The suitcase. I sighed. I wasn’t eager to drag my busted bag through the unfamiliar streets of Dublin with a hot to-go cup in one hand. I had time—didn’t I?—to sit down with a cup of tea before I went to see Dr.Norton.
My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast on the plane. I glanced at the rack of baked goods. “Could I have a biscuit, too, please?”
“What kind?”
“Oh...” I wavered. “Anything.”
He set a pack of some unfamiliar brand of cookies on the counter.
“No, I meant...” I flapped my hand at the shelves. “One of those.”
The smile deepened around his eyes, making him look older. Closer to my age, twenty-six. “Baked fresh this morning. Toasted?”
“Please. Thank you.”
I sat at one of two tiny tables jammed by the window to drink my tea. A woman wearing a hijab bought a bun for her toddler and a bunch of flowers. A young man purchased a lottery ticket and a drink from the refrigerator case by the entrance.
I took a sip of chai and almost spewed it over the table. The milk hadn’t cooled it at all, and it was much spicier than the tea bags back home. I gulped like a frog, scorching my throat. Got up to hold open the door for the woman with the toddler. As they passed, the baby peeped at me from her stroller. She looked like Toni at that age, all big dark eyes and silky hair.
I wondered how my little sister was doing without me. She hadn’t seemed very excited when I’d taken her to KU’s freshman orientation. But then, she’d already seen the campus a hundred times, visiting me. Once her classes actually started, she’d have a great time. Making friends came easily to Toni. Everyone liked her. Or if they didn’t, she didn’t care. Unlike me.
I arranged my bun, studded with tiny raisins, and to-go cup on the cramped tabletop. I’d deleted my Twitter account. I never went on Facebook or posted on Insta anymore. But I framed the shot in the window and sent it to Toni so she’d see it when she woke up.Thinking of you.
Almost immediately, three dots appeared.Ooh, breakfast!
The knot in my chest eased.What are you doing up?It was five in the morning in Kansas.
Missing youcame the prompt reply.
Tears stung my eyes. We had been apart before. But never with an ocean between us.
It’s only twelve months, I reminded her. A one-year program, to make up for the four years I’d lost.Wasted.Maybe I can come home for Christmas.
TONI:How’s it going?
My flight was delayed and I almost got run over by a bus and lost my way and broke the wheel on my suitcase. Also, the teacher who told me to apply here is dead.
No.
Great, I typed. Telling her a story to make us both feel better.Call you tonight?
We exchanged emojis—thumbs-up, hearts, smiles, kisses. I ate my toast. Drank my tea. It had cooled enough for me to taste individual spices, cinnamon and cloves, and... Well. Spices. A man in a flat cap picked up one of the newspapers by the register and sat at the other table to read.
The poet behind the counter raised an eyebrow. “You thinking to buy that paper, Tom?”
The man huffed. “Why should I pay for the news when I can read it for free online?”
“I’ll stop ordering it in, then.”
The man grumbled, paid, and left, the newspaper folded under his arm. I took another cautious sip of tea. An elderly woman shuffled to the register, her string bag bulging with cans.
“Any bread today, Sheila?” asked the poet guy as he rang her up.
She looked longingly at the shelves behind him before her mouth firmed in a hard line. “As if I’d pay those prices for a loaf.”
“It’s fresh baked this morning.”
She sniffed. “It’s robbery, that’s what it is. When your da ran the shop, you had proper bread at proper prices.”
