—it sent a wave of…
Of what? She tried to latch onto an emotion, but couldn’t. She’d been through the wringer today, waffling between numbness, devastation and merciful distraction.
“Now we’re friends.” Padraig didn’t release her hand this time after a quick, reassuring squeeze.
Instead, he held tight, and she realized what she was feeling was hope.
It was a ridiculous response, considering there was none. But the feeling was there, and as long as Padraig held her hand, it remained stubbornly ensconced.
“I like the sound of friends.”
His face was still somber, and she hated that she’d wiped away the easy smile he’d worn most of the evening. “What did the doctor say? Exactly?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I lost track of most of the words after ‘inoperable brain tumor’ and ‘six months to live’.”
“Six months?” he repeated, and she remembered her tasteless joke earlier. The words had fallen out without thought, bitterly, though Padraig hadn’t caught the tone behind them.
“I shouldn’t have said that before. I—”
“It’s okay, Mia. My mom is a nurse. If you’d allow it, I think she should go with you to your next appointment. She’ll understand what’s being said and can ask questions, clarify things. I also want to get her suggestions about who you should see for a second opinion. She’s been a nurse in Baltimore forever. I swear it seems like she knows every doctor in the state.”
Mia felt another tear slide down her cheek. She’d foolishly thought she had sobbed all of those out against Padraig’s chest outside. His offer was the answer to a prayer, and she was touched. “I’d like that a lot.”
They were interrupted when the clerk walked over to their table. “Getting ready to close up.”
Padraig and Mia both stood and put their coats back on. Mia tried to push down the panic rising in her chest. As long as she was with Padraig, she could keep a grip on herself. The idea of climbing the stairs to her apartment and sitting alone with nothing but her fear and her sadness, terrified her.
But she couldn’t ask Padraig to keep hanging around. It was eleven o’clock and he’d already blown off a night’s work to comfort her. While he’d offered his friendship and support, that didn’t mean he would stay with her 24/7 to keep her from losing her shit every time she recalled the fact that she was dying.
She sucked in a deep breath that sounded like a sob as they stepped out on the street. Padraig stopped and looked at her.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Don’t you want to go home? It’s late. I’ve already monopolized your entire night.”
He studied her face. She didn’t have the ability to feign a strength she didn’t feel. “It’s still early. Where do you want to go? Back to the pub?”
She shook her head. While the place hadn’t been exactly buzzing tonight, she really wasn’t sure she could hold herself together in front of people. Now that Padraig knew what was going on, she felt the need to talk. She’d been trying to reason it out in her head, but she couldn’t. She had a million things she wanted to say, and he was the only person around to listen.
“My apartment is just a block away. I have some wine. Maybe if I drink enough of it, I can pass out instead of crying myself to sleep.”
Padraig tucked his arm around her shoulders, turning them toward her place. “Wine sounds good. You sure you trust me not to take advantage of you?”
She could tell he was trying to lighten the moment. Truth was, she’d watched him at the pub enough to know Padraig Collins was a stand-up guy. A gentleman.
And as reassuring as that was, there was a part of her that actually wouldn’t have minded the “taking advantage” part, simply because it would involve touching, feeling, and not sleeping alone.
For a woman who had spent the better part of her life completely alone and not being bothered by it, she couldn’t seem to shake the loneliness that had crashed in on her since the doctor’s diagnosis.
“I trust you,” she said, and they walked the rest of the way to her place in silence.
They climbed the stairs to her second-floor apartment and
she unlocked the door, inviting him in. She tossed her coat on a chair near the door, then took his and laid it over hers. She gestured to the couch. “Have a seat and I’ll pour us both a glass. It’s cab sav. Is that okay?”
“Sounds great.”
She walked to the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine. Her hand trembled slightly as she did so, and she spilled a few drops on the counter. She wiped it up and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She couldn’t keep falling apart in front of Padraig or he would go running for the hills.
Mia picked up the glasses and returned to the living room. Padraig rose from the couch, taking the wine she offered. He lightly tapped his glass against hers before sitting back down. She claimed the opposite end of the couch and they each took a sip.
“When is your next doctor’s appointment?” he asked as he set his glass on a coaster on the coffee table.
“Tuesday. I understand if your mom can’t make that work. It’s short notice.”
“She’ll make it work,” he replied with complete confidence. “I know she’ll want to be there once I explain the situation.”
Mia wasn’t sure which situation he was referring to. Her health or her motherless state. But both worked so she rolled with it. Having someone with a medical background go with her really would help. Dr. Richards had said too many things she didn’t understand today. Not that she’d been firing on all cylinders.
Yet another tear rolled down her cheek and she batted it away quickly. Unfortunately, not before Padraig saw it.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to keep crying. I swear I’m trying to keep it together.”
Padraig scooted closer, near enough that he could take the wineglass from her hand and set it next to his. Then he clasped hands with her. She’d never realized such a sweet, innocent gesture as holding hands could be so comforting.
“I think you’re entitled to those tears, Mia. I’m not sure how you’re holding it together as well as you are. If I’d gotten news like yours, I’d be curled up in a fetal position in some dark corner of my bedroom.”
She grinned, even though she doubted his assertion. Padraig seemed like the type of man who could face anything that came his way. But she appreciated his attempts at bolstering her up.
