Riley
When we sit at the table, I start to feel uncomfortable. I let myself be dragged here by Ian’s brothers, who practically shoved me in a car and brought me here. I wasn’t sure if Ian would appreciate the whole idea – it seemed like such an invasion of his life – but from how he kissed me before and how he’s looking at me now, sitting opposite me, I don’t think he minds.
Ryan and Nick are impossible. Everything they say is inappropriate. They’re constantly goading one another, winding themselves up. They shoot each other dirty looks and never close their mouths, which I guess helps avoid any awkward silences at the table.
Ian’s mother is sitting next to me. She filled my plate to the brim. Meatballs, roast potatoes, broccoli and corn on the cob. There are also Yorkshire puddings on the table, a salad and some salami.
I look desperately at my plate, trying my best but I’m not used to eating this much or being with this many people at dinner. The idea of hiding myself somewhere and making myself invisible starts to take root in my mind. I feel my body starting to get smaller and my hands begin to shake, ready to drop my silverware when a strong, reassuring hand comes down on mine.
“Don’t worry, Riley. Karen’s used to boys, you know. She always goes a bit over-the-top. Just do what I do, one bite of everything and she’ll leave you alone.”
Ian’s dad is disarmingly sweet. A true gentleman, a father who keeps everyone under his protective wing, someone who oozes warmth and safety.
I nod, feeling a sadness growing within me: I don’t know what it means to have a father figure like this.
“So,” Nick says, raising his voice. “What do you do, Riley?”
“Nick,” his father chides.
“What? Can’t I make a bit of conversation? Get to know Ian’s girlfriend?”
At the wordgirlfriend,my cheeks break out in flames.
Someone must have kicked him under the table because I see Nick jump before cursing.
“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” his father says in my ear, and I’m not sure why, but his tone is so respectful and calming that it melts my reservations.
“I work at the Gate Theatre.”
“In town?” asks his mother. “The one on Parnell Street?”
“Exactly.”
“I was there once with a friend. What a fabulous place.”
“Yeah, it really is,” I say with pride, feeling comfortable once again. I can talk about my work without getting nervous.
“And what do you do there?” Ryan asks.
And eventually, between forkfuls of food and good conversation, the time goes by pleasantly and I’m able to clear off almost half my plate.
By the time dessert and coffee comes around, I stand up to help clear the table as Ian and his brothers start talking animatedly about the game. To be more accurate, Nick and Ryan don’t exactly speak to one another. It’s Ian acting as the mediator and the whole thing perplexes me a bit. I’m guessing the other two can’t have a great relationship.
I set the plates down on the counter in the kitchen and stop to admire the pictures on the fridge. Ian’s mum joins me.
“They used to be cute once,” she says, sighing. “Look at them now, insolent pigs looking for a fight.”
I smile, looking at her.
“This is little Ryan,” she says pointing at one of the pictures. “This is Nick. He’s always been a hothead.”
“What about Ian?” I ask, looking at the other pictures which seem to be the same two children I’ve already seen. “No baby pictures of him?”
“Oh honey,” she says, squeezing a hand over her chest. “Ian came to us a long time after these pictures were taken.”
I look at her, not understanding, and by my expression she realises that she’s said too much.
“You didn’t know.”
It’s not a question.
How can he ask me not to leave if he hasn’t even let me in?
