I startle, fumbling the frame and catching it before it crashes to the floor.Nathan is leaning in the doorway, one hand holding something, and the other stuffed into the pocket of his jeans.He’s dressed similarly to Thomas, except his sweater is dark blue.I can almost hear my dad laughing and commenting on the number of ‘Irish fisherman sweaters’ today.
“What did he say?”I ask.
Nathan pushes himself away from the doorframe and crosses the room.I expect him to stop on the other side of the desk, but he comes around to stand beside me.He sets down what he’s holding, and I have a moment of confusion as I take in the small plate of food.I must have been up here for a lot longer than I realized if the speeches are already finished.
Nathan’s rough fingers brush mine as he takes the picture from me.“He said this is how he liked to remember us: young, happy…in love.”He glances at me, then away just as quickly.“He told me a few times over the years not to be mad at you for leaving.Said that wanderlust was in your blood.”
I had no idea my dad and Nathan ever talked about me.I figured I’d be such a sore subject for Nathan that they’d avoid discussing me at all.
He sets the picture down and picks up the one of my parents on their wedding day.“He loved you so much, Fiona.You and Mae.”This time, when he raises his head to meet my gaze, he doesn’t look away.“I’m sorry for what I said the day you came home.It was an asshole thing to say, especially right then.Murph told me he was the one who insisted you not come home, but…”
He blows out a breath and sets the picture down with the others.“When you moved away, he told me I had to find a way to forgive you for leaving.That it was never about me.It took me a long time to believe that and accept it.Then when he got sick, all that old hurt got stirred up again and mixed in with new hurt.Even then, he told me if I could get past it, maybe we’d find a way to be friends again someday.”
This is almost too much.I never thought I’d hear Nathan admit he had conversations like that with my dad.Multipleconversations, from the sounds of it.He was so upset when I left all those years ago, and it always seemed like he wanted to hold onto that hurt, wrap it around himself like a protective cloak that couldn’t be removed.
But there was a time when Nathan and I were best friends.It was always Nathan, Liam, and me—and occasionally Liam’s younger sister, Thea—but where I’ve always felt a brotherly love for Liam, it was never like that with Nathan.Losing him as a friend was almost worse than losing him as a lover.I thought even if we weren’t together as a couple, we’d always be friends, even if it was awkward for a while.Clearly, I was wrong.
I rise and move past him to look out the window.Dad chose this room for his office because of the view: the large yard with its treehouse and swing set, and beyond that, a creek and wooded area.My voice is small and shaky when I finally speak.“Do you think that’s possible?That we could be friends again?”
Nathan lets out a quiet, mirthless laugh.“I don’t know, Fi.I just don’t know.”
When I turn around a moment later, he’s gone.Just like that.
I force myself forward, moving back to the desk to push the chair in.The plate of food is gone, but Nathan has left a marshmallow peanut butter square on a napkin.They were among my favourite treats as a child, but Nathan always said they were too sweet.Has he developed a sweet tooth over the years, or did he choose this specifically for me?I eat the square before returning the cardigan and leaving the room.Downstairs, I make a beeline straight for the whiskey.Like Thomas did earlier, I pour a shot and raise it toward the poster of Dad.
“Sláinte, Dad.”The whiskey burns all the way down, but it’s a good kind of burn.The kind that temporarily distracts from the living, breathing ache that’s taken up residence in my chest since that life-altering phone call.
I look around the room and find Mum on the loveseat.Nathan is perched on a folding chair in front of her, holding both of her hands as he speaks to her.The sight makes my throat burn in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol.
The way my skin prickles tells me there are eyes on me.I’m sure someone somewhere is whispering about me, but I don’t care.I keep my focus on Mum’s bent head and the slumped curve of her shoulders.When Nathan stands, planting a kiss on the top of her head before walking away, I hurry forward before anyone else can move in.
I don’t bother asking how she’s doing.The answer would be obvious even without her pale skin and glassy, red-rimmed eyes.“Is there anything I can do for you, Mum?”
She surprises me by reaching for my hand and giving it a gentle tug.“Sit with me a while, won’t you, Fiona Mae?”She rarely uses my full name; that was Dad’s thing.He had a million pet names for me, but he loved using my full name too, which Mum let him pick himself when they found out she was pregnant.
I snuggle next to her on the loveseat.From here, we have an unobstructed view of the slideshow Nathan, Liam, and Rex set up with pictures of Dad ranging from infancy all the way through his life.This was another of Dad’s ideas for the wake.He wanted people to remember him happy and healthy, in love with life, and above all, in love with his family—Mum and me, of course, but our found family too.Dad always said if you were truly lucky in life, the bonds of family extended past blood ties to the people you choose to surround yourself with.
As we sit in silence, Mum’s grip on my hand tightens until it’s almost painful.I’m afraid I’ll hear bones snap at any moment, but I simply squeeze back, hoping the contact brings her some comfort.
A picture of Mum and Dad together in Niagara Falls a few years ago glides onto the screen.Mum makes a small, choked noise that startles me from my daze.
“It’s not fair, Fiona.It’s just not fair.I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.”Mum’s shoulders slowly fold inward as if she’s collapsing in on herself.She tilts toward me, and I wrench my hand from hers so I can wrap my arms around her and hold her up as big, soul-wrenching sobs wrack her body.
The icy numbness in me cracks at the sound of my mother’s keening.The unstable dam that formed after my own epic meltdown breaks, and soon the room is filled with the sounds of our heartbroken sobs.
CHAPTER SIX ~ FIONA
Waking up in my childhood bedroom never fails to be disorienting.You’d think I’d be used to waking up in strange places; some of the more fast-paced On the Go Travels tours have us in a different city or even a different country every day or every couple of days.I’ve slept in hundreds of beds—not to mention sleeping bags, floors, couches, cots, and palettes—over the years.
And yet waking up in the bed I slept in for almost two decades fills me with a sensation akin to an out-of-body experience.
The last few days have been a blur.Every morning when I first wake up, I feel like I’m forgetting something.Like I should be somewhere else,doingsomething else.Then I open my eyes and see the same pictures and posters that have adorned my walls since I was a teen, and I remember where I am and why I’m here.
The wake was four days ago now.Or is it five?Mum and I had stayed curled up in each other’s arms on the loveseat until we cried ourselves dry.When I finally looked up, I was shocked to discover everyone was gone except for Thomas and Nathan, who were helping the catering staff clean and pack up.
I’d offered to help, but Nathan suggested I get Mum to bed, and then get some rest myself.So that’s what I did, knowing we’d need to recover before the funeral the next day.If the wake was emotional, the funeral was like death by a thousand cuts.Gone was the semi-festive mood of the wake, replaced by everyone in black, faces sombre, and voices hushed.It was like they’d all forgotten that Dad wanted his life to be celebrated, and had returned to how they thought they weresupposedto mourn.
Since then, Mum and I have been at home, mostly curled up together on the couch or in her bed.We have enough food in the house to last for months, and people are still occasionally dropping by with homemade meals or bags of groceries.They seem to forget we’re only two people, but if it makes them feel better, I can’t fault them.
