My dad bursts through the door of the kitchen, his hands bloody from what I know is stew meat that he’s been chopping. “What’s going on?”
“Byrne’s having a mental breakdown, a real split from reality,” she says, sounding panicked.
“I’m not—”
“Oh, son. Look at you!” my dad says in alarm. “You’re taking the breakup real hard, then, are you?”
“No, I’m—”
“Of course he is. The poor lad is absolutely heartbroken. It’s written all over his face!” My mom grabs my cheeks with one hand and squishes them. “He doesn’t even have the strength to shave.”
Peeling her fingers off my face, I say, “I’m fine. I just popped in to drop off some stuff and say hi. I’ve taken a few days off work, but it’s just because I’m trying to figure out what path I should be on. Not because I’m having a mental breakdown. It’s a normal thing people do once in a while.”
They both narrow their eyes at me and move in closer. Out of the side of his mouth, my dad says, “Do you believe him?”
Putting her hand in front of her mouth, my mom mutters, “Not sure. He sounds sane but … I really can’t tell.”
“You know I can hear you, right?”
“Did something happen at work?” Dad asks. “Did they pass you over for partnership again? ‘Cause if they did, I’m gonna go down there and give those fellas a piece of my mind.”
“Oh, tell me they didn’t pass you over,” my mom says, placing her hand on her chest. “Is it because they found out about your breakdown?” Turning to my dad, she says, “This is all your fault, you know. You were too hard on him when he and his friends broke into the church that time.”
I open my mouth to speak, but then realize there’s no point. They’re going to ignore me until they’re done.
Dad purses his lips together, still holding his wet, bloody hands in the air. “They didn’t just break in. They drank the holy wine and ate an entire bag of eucharist wafers. He got pissed while snacking on the body of Christ, Mary! He could go to hell for a thing like that.”
“He’s not going to hell. He confessed the very next day and Father Albert told us both that God forgave him. There was no need for you to ground him for a whole month. Heaven knows how that weakened his mental strength.”
The front door opens and Jen walks in with a bright smile that fades when she notices my parents glaring at each other. “Hi, everything okay?”
“They’re just debating a punishment they gave me … seventeen years ago,” I say with a nod.
She stifles a laugh as she walks behind the bar to put her purse down. Now I wish I had shaved. And changed my shirt. And maybe sprayed on a bit of cologne. She is so cute. Seriously. She’s in a really pretty yellow dress that cuts off just above the knee and her dark hair is up in a ponytail which makes me worry about her getting home safely. I should tell her that ponytail thing that Alexis told me.
My mom tells my dad, “We’ll talk about this later.”
Shaking his head like the subject is closed, my dad storms back into the kitchen muttering about the body and blood of Christ. My mom turns to Jen with a bright smile and gives her a hug. “How are you today, love?”
“Great. Is everything okay here or should I maybe come back in a bit? I feel like I walked into something private.”
“Nonsense, darlin’,” Mom says. “Byrne here is just having a mental breakdown which is all Joe’s fault, but it’s nothing you can’t know about.”
“Not having a mental breakdown,” I tell Jen. “I just haven’t shaved this week.”
She grins at me, then says, “I think it suits you.”
My mom smiles back and forth between the two of us, then, as if remembering something, she clears her throat. “Okay, then, well, there’s lots to do, so we best get to it. Jen, be a dear and clear table eight. I haven’t gotten to it yet.”
Jen puts on an apron and sets to work while my mom busies herself wiping down the bar top. Huh, that was weird. My mom didn’t take the opportunity to tell her how handsome I am or say what a lovely couple we’d make. I watch her for a moment, trying to figure out what she’s doing. After a few minutes, my mom says, “Byrne, be a love and help the old man in the kitchen. The meat order’ll be arriving soon.”
Over the next hour, I work amiably with my dad. We chat about all things baseball, politics, and how the world is essentially going to Hell in a handbasket. The normalcy of it makes me start to feel like myself, even though the entire time, I know my dad is holding back and trying not to pry. He keeps opening his mouth, then shutting it and shaking his head. On the hundredth or so time he does this, I finally demand, “Out with it.”
He stops stirring the stew and turns to me. “Your sister said you’re maybe thinking of quitting the law. She said I put too much pressure on you and not to say a word if you do decide to give up your calling.” He closes his eyes before adding, “She also said not to call it your calling. And not to ever tell you she told us any of this. So, I won’t say a word. Except this—I’ll love you no matter what you do for a living, and that’s the God’s honest truth. I’ve got nothin’ more to say on the matter.”
“Come on, Dad; we both know there’s more.”
He nods. “Okay, but just one more thing. I think you’d be a fool to give up the law. You’re good at it and it suits you and it’s a hell of a good way to earn your way in the world.” He holds his hands up. “But that’s all I’m saying.”
Nope, there’s more. I smile and wait.
“Also, don’t be mad, but about an hour ago, I called my friend Randall, you remember him? He’s the one with the deli on Canal Street. Anyway, he’s in the process of buying the building his deli is in and he’s having some trouble with the legal side of things, so I told him to come by and that you’d help him out—for free-like.”
He swallows hard, then looks at his watch. “He’ll be here in about … two minutes.”
I raise one eyebrow and let out a long sigh that causes my dad to quickly scramble and add, “But I only did it because I was worried you really might quit the law and if you got a chance to help the working man, it might spark your passion for it again.”
“So, you think my helping your friend Randall, pro bono, on my time off, will make me want to continue working in the legal profession?”
“That’s the size of it,” my dad says, with a sheepish look on his face.
“And I thought Mom was the meddler.”
“I’m not a …” he starts, then he lets his shoulders drop. “Well, maybe I am. But just like your ma, my heart’s in the right place.”
My mom pushes the door open and says, “Randall is here, but he says he needs to see Byrne?”
“Yup,” I say. “Coming.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Jen
I love working at The Salty Nuts Tavern. At first, I wondered if I only wanted to be here to see Byrne more often, and while that may be part of it, this afternoon is the first time he’s shown up all week. Even without him, I’ve been having a blast.
Mary has made a big production of introducing me to all the steady customers. “Jake, Barb, Phil, Collin … this here is Jennifer Flanders. She’s about to become a famous painter of erotic flowers and she’s gracing us with her presence until those sexy lilies of hers take her away from us for good.”
Joe, on the other hand, is very protective, telling the male customers, “You, fella, put your eyes back into your head. This one is taken.”
When I asked him about my “taken” status, he told me, “Sure as the Emerald Isle is green, love, you’re not going to meet your fella in a bar.” Then with a twinkle in his eye, he added, “Unless, of course, it’s the owner’s son. I have a good feeling about that.”
I love how Mary and Joe are hell-bent on bringing Byrne and me together, but even though I’m enjoying the thought of such a thing, it wasn’t until yesterday when they talked to their dau
ghter Ciara that I even let myself hope such a thing was possible.
Waiting for Joe to pull four pints of Guinness for the table in the corner, I let my eyes drink in Byrne and his scruffy beard. He looks all rugged and manly like he just came back from a camping trip or sixteen days on Survivor. I always think those guys look so much better by the time they’re voted off than when they start.
“Earth to Jennifer? Come in Jennifer …” Joe breaks into my lustful thoughts.
Grabbing the beer mugs off the counter, I hurry to put them on my tray and deliver them. Then I stop off at Byrne’s table and ask, “Can I bring you gentlemen something to drink?”
Byrne lifts a glass of water and says, “I’m good, Jen, thanks. But maybe Randall here could use a drink.”
The older gentleman sitting across from him says, “That I could! This building purchase is either going to make me a rich man or kill me dead. Only time will tell.” Then he offers me a pained smile. “I’ll do a shot and a beer, love. Joe knows what I like.”
I hurry off to the bar to get the order, but not before looking at Byrne again. While he’s sexy as all get out with his rumpled, scruffy appearance, I can’t help but wonder how hard he’s taking his breakup—his parents couldn’t wait to tell me about it after talking to their daughter. Being part of a couple for eight years and then breaking up has to feel kind of like getting a divorce.
My phone pings after telling Joe about the shot and the beer. I look down and see it’s from Audra. Damn and double damn.
BensMom: Well, did you tell him?
JFlan: I will the very second he texts me back.
BensMom: Text him again.
JFlan: He told me not to.
BensMom: I don’t care what he told you. Text him and tell him what’s going on. I can’t have my contact with Gabe sullied. I’m going to need a recommendation from him really soon!
JFlan: Fine. Got it. I’ll text him right now.
I feel the pressure of the whole Audra situation building. How in the world does she expect me to make things right with Gabe when he won’t even talk to me? I hurry to leave GOD another message.
JFlan: Hey, Gabe, I know you asked me not to get in touch until I heard from you, but you don’t understand the magnitude of what I have to tell you. I also have your five hundred dollars, so please, please text me back.
GOD: …
GOD: …
GOD: I’m in the middle of something right now. Listen, not to be mean, but there’s nothing you can tell me that I want to hear. I don’t care about the money. I’m glad you like the job, but I don’t have the time for this right now.
JFlan: I’m not who you think I am!
GOD: Join the club. I’m not who I think I am either. But seriously, I need some space. Please respect that. I promise to be in touch at some point.
Holy crow! I don’t know what to do now. I can’t make the man meet with me so I can tell him what’s going on. I guess the only thing to do is keep putting Audra off and hope Gabe reaches out soon.
Grabbing the shot and beer off the counter, I hurry to take it over to Byrne’s table. He’s putting his phone away as I get there. Dropping the order, I tell them, “I’ll be at the bar having my supper if you need anything. I want to hurry up and eat before the evening crowd starts pouring in.”
Byrne’s smile sends shivers of pure delight racing up my spine and into the base of my skull. My brain is tingling like it’s full of Pop Rocks. “If we need anything else, I’ll get it. Don’t forget I know my way around this place.”
It’s all I can do to not offer, “But if you need me, please feel free to contact me any time.” Luckily, I don’t blurt that out. Byrne just recently broke up with his girlfriend and I don’t want to be the kind of woman who takes advantage of him at a vulnerable time. I also have a hard and fast rule that I will not knowingly be somebody’s rebound. Been there, done that, and don’t want to go on that trip again.
After positioning myself at the bar so I can stare at Byrne while I eat my fish ‘n’ chips, I succumb to a fantasy that’s been trying to take over ever since I walked in this afternoon. In my mind’s eye, he comes right over to me and plants the mother of all kisses on me. Then he says hello to his parents.
Fantasy Byrne says, “I was just on my way to pick the kids up from school and I needed a kiss to get me through until you come home tonight.”
Mary interjects, “Nonsense, Byrne. I’ll pick up the kids and bring them back here to do their homework. You and Jen go off and have yourselves a date.” The massive winking that follows her statement makes it clear as day what she has in mind.
A bionically-vivid imagination is the cross we creative types have to bear.
I’m obviously doing more daydreaming than eating because Mary comes over and says, “It takes time to build castles. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I’m starting to get used to her weird sayings, but this one has me stumped.
“It means if it’s worth having, it’s worth waiting for.”
Shaking my head in confusion, I say, “Again, I’m not following.”
“You and Byrne, love. If it’s going to happen, it’ll be worth the wait. That’s not to say we’re just going to sit around and do nothing, mind you, but I think we might need to give him a wee bit longer to put the pieces of his heart together.”
After wiping my mouth with my napkin, I tell her, “Oh no, Mary, you’ve got me wrong. I don’t have my sights set on Byrne.”
“Right, love, and I’m not so Irish I don’t have potatoes growing in my garden.”
What does that mean?
“I like your son well enough,” I tell her. “I’m just not the kind of girl to make a play for someone who’s fresh out of a long-term relationship.”
“Ach, that Alexis was a harpy through and through. Byrne isn’t mourning her; he’s mourning the fact that I was right about her. Which is why we’ve got to play it cool—he’s got to think I’ve got no opinion on the matter or he’ll go running in the opposite direction just to spite me. As wonderful as my boy is, he’s got his da’s stubborn streak in him.”
Patting the top of my hand, she adds, “No, love, I’ve got plans, and we’re going to execute them the right way, so Byrne doesn’t see us coming.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gabe
“Can I tell you something that you can’t repeat to my parents?” I ask Jen as we stroll down the sidewalk on the way to her place. My dad volunteered my services since it’s a Friday night which “brings out all the nasty fellas.” I would have offered anyway since I ended up seeing “clients” at the pub until closing. Somehow word got out that Joe and Mary’s son was giving out free legal advice, and before I knew it, the place was packed with people drinking while they waited for their turn at “the legal eagle booth,” as my mom dubbed it.
“Anything you tell me will stay between us,” Jen says, smiling up at me.
My throat feels slightly constricted as I blurt out, “I’m quitting my job on Monday.”
Jen stops walking and turns to me. “Wow. That’s a big decision.”
“It is, and it’s probably a terrible idea, both financially and career-wise, to be honest. But have you ever done something that makes no sense other than that it just feels right, like deep down in your bones?”
“That’s the only way I do anything.”
She is so pretty. A few strands of hair have come out of her ponytail and I have to ignore my impulse to lift my hand up and tuck them behind her ear. Instead, I ask, “Yeah, how does it work out?”
She turns and starts walking again. “Umm, well, when you met me, I had all of twenty-six dollars left on my credit card, so it might not always be the most successful way to do things.”
“Oh,” I say as my heart sinks.
“I don’t want to scare you though, because I’m a big believer in listening to your gut and your heart, and also trusting tha
t the Universe will provide eventually,” she says, then she lets out a long sigh. “Although lately I’m wondering if that’s maybe just wishful thinking. I’ve been in New York for over three years now and it’s been a lot harder than I thought it would be to break into the art world.”
“Well, you did sell one painting recently—one of your bigger pieces, if I’m not mistaken,” I say, hoping to cheer her up.
“True. But I also managed to get myself into a real pickle by trusting my instincts.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
Jen shakes her head. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. It’s one of those totally humiliating, I-should-have-known-better things.”
I glance down at her, wondering what could be so bad, but I decide to drop it. “Okay, so that’s a point against going with your gut.” Jen steps closer to me to avoid walking into a parking meter. I don’t shuffle to my left to maintain the polite distance between us. Instead, I keep walking with our arms so close they’re almost touching. It’s all I can do not to grab for her hand.
“I don’t think I’m in a position to give life advice right now. Besides, you’re a lawyer. You’re probably a master at decision-making.”
“I wish,” I tell her.
“I’m sure you are. I bet you’re one of those super-organized list guys who does a bunch of research before making a spreadsheet of pros and cons.” Lifting her hand to her head like she’s having a psychic vision, she adds, “I see pie charts and Venn diagrams.”
“Hey, they work, usually,” I tell her, rubbing the back of my neck. “Sometimes, anyway. I did stay in a not-very-happy relationship for about three years too long. Maybe four.”
Grinning up at me, she says, “So did you do a pros and cons list to decide whether to stay or not?” She mimes writing while saying, “Intelligent, beautiful, good cook …”
“Terrible cook, actually,” I say, then immediately feel bad for slagging Alexis. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not like I’m a good one. Also, she never had time to try, so …”
The Text God: Text and You Shall Receive ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 2) Page 13
