Mum heads to bed about an hour later.She looks exhausted, which hopefully means she’ll sleep well tonight.I go to my room and change into my pajamas, telling myself the sensible thing would be to go to bed too.I still have that tired-body-wired-brain feeling from earlier in the treehouse, though.
Wrapped in one of Dad’s cardigans, I head outside to the porch swing.He would have loved a night like tonight: good company, delicious food, entertaining stories.Like Mila, he was a master storyteller.He was an excellent writer, as evidenced by the millions of books he sold over the course of his career, but anyone who was lucky enough to know him in real life would tell you that hearing him tell a personal story was worth its weight in gold.He used to say the gift of the gab had been passed down to him through the generations—no kiss of the Blarney Stone required.
If he were here, we’d all likely be gathered around the fire right now, whiskey in hand, with Dad holding court.Mila would have fought the jet lag to spend more time with him, and the others would have lingered for one more story, despite the late hour.Rex would be curled up in Dad’s lap, lulled by the melodic lilt of his voice.
With a sigh, I set the swing rocking.Down the street, Nathan’s house is dark.Maybe I was wrong to take his ‘see you later’ literally.He could have meant tomorrow for his birthday party.I’m sure he was worn out after that five-hour drive today, plus all the socializing tonight.
His porch light turns on at the same moment I find myself hoping that he, Mum, and Mila are all sleeping soundly.
I can’t ignore the butterflies that take flight in my belly when Nathan steps outside and heads for his truck.Even though we’ve gone for drives the last few nights, something feels different about tonight.I suddenly feel sixteen again, on the precipice of becoming ‘more’ with Nathan after a lifetime of friendship.Back then, I was full of a tangled blend of emotions and hormones, with anticipation and excitement at the forefront.It feels the same now.
The second Nathan pulls to a stop in front of my house, I hop off the swing and force my eager legs to walk at a normal pace down the driveway.When I open the passenger door, I’m hit with Nathan’s familiar scent, paired with a warm wash of air from the heater.A plaid blanket waits on my seat, and I wrap it around my legs as I get settled.
Neither of us says a word as Nathan pulls onto the road.As always, music is playing softly from the speakers.The other night, I discovered that what I assumed was the radio was actually a playlist coming from Nathan’s phone.I was surprised by some of his choices, especially the songs by popular artists.Where I’ve always had eclectic tastes with a particular fondness for top forty pop hits, Nathan was never one for mainstream music, preferring indie, alternative, and rock.
Despite that, he always let me choose the music for car rides when we were younger, and even bought my favourite cassette tapes, then CDs, to keep in the car.Hearing artists like Hozier, Ed Sheeran, and Taylor Swift coming from his speakers now without being the one to choose them is surreal.
“Mila is a real character,” Nathan says after we’ve been driving for a while.
“That she is,” I agree.“She’s an incredible friend.Dad loved her.”
“I bet he saw a kindred spirit in her.”
“That’s exactly what he said after he first met her.”
“Anam cara,” Nathan murmurs.
My heart trips over itself.Anam carais Irish for ‘soul friend’.“Did Dad teach you that?”I ask, and he nods without looking at me.“Mila and I have matching compass tattoos with those words.We got them a few years ago in Ireland.Wealmostconvinced Dad to get one too.”
One side of Nathan’s mouth quirks.“Mae would have killed him.Not for getting a tattoo, but for getting one without her.”
A sad sort of fondness warms my chest at how well he truly knows my parents.“Exactly.I’ve actually been thinking about getting something in his honour.I’m just not sure what yet.”
“I was thinking about getting a Celtic tree of life,” Nathan says.He glances in my direction, his gaze settling on me briefly before returning to the road.“Like the one in his office.”
He’s referring to a watercolour painting that was a gift from one of Dad’s super fans in the ’90s.He loved the painting so much it inspired a story about Celtic lore that gained him a whole new set of readers and his first-ever TV adaptation.“That would be perfect.”
The truck jostles as we go over several bumps, and I become aware of our surroundings for the first time.Nathan has pulled onto one of the gravel roads that lead down to the waterfront, where there are several narrow roads and walking trails.
“It’s a nice night,” he says.“Thought maybe we could take a walk by the water.”At my nod, he pulls the truck over and kills the engine.As I reach to open my door, his hand lands on my arm.“Wait.”
I think he’s going to tell me something, but he’s not looking at me.I follow his gaze out the window to where two shadowy figures are standing at the water’s edge.
“He finally did it,” Nathan whispers, almost to himself.
“Who did what?”I ask.
Nathan jerks his chin toward the couple.“The boy’s name is Rory.His dad came to work for Liam and me a few months ago, and Rory comes into the office sometimes after school.We’ve chatted a few times, and last week he told me about this girl he likes at school.Said he was afraid to ask her out, but I told him he should go for it.”
“Never thought you’d be one to offer dating advice,” I say.
He gives me a wry look.“I’m not, usually.There’s something about him that reminds me ofmeat that age.I thought of what I would have needed to hear back then, and went for it.”
When he says he went for it, I know he means telling Rory to ask out the girl he likes, yet I can’t help thinking about how he went for it when it came to me too.I still vividly remember the summer night he took me to the bridge at the back of my parents’ property and laid his feelings at my feet while fireflies danced around us.He told me he was afraid to ruin our friendship, but he was more afraid of not telling me how he felt, and seeing if there could be something more between us.It was one of those monumental, life-altering moments that feel like a dream and stick with you forever.
“Good for you,” I murmur.“And good for him.”
The pair are facing each other, but not touching or speaking.Rory shifts from foot to foot while the girl stares at her clasped hands.Rory’s arms lift as if he’s going to touch her, but then drop to his sides, his shoulders slumping.He jams his hands in his pockets at the same moment the girl crosses her arms over her chest.
