“Are you sure you want to go alone? I can go with
you,” Patrick says as I try to prepare myself
psychologically to go to the airport to meet my
father. He’ll be here in the afternoon. He called me
this morning to tell me he had booked the first
flight for Dublin.
“This is something I have to do by myself.”
He nods, not very convinced.
“Erin,” he starts, uncertain. “About last night
—”
“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” I
interrupt him. “I was already out of sorts after
what’s happened and now my dad’s coming … I
don’t want to analyze it all now.”
“I think we’re going to have to face it.”
I nod in agreement and take a deep breath.
“I know, just not right now.”
His cell phone has been going off incessantly
for a few minutes. Patrick looks at the display
distractedly and then decides not to take the call.
“You should answer,” I tell him, giving him a
sideways glance.
“Whatever it is it can wait.”
I go to him and take the phone out of his pocket.
I push the green button and hand it to him.
I don’t want him to forget about everything else
just because he’s with me now.
He reluctantly responds. A few phrases and he
wrinkles his forehead and starts to drum his fingers
nervously on the kitchen counter. He closes the
