“Except for you. You see the best in everybody all the time.”
“Whether they deserve it or not,” Toni called from the living room.
Reeti laughed.
I forced myself to smile, ignoring the funny clenching of mystomach. I was beginning to have faith in my own perceptions and judgment, learning to feel safe inside the boundaries I’d set myself.It takes time to build trust.
But inside me was a little girl waiting for her mother, the child who knew that sometimes it didn’t matter how much you longed to trust the people you loved. It didn’t matter what excuses you made for them or what stories you told yourself. You could still always be disappointed.
It hurts.
—
The couch was pushed against the wall, the table loaded with food. Reeti had rolled back the rug and was teaching Bollywood dance moves to a line of Fiadh’s friends.
“Fingers together, thumb out,” Reeti shouted over the beat of the music. “Good. Now, hands side to side.”
Toni waved her skinny arms, laughing and tripping along.
I grabbed a stack of dirty cups to carry to the kitchen. Across the room, Tim offered a plate of chicken tikka and Aunt Em’s mac and cheese to ninety-one-year-old Mrs.Kinsella, chatting with Janette Clery in a corner. Our elderly neighbor tapped Tim’s arm, flirting like the pretty girl she must have been. He bent to listen, courteous interest in every angle of his body, and I fell the tiniest bit more in love with him.
He was such a good guy. Unerringly polite. Thoughtful. The very opposite of heartless.
“Nice party,” said a man behind me.
“Sam.” I turned with a rush of nerves and pleasure. “Thanks for coming.”
We hadn’t seen each other since our fight a month ago. I’d missed him. I didn’t have so many friends that I wanted to lose one.
He tipped his beer in salute. “Thanks for having me.” His eyes, deep and changeable as the sea, studied me over the neck of the bottle. “You look well.”
“You too,” I said honestly. Like a poster for Irish tourism, with his lean poet’s face and his curly poet’s hair and that five-day scruff on his jaw.
“Dip, dip,” Reeti called. “Like this. Keep your hands going. Five, six, seven, eight...”
“How have you been?” I asked.
“Grand.”
“I’m glad. So, everything’s... okay?” I asked.With the shop. With you. With us.
He nodded. “Heard from Trinity.”
I blinked. “What?”
“The admissions office.” His smile flashed like the curl of a wave in the sun. “I’ve been shortlisted in English. Got an interview next week.”
I felt suddenly stupid standing there, holding my plastic cups in front of me like a shield. I set them down and hugged him. “That’s great! I didn’t even know you’d applied. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We haven’t been speaking much, have we? And I haven’t been admitted yet.”
“But you will be.”
“Maybe. Dr.Ward said she’d put in a word. Still have to get through the essay, though. Part of the assessment for mature students.” Another glint of a smile. “That’s me. Mature now.”
“You were hardly Peter Pan before.” If anything, his father’s death had forced him to grow up too soon. We were alike that way.
He shrugged. “Bit of a lost boy, though.”
