“Why?”
“I’m too quiet. Too self-contained.”
“You didn’t use to be.”
I sigh. “Things change.”
“Would you tell me about that? The things that have changed.”
I glance at Callan long enough to see him smile.
“I think we’re overdue a catch-up, don’t you?” he asks. “Plus, you said you wanted to have a proper chat.”
“I do.”
“Let’s start with something light. What are you doing now?”
A lump forms in my throat. “I’m a barman.” I can’t look at him.
“Do you enjoy it?”
“Aye. I get to talk to a lot of people.”
Callan laughs. “And you just said you were quiet.”
“It’s different when I’m serving behind a bar. Strangers come and go. It’s easy to listen when you’re serving drinks.” I clear my throat. “Sorry.”
“What for?”
“We should change the subject.”
“Oh.” Callan stops.
I walk a few more steps before I realise he’s not following. I turn to face him.
“Talking about working in a bar isn’t going to make me fall off the wagon. But maybe we should change the subject.” He catches up to me and then walks backwards, facing me. “Fill me in.”
I raise my eyebrows. “On what?”
“Everything.”
“You don’t—”
Callan’s expression becomes stern. “I do. There was a time you couldn’t sneeze without me knowing. Then suddenly, you were gone.” He nods his head to the side. “Or I was gone. It left a huge hole.” He presses his hand to his chest, over his heart. “Here.”
The lump has returned to my throat.
“Maybe if you tell me everything I’ve missed, the stories will help fill that hole.”
I stop and stare at him.
“We’re not going to get very far if we keep stopping.” A fragile smile graces Callan’s lips. He looks around. “Is there a park or something nearby? Maybe we could find a bench, seeing as walking isn’t working for us.”
“Or swings,” I say wistfully, recalling the playground not ten minutes from my house in Wexford. We’d sit on the swings, talking, until it was almost dark. Then we’d sprint home so we didn’t get into trouble.
“Swings would be perfect.”
I check the map app on my phone. “This way.”
