With an expression that can only be described as wistful, Mila lights three white taper candles on the kitchen table.“We should have left a few days early and gone to Edinburgh for the Beltane Fire Festival tonight.”
I plant my hands on her shoulders.“Next year.Best I can offer you tonight is a campfire in the backyard.I’m sure we could rig up a maypole to dance around too.”
Mila laughs.“Nobody in the world gets me the way you do, Fiona Murphy.”
“Same.”I kiss her cheek and release her, and she goes to stir the simmering pot on the stove.
During our daily wander around Honeywell this afternoon after lunch at Sweet Escapes, Mila saw a flyer for the upcoming international food festival, and was inspired to make dinner for Mum and me tonight.I trailed after her around the grocery store while she inspected meat and produce, proposing suggestions, and then dismissing them before I could give my two cents.“Goulash!”she’d finally declared, and I’d quickly agreed.She had introduced me to the hearty Hungarian stew when we first moved in together, and it’s always been a favourite among our housemates when she has time to make it.
“Perfect night for comfort food,” she says now.“In another few days, we’ll both be without a fixed address.Who knows when I’ll have a kitchen to cook in again?”
Mila’s words stir up a mixture of nerves and excitement in my belly.We’re really doing this.We’re quitting our jobs, leaving the place we’ve called home for the last several years, and starting our own business on what my dad would call ‘a hope and a prayer’.In reality, I know we have more than that—years of combined experience, contacts all over the world, and a hell of a lot of passion and tenacity—but the closer we get to making it happen, the more that annoying little voice of doubt creeps in.
Mila’s phone rings, and she excuses herself to take the call.I sit at the table, staring absently into the flames of the trio of candles.It’s been three days since Nathan and I slept together, and he’s been avoiding me.After returning home early the next morning, all of my texts to him went unanswered until late that night when he messaged to say they’d hit a snag at the B&B, and he needed to attempt to get a proper night’s sleep.
We’ve exchanged a few texts since, and Mila and I ran into him at Sweet Escapes yesterday, but that’s it.He had looked exhausted, so I can’t argue with him needing to regain a normal sleep schedule, even though I’m fairly certain it has as much to do with putting some distance between us as it does with him being sleep-deprived.
Alone at the table, I let my mind drift.I’ve been somewhat haunted all day by a dream I had last night.It felt almost like a flashback, a rewritten memory of sorts.Nathan and I were on the bridge at the back of the property, and we were saying goodbye before I set off on my first solo trip.In the dream, I was aware we were teenagers, even though Nathan was very much the handsome, mature man he is today, rather than the baby-faced boy he was then.
Fireflies danced around us as I clung to Nathan’s hands and asked him to tell me to stay.He’d shaken his head, trying to pull his hands free.I’d held tight, certain my almost frantic grip was keeping me tethered to him, to Honeywell, to my familiar life.
“I can’t, Fiona,” Dream Nathan had said, his rough voice mirroring the agony written across his face.“I won’t clip your wings before you’ve even had a chance to spread them.”
“Then come with me,” Dream Me had said.
“I can’t do that either.I’m not meant to.Not yet, anyway.”
Hope surged inside me.For a moment, Nathan’s grip on me tightened.“Notyet?”
“I’m meant to stay here and plant roots.But someday when we’re both ready, I’ll see if I can grow wings to match yours.”
Dream Nathan had faded from view then, leaving me alone on the bridge.The glow of the fireflies blinked out around me, leaving me in darkness.I’d awoken with a whimper, the sheets tangled around my legs, and my heart heavy and aching.
“I thought I’d stepped into the wrong house for a second,” Mum says, appearing in the kitchen doorway, effectively scattering the fragments of last night’s dream.“Then I wondered if I’d had another of my scatter-brained moments and put something in the slow cooker this morning and forgot about it.”
I laugh as I rise from the table to greet her with a hug.A mix of sweet and savoury scents cling to her clothes and hair, stirring up a wave of nostalgia.“Mila cooked dinner for us.”
“Hope you’re hungry and ready to carb-load, Mae,” Mila says, striding into the kitchen and tucking her phone in her back pocket.“I made goulash and homemade bread.”
“It smells incredible,” Mum says, accepting Mila’s cheek kiss with a fond smile.“What a treat to have someone cook for me.Although, to be fair, most of the town cooked for me after Seamus died…” She trails off, and her eyes get that cloudy, far-away look they often do these days.It clears quickly, the smile returning as her eyes slip closed, and she inhales deeply.“Seamus told me you made goulash for him once at the cottage, so I know I’m in for something special.If only he were here to enjoy it with us.”
The ‘if onlys’ have been coming up more and more.I expect this is a normal part of the grieving process.It’s only natural for Mum to wish the love of her life were still here.It’s like a knife to the heart every time she says it, though.
“I could set an extra place like we did the night Mila arrived,” I suggest, at a loss as to how to make this easier for her.
She pats my cheek.“That’s okay, honey.While it’s comforting in a way, it also tricks my brain into thinking your dad’s going to show up at any minute.Like he’s simply late for dinner because he’s been locked in his office all day writing his next book.”
At her shaky laugh, I want to gather her in my arms and transfer all my love and strength to her.If only it worked that way.For the briefest of moments, as she visibly straightens and blinks away the tears gathering in her eyes, I wonder if I did, in fact, send her some of my strength.
“He’s here in spirit,” she says.“I hated hearing that at first, but I’m finding it more comforting now.”
“I like thinking of him here with us too.”I’ve been putting off telling Mum that Mila and I are leaving, but something inside me is telling me now is the time.Maybe it’s knowing that Mum is slowly beginning to accept that Dad’s really gone.Whatever the reason, I’ve been a coward for too long.
I meet Mila’s gaze over Mum’s shoulder.Whatever she sees on my face has her nodding resolutely and backing toward the kitchen door.She jerks her chin in the direction of the glasses lined up on the counter, ready for the wine we bought earlier.“I just remembered something I have to do before dinner.I’ll be back in a few.”
I tell Mum to take a seat while I pour us some wine.Going through the motions gives me a minute to collect my thoughts and figure out how to start.I’ve been acting this conversation out in my head for weeks, and I’m still no closer to knowing what to say.
I set our wine on the table and take the seat next to Mum.Stalling, I clink my glass against hers with a murmured ‘Sláinte’ and take a sip, watching as she does the same.
