“Why does O'Callaghan still exist?” Devin pulled Shay closer and started playing with her hair.
Oran and Dermot exchanged a look I couldn’t understand. But neither one of them answered him.
Oran looked at Web. “My office. Now.” He looked at my father. “This concludes dinner. Here’s the deal you were supposed to get at dessert. My son wants to marry your daughter, your daughter seems okay with it, so they’re getting married. It’s a good deal between your family and mine. You’ll both be taken care of. It happens next week.”
“Next week!” I blurted.
Oran looked at me for the first time, like I had just teleported into the room. “Next week. Is there a problem with that?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but my father said, “Such short notice doesn’t give a girl much time to plan.”
Oran waved this off and stood. “She’ll have everything she needs. No one in this town will say no. I’ll have my guest list to you tomorrow—I’ll pay for the entire thing. Whatever Maeve wants, Maeve can have when it comes to this wedding.”
My dad nodded and thanked Oran for dinner. Dermot squeezed my thigh before he followed Oran out of the room. Devin didn’t look like he was going to get up until Dermot came back a minute later and pulled him up by the collar.
Shay smirked at me. “Saved by the beast, right?”
I had no clue what she meant by that, but I was glad we didn’t stick around to find out. Dad led me to our coats and my purse, and we left without anyone seeing us out.
The food I’d just eaten turned into sand from an hourglass, and I was having a hard time catching my breath. It was stuck in my throat. Not even the cold winter air could do anything to reverse it.
* * *
The cold airwas overwhelming me, making me shiver. Maybe because of the news that had just fallen on my shoulders—a week!—and the shock of it had made it to my bones. I was about to start hyperventilating, but I didn’t want my dad to notice.
If he broke down, it would completely break me.
The neighborhood had quaint businesses. My dad took me by the arm and brought me into a warm little coffee shop—The Bean of Boston. Acoustic music played in the background, and a few people sat at tables, some on computers. A man and a woman chatted over coffee. One girl sat alone with a book and a cup of hot chocolate. Though I doubted she was alone. She was lost in an entirely new world, with all new faces, and I envied her for it.
“Would you like something, Maeve? Coffee? Tea? Hot Chocolate?”
“No, thank you,” I barely got out, taking a seat at an empty table. I crossed my arms over myself to keep warm. I was chilled to the bone and my chest felt tight, like I’d been running a marathon.
While my dad stood in line for a cup of coffee, I used the app on my phone to arrange a ride home for us. I stared at the screen longer than I should have, lost, before I looked up.
My dad was next in line to place his order. He was mumbling to himself, which for him was normal. I didn’t miss the odd looks he got, though. I also didn’t miss the same energy coming from him as before. It had started when Cillian—Cian—O'Callaghan’s name had been mentioned at the table. It reminded me of when he found a missing piece of a project he’d been working on. It was almost electric.
Maybe he thought Cillian—Cian—O'Callaghan would take care of the problem for us?
By the time dad got his coffee, my phone pinged with an alert that the driver was waiting outside at the curb.
The weather seemed to have grown colder, like I had been stuck out in the rain and then thrown into frost. My hair was so cold, it felt welt, and snow laid an icy hand on my face.
My father gazed out the window the entire ride, but he’d stopped mumbling. I wondered if he had accepted the situation, or if he was still trying to find a way out of it. He hadn’t touched the coffee.
As soon as we were back at our apartment, I rushed to my room. I swapped out the cold clothes for an oversized sweater and soft fleece leggings. My hair was plastered to my head, and I took it out of the bun and let the frozen strands defrost as they fell down my shoulders.
My father still had his hat and coat on. He was looking for something in the front of the apartment. Opening and closing cabinet doors in the kitchen. Turning in circles, wondering where to look next. When he turned to face me, he wiped a hand down his face. “I seem to have misplaced my keys, Maeve.”
“Your car keys?”
“Those!”
“Where are you going?”
He started to mumble again, going back to the cabinets in the kitchen. I knew my dad. Even if I kept his keys from him, he’d look until he found them—in my pocket. He was relentless. The table by the door had a little plate for knickknacks. It was like my dad’s own version of a junk drawer. I dug through it until I found his keys.
“Here.” I handed them to him, my hands smelling like a wet penny after. “Where are you going?”
