“Yes.” I nod. “Your videos are fun and creative. There's lots of variety, but each one lines up nicely with the others. People know they’re going to be entertained, informed or inspired by what you post. As someone who's also in the creating content game, I know this isn't easy to do.”
“Thanks, Jenna,” she says, almost shyly.
“People don't tell you that very often, do they?” I ask.
“I shouldn't need to hear it.” She shrugs, avoiding both a direct answer and my eye contact. “But doing this already doesn't feel like a 'proper' job and I do nearly all of it on my own, so I sometimes doubt myself and if I'm actually contributing anything.”
“Sounds like impostor syndrome to me,” I say and sink the last mouthful of my wine.
“Yeah, I think I get that a lot,” she says.
“A lot of talented and successful people do,” I say and when she looks up at me, she returns my smile.
“Marty's got his own hashtag now.” Maeve turns her phone's screen off. “#MaesHotOlderBrother. Please don't tell him. He'd be insufferable if he knew.”
“Oh, I won't tell him,” I say. “I don't want to have to put up with that either.”
To my surprise, Cynthia chimes in as if she'd been listening all along behind us. “That boy and his self-confidence. He always had it. Even as a kid.”
James guides his wife back to their seats. He swirls his whiskey as he sits. “He's not as confident as you think, Cynthia. I've always said that.”
I find myself nodding but stay silent, looking down at my hands in my lap.
“I think that's what hurt the most.” I hear Cynthia speak and when I look up I see her seeking out my eyes. “The way his confidence and optimismwere shattered after Arnie. Marty always had a very rose-tinted view of the world, until Arnie died. And when he lost that, he sort of lost himself.”
I feel my forehead wrinkle when I see a tear seep out of the corner of her eye.
“As somebody who only met Marty a few days ago,” I say, leaning towards her. “I can say that your optimistic and confident son is still very much there.”
Another tear leaves Cynthia's eye.
“She's right, Ma,” Maeve says, and I turn to see a contemplative look on her face. “I mean, you'd have to be ballsy sort of guy to shoot your shot with Jenna.”
“I'd rather not thinking about my son shooting his shot,” James says before knocking back the glass.
“It's an expression, Da!” They laugh together, and I see their physical similarities in sync - bunched-up cheeks, narrow light eyes that almost disappear with their surprisingly broad smiles.
I feel the need to say something in order to deflect the comment or attention, especially when I see Cynthia's gaze is back on me, but this time it makes me feel soothingly warm rather than uncomfortably hot.
But before I have the right words to say in my mouth, I see Marty bounding over towards us and after bending down to kiss my cheek, he straightens up and talks animatedly. “I'm having the time of my fecking life!”
I try to ignore how good he looks in chef's whites. I wonder if it would take one or two goes to rip that shirt off and make the buttons go flying.
“Aiden, you should take it easy,” his mother says, rubbing away at the corners of her eyes. “You don't want to overdo it.”
“Oh, Mum, don't piss all over my parade. Not on my birthday, and when I'm doing a good deed.” His fingers are dancing on the back of the chair he was sitting in earlier, the high energy pouring out of him.
“I just worry...” Cynthia tries again.
“Seriously, enough!” Marty’s stare at his mother is stormy and his words sound like thunder. “We just survived the world's most awkward dinner. Why don’t we quit while we're ahead?”
“Marty,” I say.
“Jenna, can I stay at yours tonight?” he asks loudly and suddenly enough for everyone to catch every word.
I cover my eyes with my hand but still I nod.
“Ma, I'm staying at Jenna's tonight. And I'm sorry, Dad, I won't make our bike ride tomorrow. Jenna's only got one more day before she goes home, and I want to spend every single second with her.”
