‘Now.’ He leaned over and kissed his mother on the head. ‘I gotta go or I’ll miss my flight. Don’t get up, I’ll see myself out.’ He kissed Connie on the head, too. ‘See you both in six weeks.’
Then he strode out of the house, his stomach a bag of mixed emotions. Excited to start the newest chapter of his life, worried that he might just have lost his oldest friend.
Thirty
A month later, Sweeney dialled her mother’s number. She felt guilty that she hadn’t spoken to her since the day she’d left and had replied to her messages only briefly. Part of her wondered if she wasn’t being a little passive aggressive because she was still mad at her mother for putting her and Fin in an impossible situation. Or because every time a message from her mother popped onto her screen it was a reminder of those crazy, amazing, confusing four weeks in Ballyshannon with Fin and her chest would ache all over again.
But also, ithadbeen a hectic four weeks since she’d left Australia, with back-to-back jobs keeping her busy. Which had been a godsend. It had kept her from dwelling too long on Fin and what had happened between them and their infrequent stilted messages since. It was as if neither of them knew how to locate their old bantery mojo now they’d been naked together, and neither had the nerve to try to find it again.
Because now there was time and distance and living in the real world, not the bubble of Ballyshannon. And with that came perspective and practicality.
Andthatmade her chest ache, too.
‘Sweeney!’
A sudden wave of emotion at her mother’s obvious delight swamped Sweeney’s chest. It welled to her throat and prickled at her eyes and nose. ‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice.’
‘It’s good to hear yours, too.’
Sweeney cleared her throat, alarmed at the slight wobble in her voice, but after their heart-to-heart in Ballyshannon all her old angst and resentments had fluttered away like a kid letting go of the tail of a balloon. Instead of ducking conversations with her mother, doling them out in limited amounts—possibly also passive aggressive—Sweeney realised she actually yearned to hear her voice again.
‘Darling?’ There was a long pause. ‘Are you… okay?’
‘Of course.’ Except she wasn’t.
Nothing felt right anymore. Not since she’d left. Her restless feet may have been satisfied with all the travel she’d accomplished this past month, but now there was an itch under her skin that no amount of air miles seemed to be able to scratch.
She was… unfulfilled. Which was an entirely new thing for Sweeney.
And she had this damn pain in her chest again. Clearly she was going to have to book in and get an ECG.
Her mother didn’t push, changing the subject instead. ‘I saw pics you posted from Germany a couple of days ago. Still there?’
‘I’m in Nuuk.’
‘That’s… Greenland, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Is it cold?’
‘It’s three degrees right now. But it’s … very beautiful.’ She’d been out on a whale watching boat in the fjord a few hours ago and the scenery was so spectacular it had brought tears to her eyes.
Which was ridiculous. But she seemed to always be on the edge of tears, lately.
‘I’ll be posting some pics to my Insta later.’
‘Oh, lovely. I can’t wait to see them.’
‘What’s happening with you?’
Sweeney figured her mother would talk for fifteen minutes on all the local news and it would be amusing and distracting and she’d feel better. Except she didn’t. She just felt homesick, which was another mountain of WTF.
Faulty tear ducts and fondness for Ballyshannon. Was she having some kind of midlife crisis? At thirty-two?
‘Have you told everyone yet that the engagement is off?’
