Ouch. Fail.
My voice is hoarse from the hot liquid. “If he’s busting out the L-word, and you’re thinking about how to keep him here with you, these questions need to be asked and answered. Is he expecting you to support him? Can you do that? Do you want to do that? When it’s time for him to leave, what will you do? Will you stay? Will you go? Will he stay or go? He can’t remain here beyond his visa expiration or he could get blocked from coming in again for ten years.”
“Ten years? Oh my god…”
“Yes. It’s not pretty. You don’t want him becoming an illegal alien.”
“This is a really big deal, isn’t it?”
She sounds so lost and worried, I can’t help but try to fix it. “Yes, but love conquers all, right? And I know you really like him. Maybe you even love him, as much as you can love a person you’ve spent such limited time with. If he’s really serious about you, and I think he must be, he’ll answer your questions. He’ll do the right thing. That’s how we’ll know if he’s the right guy for you.”
“He’s a good man, Rid.”
“Let him prove that to you.”
“I will.” I can imagine her with her chin in the air, her Irish attitude shining out through her green eyes.
“Excellent. I can’t wait to hear what happens. Call me after you talk to him.”
“No matter what time of day or night?”
She’s playing with me now. “Might as well. I’m up at the crack of my ass dawn now, aren’t I?”
“You whinged.”
“Yeah. But I got up and made two cups of coffee and drank them by six thirty a.m., and it’s my day off.”
“You’re a good friend.”
“Damn straight. Now go get your man, would you? All this drama is giving me a rash.”
“Maybe you need a little trip back to the olde sod.”
A flash of memory, Donal riding his giant horse, comes to mind. An ache strikes my heart so hard, so fast, I inhale sharply in surprise.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, ridding it of the vision. “My coffee is too hot. Call me later.”
“O’kay. Bye!”
“Bye.” I put the phone down and walk to the bathroom as I rub my chest, trying to ease the ache that’s settled in there. I’m hoping a shower will wash the memories away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ERIN
I TIPTOE BACK INTO MY bedroom, pausing for a moment at the door to watch Michaél sleep. His breathing is steady and even, just like him. Why does Ridlee have to be so practical all the time? I climb into bed and gaze at him some more. Sometimes I wonder if my best friend has a romantic bone in her body.
Granted, I was like that too. I still am, I think… It’s been a point of pride for us; no guy is going to come along and tear down everything we’ve built, the way they do in those chick flicks where the girls gamely change the entire direction of their lives for the guy in order to live happily ever after.
There’s a reason those films end there. No-one wants to see the money stress that follows, eating away at their love like a cancer, or the gaggle of kids running around robbing the young bride of all her energy and any ambition she may have once had. Nooo… they never show you that bit. Ridlee’s right. It’s time to talk.
“Michaél!” I lean in and yell in his ear.
He jerks in his sleep. “What? What? What’s wrong?” He rubs his eyes all disorientated and snaps his head to look around the room.
“Morning,” I say in a softer tone. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
He rubs his hand across his mouth, still confused. “Erin, what time is it?”
“Eh, around seven I think. Did you sleep well?”
He sits up and yawns. Then he looks over at me. “Come here you,” he says reaching for me.
“Just a sec.” I slide off the bed, leaving him to grab a handful of air while I hurry out to the kitchen. Pouring two coffees I snatch up the paper I left by the phone with Ridlee’s instructions on it.
Back in bed we sip our coffee in silence. I sneak a peek at him; he’s watching me, a bemused look on his face. Carefully, I place my coffee cup on the bedside table and glance at the paper.
“I sense you want to talk, Babe.”
“Me? No, not particularly.” I answer breezily. I scan the paper again and try to memorize the first question. I clear my throat. “Well, ye know, maybe now would be a good time to run through a couple of things about us.” I wince. Shit! Guys hate when you say that you want to talk about us.
“Sounds like a good idea. I’d love to talk about us. Do ye wanna start?” He puts his coffee cup on the bedside table on his side of the bed.
I panic momentarily. Is that his side of the bed now? And is this to be my side? I usually sleep in the middle. Ridlee’s right, things are moving way too fast. How could he possibly know that he loves me already? I’ve never bought into that love at first sight shit. How on earth can you love someone, really love them, until you’ve seen their worst parts? That’s what love is; accepting someone warts and all.
I sit cross-legged in front of him, which allows me to read Ridlee’s instructions discreetly. I decide to just go for it, since according to her, we don’t have much time. Oh well, in for the penny, in for the pound, as Granny would say. All Ridlee’s queries come rushing out at once and not in the oh so casual manner that I’d planned.
“Well, I was just wondering, firstly, why you’re here using the bar as an excuse and not just you, I mean me, as an excuse.” Furtively, I peek at the paper again. “And who’s going to watch your shop? And, how long is your visa valid for? Do you realize that you can’t work or earn money on that visa? Do you have savings for living expenses? And if not, how will the business in Ireland stay afloat?” I try to slow down and speak as though these questions are just occurring to me now. I continue. “Are you expecting me to support you?”
Ouch. He winces at that one.
“And when it’s time for you to leave, what then? You don’t want to live here as an illegal alien, do you?” I crane my neck just a little reading my almost illegible shorthand to make sure that I’ve covered all bases. Yup; the list is done. Now for the fallout.
Michaél jumps up, pulls back the duvet cover, and looks under the bed. Then he walks over and opens the closet and sticks his head in there. He even checks behind the curtains.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for Ridlee. She’s here, right? That was definitely her talking. I just thought she might be hiding under the bed or in the closet.”
I can’t help but smile as he walks back to the bed naked and sits down beside me.
“Erin, I didn’t mean to put the heebie-jeebies up ye yesterday when I told ye how I felt about ye. Maybe we should slow down a little.”
I gulp involuntarily. Is he going to dump me? Am I interrogating him too much?
He reaches past me and picks up the list Ridlee has dictated. There’s a seriously pregnant pause as his eyes skim down the page. “Uh huh…” He turns the page over and reads the other side before looking at me again. “I’ll address each point in order, if that suits ye?”
He’s mocking me again but I don’t mind. “Sure,” I say, shrugging.
“So, number one: Okay, well, I came using the bar as a ruse rather than showing up all doe-eyed and desperate because ye’re so damn independent and have yer shit so together that it seemed like the only way that I could become necessary in yer life. The opportunity presented itself, and I took it. I never wanted yer bar. I’ve only ever wanted to help ye. You talked passionately about the Pot O’Gold the first night I met ye. I wouldn’t dream of interfering with yer dream.”