THE ROAR of the engine was not as loud from inside the truck as I thought it would be. It quickly faded from my attention, becoming no more than background noise. I was extremely aware of Fergal’s presence just a few feet away from me. With every passing mile—kilometer?—I felt the awkwardness building.
I kept my eyes focused on the dashboard in front of me as we drove, anything to not draw attention to myself. Stupid Hannah and Aunt Gwendolyn, I thought darkly. If they hadn’t said anything about this being a date, I wouldn’t feel so damn awkward.
“Ronan?”
I shook myself from the reverie and looked at Fergal, who had an expectant look on his face. “Huh?”
“Oi said, yeh didn’t ’appen to eat breakfast, did yeh?”
“Breakfast? Oh, uh, no, not yet.” I cringed inwardly at how ridiculous I sounded. Fergal was going to think I was a moron. “I wasn’t hungry at Aunt Gwendolyn’s.”
“Good. Oi thought we could go to this great breakfast place called Kilkenny’s. Yeh ever had a traditional Irish breakfast?”
“I don’t think I have, actually. Sounds good.” Interesting how he mentioned breakfast and I was suddenly hungry again. The mystery of the human body.
We didn’t talk much on the drive, but the silence was no longer awkward. I took the time to get a good look in the daytime at the places we’d driven by the night I arrived. When we reached Ballymore Eustace, I took in the charming village, a place that spoke of history, of lives lived, of times endured.
A feeling of awe tightened in my chest.
“Was there any place yeh were ’opin’ to go today, or do yeh just want the five-pence tour?”
“I definitely want to see St. Patrick’s. After that, I hadn’t really come up with anything.”
Fergal smiled. “Good.”
That response got me interested. “Good? Why good?”
“Oi thought of a few places yeh might be interested in, is all. Since yeh don’t have any real plans, yeh can be at my mercy.”
“So where are you taking me?”
“Oi told yeh, to Kilkenny’s. Do all Americans ’ave such short memories?”
I smacked his arm. “After that.”
“Now that Oi won’t say till we get there.”
Over the remainder of the drive, I tried to get him to tell me, but he was tight-lipped about it. Every attempt I made only caused him to smile. That was partly why I kept doing it even after it became clear that he wasn’t going to tell me—that, and it was fun to bug him.
He pulled the truck into a parking lot. “We’re about a block away from Kilkenny’s,” he said as he killed the engine. “We’ll walk from here.”
About half a block away, I was hit by the smell of breakfast. By the time we reached the restaurant, my stomach was rumbling loudly and I was ready to eat. I paused when I saw all the people waiting outside and got a little nervous. “Are we going to be able to eat any time soon?”
Fergal placed his hand comfortingly on my shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t yeh worry. Oi made reservations.” He didn’t remove his hand as we walked to the entrance, the weight of it sending heat radiating through my body in waves.
The hostess at the door led us to a table, and a pretty redheaded waitress joined us moments later.
“The traditional breakfast, please, fer both of us.”
“Eh, does that traditional breakfast have kippers?” I asked hesitantly. “Because if so, I don’t want them.”
“No kippers,” she assured me with a smile. “The big breakfast for two?”
I looked at Fergal for a moment, who gave a nod. “Sounds good to me. And can I have a Coca-Cola?”
“Milk tea, fer me, please.”
The waitress wrote it all down and walked away.
“Cola in the mornin’? Really?”
I shrugged. “I need caffeine, and I hate coffee. Now, are you going to tell me what this big breakfast is comprised of, or do you expect me to wait until they bring it out?”
“Yeh can wait.” Fergal grinned broadly. “What is it yeh do in America, Ronan?”
I sighed, sitting back in my chair. “Is it twenty questions time? Okay, fine. I worked in a bar.”
“So yeh like bartendin’?”
“Not at all,” I confessed. “I actually hated it. It was just… just a way to make money, I guess. What I really wanted to do was be a teacher.”
“Why didn’t yeh?”
I shrugged, drumming the fingers of my right hand on the table next to my napkin. “I didn’t major in the education field, so my ability to get a job would be limited. I decided to get my Master’s in Education once I finished undergrad. By the time I finished, though, I was so burned out. I didn’t even want to think about school again, so I took a break. It was meant to be temporary, but then my mom got sick, and, well, I never found the time to get back to it.”
At the mention of my mother, Fergal’s face fell a bit. “Oi’m sorry about yer mum.”
“Thanks,” I said softly. I regretted bringing her up and lowering the mood, but she was an important element of my life, and I couldn’t think about the future without thinking about the past and the impact her illness and death had had—and would continue to have, probably until my own death.
“Do yeh think yeh’ll go back to school—eventually, Oi mean?”
I propped my elbows on the table, hands clenched in front of my chin. He’d asked me a question that I had been too afraid to ask myself up until that moment. Lawyers had a thing, I heard on television once: never ask a question you don’t know the answer to. That used to be my philosophy, too, but now I was in uncharted territory; there were only questions with answers I didn’t know.
“I still want to, yes. I mean, I can’t put my whole life on hold forever.” As appealing as that idea was.
“Trinity College has an incredible education program,” Fergal commented casually, and I didn’t know if he was making a hint of some sort.
Before I could inquire a bit more, the waitress returned, followed by a food runner. I quickly realized why it took two people. They each carried one massive plate. I couldn’t see the porcelain through the food. A rasher of bacon, a massive fried egg, baked beans, pork sausage, and two separate cake-like lumps, one black and one a grayish white.
“What are these?” I pointed to the two items with my fork as the plates were placed in front of us.
“That one,” Fergal said, pointing to the black mass, “is black pudding. Blood sausage. The other one is white pudding. Sausage, fat, and oatmeal mixed together, but no blood.”
“Well… that’s good.” I poked the black pudding dubiously with my fork.
“Oh, just give it a try. It’s good, Oi promise.” Fergal forked off a big chunk of black pudding and popped it into his mouth to demonstrate.
I took a tentative bite and found it wasn’t awful. It was salty, and after the second bite, I decided I liked it.
Conversation died down between us as we began to eat in earnest. Even if I wanted to make conversation, Fergal didn’t pause long enough to take a breath once he picked up his fork. I actually stared at him, surprised at just how quickly he made his way through the massive plate.
He noticed my staring at one point and took a break from shoveling baked beans into his mouth. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly, forcing my eyes to my fried egg. I really needed to get a grip and stop making myself look like an idiot in front of him. I didn’t glance up until I was sure he was back to eating, and even then I only gave him the quickest glimpses.
“That was delicious!” Fergal sat back with a contented sigh, patting his stomach.
I couldn’t believe he was already finished—I still had half a plate of food in front of me! “Did anyone ever tell you you shouldn’t eat so fast?”
“Every day of my life since Oi was seven,” he replied cheerfully. “Oi can’t ’elp Oi’m a fast eater.”
“A very fast eater.” I picked up my pace a little bit, but it still took me another fifteen minutes to finish. “You were right,” I said when I was finally through. “This was excellent. And I’m really glad I didn’t eat breakfast at Aunt Gwendolyn’s.”
Fergal looked really pleased at my words. “Oi’m glad yeh liked it. Oi ’ope yeh like the next stop too.”
He reached for the check, which had been surreptitiously placed on the table when the massive plates of food had been brought, but I snatched it away quickly.
“No, you’re not paying. I’m paying. This is in return for you buying me lunch the other day.”
“That was just pub food,” Fergal protested. “This place isn’t cheap!”
“I don’t care. I’m paying.” I flashed my Visa card. “Expensive places are what credit cards are made for.” I gave him my most determined look, and he nodded in concession gesturing for me to go ahead. I flagged down the waitress and handed her my card along with the check.
When she returned with the receipt, I glanced at it and winced a bit.
“Oi told yeh it’s expensive.”
I folded the receipt up and stuffed it in my pocket. “I don’t care. Besides, it’s my dad’s credit card anyway.”
Fergal laughed and patted my shoulder—once again letting the touch linger afterwards. “Remind me to thank yer dad fer breakfast if I ever meet ’im, then.”