Chris folds his arms in front of him. “Dude, get a grip. And don’t date anyone whose name sounds similar to mine. It’s creepy.”
“Well, shit, I hadn’t thought about that. Chris, Chrystle…” Sabin pauses and frowns before regaining his theatrical air. “Oh, the tragedy! Clearly I cannot make juicy love to the woman ever again, for I would only think of you, dear brother. And that would be a sin of outlandish and vile proportions.”
Estelle taps Sabin’s foot lightly with hers. “That’s enough. Leave Chris alone. You’re wrecking his perfectly nice date with a very tolerant girl.”
Sabin swings his head my way again. “My apologies. But I must warn you. While Sir Christopher may have an excess of charm, he will most certainly break your heart.” Sabin looks at his brother, serious for the moment. “I guarantee it.”
Chris gives him a warning look before his face softens. “Knock it off. Blythe and I are friends having lunch. Stop being hysterical.”
I reach for my water glass. “We just kind of ran into each other at the lake. And then we ended up here.”
“Whatever you say. So this means that Blythe is fair game again,” Sabin teases. “Okay, kids. I’m going to blow this international joint and get a giant pizza from Gianni’s all to myself. I must recuperate before this evening’s events, which are sure to be tantalizing.” He stands. “A pleasure to see you again, Blythe. Don’t forget about my show.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
Sabin high-fives Chris and kisses Estelle on the cheek before hurtling out the door.
“I’d apologize for him, but it’s just hopeless,” Chris says to me as he hands the menu back to Estelle. “So I think that Blythe will have the gyro—”
“Nope, sorry. Didn’t you see the sign? Today is Irish food only.”
“Again?” Chris groans.
“Anya, the owner, is a fan of themes,” Estelle explains to me.
As if on cue, the lights dim and hymnal music blares through the speakers. A flash of light causes me to blink, and as I ease them open again, I find myself just inside the edge of a projected image coming from an old film reel. I peek to the left to see grassy hills and views of an Irish landscape floating across the wall, as well as my face and body.
“Fucking hell,” Estelle mutters. “Anya!” she shouts, calling to the older woman behind the projector. “Is this necessary? It’s the fifth time this month. And if I have to listen to ‘Be Thou My Vision’ one more time, I may up and quit!”
“Ambience, my dear. Authenticity!” Anya yells back as she adjusts the bun of hair at the nape of her neck.
“Oh for God’s sake, this is bullshit!” Estelle shouts. “I can’t even see anything properly.”
“I can,” Chris says just loudly enough for me to hear. He is watching me.
The bright light from the projector has mostly blinded me, but I know that the pattern of colors is dancing across my face and shirt. I squint until I find Christopher’s gaze. I wish he wouldn’t look at me, and I also wish that he’d never stop. I inch over in my seat until the images no longer move over me.
Estelle raises her voice to be heard. “So, I guess that it’s fucking cream of turnip soup, cabbage, and soda bread for you two.”
“Seriously, Estelle, enough with the swearing. I can cuss up a storm, but you’re my little sister and I can’t take it.” Chris raises his chin to the cross that hangs from her neck. “And I thought God didn’t approve of swearing. Especially when hymns are playing.”
“Like you care what God thinks.”
“Like there is a God,” he spits back.
Estelle freezes, gripping her order pad.
“’Stelle, really. How can you possibly believe for one fucking minute that—” He stops, and I hear him inhale.
Her voice is softer now, barely audible. “Chris.”
“Sorry.” He touches her arms. Despite the music, I think of the termdeafening silence. “Estelle, really, I apologize.”
She nods. “I’ll get your food. And two Killian’s. You’ll need beer to wash down the atmosphere.”
Chris looks down at the table, but I keep my eyes fixed on him while he runs his hands through his hair a few times. The music washes over us as the wall next to me is filled with dark Irish skies.
I wait. Eventually he looks up.
