“I do,” I say, cracking my knuckles, “I also remember his father berating him, calling him a pussy and, if I recall correctly, a faggot on multiple occasions. Because his son chose to writestories than go play soccer or baseball, or whatever Paul wanted him to do instead.
Any glimmer of happiness that was on Kathleen’s face drops. “Paul was not the best—”
I put my hand up to stop her. “No. You will stand there and listen, because I’m going to say the things that Michael should have been able to for years.” Before I can get up, Leo drops a pint in both mine and Niall’s hands. I take a large sip, then lean in closer. “You were also at fault, at fault for being a fucking terrible parent. You sat there and let Paul do that. I think, the least you could have done was take Michael’s side and console him behind Paul’s back. But, instead, you also went no contact with Michael when he came out.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Again, no. It’s not that you couldn’t, you wouldn’t. You chose not to. Your child was in pain and you chose to stay with that prick instead of doing what was right. I know, if I were in your shoes, I would have taken my child and left. It’s not like you weren’t financially capable, you didn’t depend on Paul. Hell, I bet you made more money than he did and you just let him piss it away gambling and drinking, and on fucking Pokémon cards.”
I take another sip of my beer. “You had twenty years to make the slightest attempt to right things, and you couldn’t even fucking do that. And it seems a bit farfetched to keep blaming Paul, no? That dickhead died, what, six or seven years ago at this point?”
Kathleen, who has finally gotten the hint, just nods. Her eyes are darting around the room, now realizing that the remaining event attendees are all now fully invested.
I lean back in my chair, look at Niall and let out a sad chuckle. “Now Niall, tell me. If Paul was the cause of all this trauma, the catalyst of the rift in the family, who’s been dead for over half a decade—”
“You said you haven’t seen her in over twenty years,” he says, quietly.
“If Paul’s dead, then what stopped you from going to your own son’s funeral?”
There are several audible gasps. The look on Niall’s face, figuring it out mere moments before I uttered the words, says it all. He goes to say something but is interrupted by Irene appearing at his side.
“Your business isn’t welcome here.” Irene, staring down, reaches into her purse and pulls out a few Euro notes. She slams them on the table, before ripping the book Kathleen is holding out of her hands. “And you have no business reading this book. Your son created a beautiful story that you don’t deserve to read. Now, get out of this store before I personally kick your arse out the door.”
Kathleen gets up, ignoring the money on the table, and walks out the door. The room feels like it takes a collective breath, and I take the cue to lean back in my chair.
“What a gobshite, that woman.”
“Mum!”
“Then you come up with a better descriptor.” Irene sits down in the remaining empty chair next to the table. The customers have started to lose interest and have gone back to shopping. “Daniel, I’m very proud of you. That took a lot of courage, to say those things. In front of an audience, nonetheless. I bet you’ve wanted to say something for a long time.”
“Part of me thought it might disrespect Michael, to talk to his mother like that. But then my brain just kept going back to what a shitty childhood Michael had. How he spent almost all of his time at my house to avoid his dad. And, I guess his mom too. And my brain went into protective mode and just…let go.”
“Lucky Mum jumped in, because I never would hit a woman but—”
“I could have,” Irene says, gesturing towards Anders. Anders hurries over, a bottle of Bushmills and three glasses in his hands. He pours out three drinks, sliding them to each of us.
“Irene, I don’t really care for whiskey.”
“Not something you should say in these parts, but you’re going to share a drink with me. Especially since,” she points at my left hand, “it seems you are going to be family soon.”
I look over at Niall, taking his hand in mine. I raise my glass, meeting Irene’s and then Niall’s across the table. “I guess I can drink to that.”
Epilogue – 10 Years Later
“You’re going to be late!” I yell down the hall. “And where the fuck is Niall?”
I hear something crash down the hall, slowly making my way down to Hughie’s room.
It’s funny, how much this room has changed over the years and in some ways stayed the same. The bookshelves still overflowing with books, video games cluttered in front of the television. Football, now both the version here and American, cover the walls. The superheroes and Super Mario…not so much.
It’s funny, aging. It’s nothing I really put a thought into until Hughie came into my life. Seeing him grow up in front of me, and how much he’s changed, really made me look inward at my own life.
“Honestly Dad, there’s plenty of time. Old people leave too much time at the airport.”
The first time Hughie called me “Dad” was when I took him on a trip back to the States. Niall thought it would be a good bonding experience for us, so I took him to some of my favorite places. Well, nothing past the Midwest, which wassomething Hughie didn’t understand at first. Then, in the States, he realized just how far everything was from one another.
When I told Niall after the trip that Hughie called me Dad, he had chuckled at first.
