And yet whatever I told Reeti or myself, there was a part of me that still needed to get over him. At least in Ireland I wouldn’t be confronted by reminders of him everywhere. The sound of his laugh down the hall from the office I shared with four other graduate students. The way he’d catch my eye across the table at departmental meetings. His books on my shelf. His sweater in my closet. A menu from his favorite takeout place at the back of my kitchen drawer.
“So, did you tell The Ward?”
I dragged my attention back to Reeti. “She already knows. I mean, obviously she read the book.”
“Hisbook. She only knows his side of the story.”
I managed a smile. “Are you saying I should put Gray in a book?”
Reeti nodded. “And then kill him.”
The real Gray? Or the fictional one?“Or I could avoid Maeve Ward for the rest of the year.”
“Bit difficult,” Reeti said. “Seeing as you’re in her class this term.”
“Yeah.”
“Right. Better get sloshed then.” Reeti smiled and raised her glass. “Cheers.”
Relief relaxed my face. I smiled back and took another sip of Guinness, and after the Scary Big Truth about Gray, the next admission was easy. “I don’t really like beer,” I confessed.
“I never tasted it until I moved to Dublin. I’m sick.”
“I’m sorry,” I said automatically.
She laughed. “No, BritishSikh,” she repeated, and this time I heard it, that little, almost silent breath at the end. “My grandparents emigrated from Punjab. My family generally avoids alcohol. My father serves it in his restaurants, though. And they don’t mind that I drink with my friends.”
Friends. The word warmed me more than beer.
“I’m really more of a tea drinker,” I said.
“I love chai.”
Something uncurled inside me like a smile, like comfort or hope. “I know a place we can get a cup of chai,” I said.
—
The bells over the door at Clery’s Newsagents chimed a welcome as we went in.
The ponytailed poet was behind the counter, his three-day stubble now a beard. He smiled as he took our order, creases flashing in his long, thin face. “Boots! You’re back. How’s school?”
“Oh.” I waved vaguely. Now was not the time to practice my new Honesty-Is-the-Best Friendship Policy. “Okay. I haven’t really started yet. I register tomorrow.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Good luck with that.”
“ ‘Luck is believing you’re lucky,’ ” I quoted back at him, and felt ridiculously rewarded when he laughed.
“Do you come here often?” Reeti asked as we took our seats by the window.
“Just once. A few days ago.”
She waggled her eyebrows. “And the hot boy behind the counter is already hitting on you.”
My face heated. “Don’t be silly. I don’t even know his name.”
“Sam,” he said, setting two thick china mugs on the table.
I felt my blush deepen. “Dee. Dorothy, actually. My name. After my grandmother.” I was babbling.
