Maybe You

by Marie Landry

  I finish speaking and raise my eyes to find him watching me. I can’t read his expression. Or maybe I can and just don’t want to see what I think is there: a mixture of melancholy and longing. The same thing is probably reflected in my own eyes.

  He’s quiet for a moment before giving a short, decisive nod. “Wanna just hide out here for awhile? See how long it takes them to come looking for us?”

  I laugh at the unexpected joke. Some of the tension seems to ease between us as he chuckles along. “Yeah, actually. Or maybe you and I could head upstairs and have a beer in the pub.”

  “Gladly.” He takes one of my hands, swinging it casually in his. His smile falters and he goes to pull away, but I hold on, giving his fingers a squeeze. “I suppose we should get back. Face the music, as they say. I’ll still buy you that beer, though. Or I guess my dad will since he’s paying.” He gives me a mischievous grin, and I could sob with relief that things seem to be returning to normal between us. Whatever normal is for two people who have met a total of three times.

  “Deal.”

  *****

  When we return to the table, I opt for coffee. By the time it arrives a couple minutes later, I’ve decided to take Kieran up on his offer of a beer, since Mr. O’Malley didn’t waste any time launching into a speech about how Kieran should return to Ireland and work for him.

  Kieran and his mother wear matching glassy eyes as his dad drones on about ‘family responsibilities’ and ‘being a man’ and ‘taking your rightful place’. I mostly tune out when our food arrives, concentrating instead on my fish and chips. When Kieran steals a fry from my plate, I help myself to a bite of his steak and Guinness pie. Before long, we’re eating off each other’s plates, completely lost in our own little world of carbs and gravy and pints of beer.

  “Are you even listening to me, boy?” Mr. O’Malley’s fist thumps the table, rattling our dishes and silverware. Kieran’s eyes go wide and his shoulders hunch as he slides down in his seat, casting a furtive glance around us. Luckily, I suggested an early dinner, so the place isn’t too busy yet, but I can feel eyes on us nonetheless.

  “Eamon,” Maeve hisses, mimicking Kieran’s posture and slinking down in her seat. Any second now they’re both going to slide right under the table.

  Mr. O’Malley waves his hand dismissively and says, “Quit your blathering and drink your wine.”

  I gasp. My hand flies up to cover my mouth, but it’s too late, the sound has escaped. From the corner of my eye, I see Mr. O’Malley slowly turn toward me. My gaze darts to Kieran. His cartoonishly wide eyes make a bubble of hysterical laughter inch up my throat. That’s when it hits me: we’re both on our way to being tipsy. Shit.

  “Do you have something to say, young lady?” Mr. O’Malley asks.

  His voice is menacing, but I’m not afraid. Something has become very clear to me in the last few minutes: Eamon O’Malley thrives off people’s fear. Their insecurities. Their weaknesses. And I may not be at my strongest right now, I may have moments where I feel like the lightest puff of air would make me shatter, but my mother didn’t raise a timid daughter.

  So I draw myself up, take a deep breath, and inch my chair to the side so I can face Mr. O’Malley without him being in my personal space. “You know, my mother taught me to respect my elders. But she also taught me respect should be earned, and you…you don’t deserve my respect. Or your son’s for that matter, but I can’t speak for him. What I can say is Kieran is a strong, smart, kind, compassionate person despite you. He’s learned to make his own decisions and follow his own path in life instead of allowing a bully like you to run his life. Because that’s what you are, Mr. O’Malley: a bully.”

  I don’t know what I expect. For him to go on the attack. To call me names or turn his ire on Kieran or maybe dismiss me altogether. I sure as hell don’t expect him to suddenly see the error of his ways after nearly thirty years of treating his son like shit. But what I never expected was for him to start laughing. Head back, mouth open, belly laughing until actual tears or mirth collect in the corners of his eyes.

  I look to Kieran, whose perplexed expression likely mirrors my own. His mother, on the other hand, is watching her husband with a wary expression, like maybe she’s seen this behavior before and knows nothing good will come of it.

  When Mr. O’Malley finally regains control, he inches his chair back toward the table and returns to his dinner. Kieran, Maeve, and I are finished eating, but he was slower because he talked almost non-stop. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” he asks around a mouthful of food. “I can see why my son likes you.” He looks at Kieran while pointing his fork in my direction. “Hold on to this one, boy. The feistier they are, the better they—”

  “Stop.” Kieran’s voice is low but firm. “Just stop. Meredith is right about you not deserving respect.” He stands, motioning for me to do the same. Maeve scrambles to her feet, despite her husband’s barked orders for her to sit down. Kieran puts his arm around her and draws her away from the table, shooting me a glance that tells me to follow. Despite my beer-hazy brain, I have the wherewithal to snatch my purse from the floor before hurrying after Kieran.

  “I need to go now, Mum,” I hear him say quietly as he guides her away, his hand gripping her bony shoulder tightly. “I’m sorry things turned out this way. I wish there was something I could do.”

  She shakes her head, tears splashing down her cheeks. “It’s fine, it’s fine, you go. I want you to stay here in Bellevue, Kieran. Finish your schooling and stay as far away from your father and his business as you can, no matter what he says.”

  Her words seem to stun Kieran into silence. I feel like I’m intruding on a private mother-son moment, so I begin to inch away, but Maeve pins me with her gaze.

  “I mean it,” she says, turning back to Kieran. “You’re destined for great things. I always thought so. You’re not like the rest of us. You’ve a mind of your own and you never allowed yourself to be under his thumb. I want you to know how proud I am of you.”

  “Even though you’re stuck?” Kieran asks, gripping her shoulder tighter. “Stuck with him?”

  She shrugs helplessly. “I made my decision long ago, Kieran, and now I’ve no choice but to live with it. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t live your life. Please. Don’t do it for me, don’t even do it as a ‘feck you’ to your father. Do it for yourself.”

  Kieran is silent for a moment. I’m standing slightly behind him, so I can’t see his face, but when his shoulders start to shake, my stomach clenches. Seeing Maeve cry is bad enough; I’m not sure I can handle tears from Kieran too. A second later, his quiet laughter reaches my ears, and he says, “You just said ‘feck you’.”

  Maeve swats at his shoulder, but she’s wearing a smile now, albeit a bittersweet one. “Go. Be gone with you, both of you. You be good to each other, you hear me?” To me she says, “Take care of my boy, Meredith. You’re good for him, and I know he’ll be good to and for you.”

  My breath catches at her words. How do I respond to that? I’ve always believed in not making promises unless I’m certain I can keep them, and I can’t promise to take care of Kieran. And yet the thought of disappointing her, especially now, is almost unbearable.

  Rather than answering, I step forward and slide between her and Kieran to give her a tight hug. “You take care of yourself. I’m so glad I got to meet you.”

  When I step away, Kieran gives his mother a long hug followed by a quick goodbye. Without so much as casting a glance in his father’s direction, he takes my hand and leads me out of Connelly’s.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  By the time we reach my car, I’ve realized two things: I have no idea how Kieran got here, and…“I can’t drive.”

  “What?” Kieran plows a hand through his hair, making the naturally messy-looking tresses stand even taller. His other hand is still tightly gripping mine. “Ah shite, of course.”

  “It’s okay, we’ll call a taxi and I’ll come get my car late
r.” My words don’t seem to register with him. I tug his hand and his gaze snaps to mine. “I’m sorry about what happened in there. I shouldn’t have gone off on your dad like that. I was mostly able to tune him out, despite wanting to tell him off for some of the things he said to you. But when he told your mom to shut up, something in me snapped.”

  Kieran’s lips twitch. “Do not be sorry, Meredith. You’re my hero right now. Heroine? Hmm.” He pauses, and when all I can do is let out a surprised laugh, he says, “You just stood up to a man who’s feared by half of Dublin. I want to fall at your feet and worship you.”

  My answering laughter dies quickly as something occurs to me. “I hope I didn’t make things worse for your mom.”

  His grin wavers and slips from his face. “I don’t think so. He’ll likely be in a piss-poor mood, but she’s accustomed to that, and I think it’s mostly bluster these days. As hard as it may be to believe this with how obnoxious he was during both our encounters, he seems to have mellowed a bit since I left Ireland.”

  I watch Kieran closely as he speaks. Despite the deep furrow between his brows, I think if he was genuinely concerned for his mother’s safety he wouldn’t leave her here. He knows his family best, so I have to trust him.

  Digging out my phone, I open the app for a taxi and request one at Connelly’s. My finger hovers over the button to request a second car since Kieran and I live in opposite directions, but I think it’s a good idea for me to go with him. Since I’m keeping things professional and this is part of my job, I need to see this all the way through, which means providing comfort for him after the meeting from hell with his parents.

  Switching over to text, I shoot a quick message to Ivy, asking her if it would be possible to be on standby to pick me up at Kieran’s when we’re finished. She answers immediately in the affirmative, so I text her Kieran’s address along with a thank you and a ton of kissy face emojis. After I hit send, I wish I could take it back. What if she thinks the kissy faces mean I’m planning to make out with Kieran?

  The taxi pulls into the parking lot and I open the back door, motioning for Kieran to go first. As he scoots across the seat, I tell the driver his address.

  “What about you?” Kieran asks.

  “I was hoping you’d make me another cup of tea,” I tell him. “With whiskey this time.”

  *****

  Sitting on Kieran’s bed, I have a sense of déjà vu. He’s just returned from the bathroom and plugged in the kettle, and he’s pulling things from his desk drawer, reminding me of Mary Poppins with her bottomless bag.

  “I’ll remember not to put milk in this time,” he says over his shoulder.

  “I actually kind of liked it.” My eyes follow the movements of his long fingers as he fiddles with the teabags and rearranges the cups and saucers. I wonder if I’m the only one who feels like his room is smaller than it was last time we were in here together. I was tempted to sit on the desk chair instead of the bed, but figured I’d be in the way of his tea making. So here I am, sitting ramrod straight, clutching a pillow in front of me.

  A few minutes later, Kieran hands me a cup of tea. He perches on the edge of the bed as far from where I’m sitting as possible while still being on the same piece of furniture. “Biscuits!” he says, jumping up and rummaging around in the drawer again. He pulls out a small package of cookies and sets it on the bed before sitting on the desk chair.

  I stare at him, willing him to look at me, but he’s concentrating on his tea as if it’s a crystal ball that holds all the secrets to life.

  With a sigh, I pick up the package of cookies and open them. I’m not hungry after such a big meal, but I need to do something with my hands. I also need to come up with a safe topic of conversation that will get Kieran talking again. Maybe dispel some of this awkwardness. This is likely the last time we’ll see each other, and I want to leave things on a good note. Something we can both look back on and feel positive about. Although, truthfully, I’m not sure I’ll allow myself to think of Kieran too much past today. Still…

  “Shortbread is my favorite,” I tell him. All my training for HTC focusing on conversation starters and putting people at ease is clearly coming in handy now with a deep, philosophical topic like cookies.

  Kieran finally looks up from his tea. “Mm, mine too, actually. I had a Scottish nanny when I was growing up, and she was always making shortbread.”

  I hold the package of cookies in his direction. When he reaches for them, I draw them back toward me and wave them around, wiggling my eyebrows and jerking my head toward the bed. A hesitant smile flirts around his mouth. I can see the change in his eyes the moment before he gives in and returns to the bed.

  “One of my best friends is from Scotland. I always make him bring me authentic Scottish shortbread whenever he goes home for a visit or for work.” I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but Kieran’s eyebrows seem to lift slightly when I refer to my friend as male.

  “Nice friend you have,” he says. “Shortly after I arrived in Canada, I scoured the international section in the supermarket for things from back home. They have more imports from the UK than Ireland, but I was happy to find these at least.”

  I almost tell him I’ll share some of my shortbread stash from Hugh’s last trip until I remember I won’t be seeing him again. The thought makes me swallow a sigh. “So, you had a nanny?”

  Kieran tells me about his Scottish nanny, Rhona, a woman who was with his family from the time he was an infant until he became a teenager. He wears a fond smile as he shares stories about her and how he spent more time with her than with his own parents. “A blessing, really, considering what my parents were like,” he says at one point.

  As I lean back against the wall, sipping my whiskey-laced tea and eating buttery shortbread, I realize I could listen to Kieran talk for hours. Like most of the Irish people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing, he’s a natural-born storyteller. I love watching his animated features and expansive gestures, and when he puts on a thick Scottish burr to imitate Rhona, I laugh so hard tea nearly shoots from my nose.

  Kieran’s room grows gradually darker as the sun sinks in the sky. A surge of emotion rises in me when the fading sun angles in and bathes Kieran in a soft spotlight glow. I hate the idea of not seeing him again. At the very least, I wish we could stay friends, but I’m not sure if that’s possible for a variety of reasons…one of them being the urge I feel to reach for his hand and pull him to me in a not-at-all platonic way. Now more than ever, I can’t afford to blur the lines between business and my personal life.

  Kieran reaches for the lamp on his desk and flips it on. The light is faint, but it changes something in the atmosphere. It’s as if we’ve been living in a little bubble outside of time, just the two of us, with no expectations or rules. A sudden urgency builds deep in my core, telling me I need to leave. Now.

  “This has been wonderful, but I should get going.” Despite aiming for a breezy tone, my voice shakes slightly. Kieran takes my empty teacup and saucer and sets it, along with his, on the desk. He gets to his feet and offers me a hand. His palm is damp; if the way my fingers slip against his is any indication, mine is sweaty too.

  “You’re officially off duty, Miss Cormier,” Kieran says quietly. He releases my hand and crosses his arms over his chest. I normally consider that a defensive position, but on Kieran it looks like a protective one. I feel like copying the gesture, if only to hold myself together while we say goodbye.

  “Do you know what you’re going to do?” I ask. “Stay in Bellevue or go back to Ireland, I mean.”

  “Mm, I’m going to stay. You were right—if I put in more effort, it might not be so difficult. I’m going to get a meal plan at the cafeteria and try to be more social. I think having friends would make being here easier.”

  “That’s great, Kieran. Good for you.” My voice is high, reminding me of a schoolteacher praising a little kid. It makes me want to cringe.

  He nods slowly. “I’ve really
enjoyed our time together, Meredith. I-I wish things could be different.”

  My eyes dart away from his imploring blue gaze, settling on where our shoes are sitting side by side in front of the bed. “I do too, Kieran.”

  “So why can’t they be?”

  “Because it’s too complicated.”

  “Life is complicated.” His voice is firmer now, drawing my attention back to him. His arms drop and he loosely grips my upper arms, bending slightly so we’re eye to eye. “Why can’t we go forward from here?”

  I swallow hard, racking my brain for a reason. I know there are reasons, but right now my heart is talking louder than my brain and it won’t shut up. “Because up until two minutes ago, you were paying me. This was meant to be a business arrangement and nothing more.”

  “What if we’d met in a different way? Would it have been possible then?”

  My mouth says, “We can’t know that,” while my traitorous heart screams ‘yes!’’ I gently free myself from his grip and bend to put on my shoes. With my head down, I say, “Look, you have some stuff to figure out and a life to really start living here. You’ve been given a new perspective, and even though your dad will clearly never support you, now you know your mother does. Maybe that’ll make it easier to start fresh.”

  I straighten, pulling my cardigan around me tightly. I desperately want to continue avoiding Kieran’s eyes and what I’m afraid I’ll see there, but I can’t waver. Not now. “I like you, Kieran, and I’ve enjoyed our time together, but it can’t turn into something more. If I start letting down my guard and getting attached to clients, it defeats the purpose. I’m sorry.”

  Something akin to despair flashes across his face. It’s gone so fast I wonder if I imagined it. “I’m sorry too.”