I WOKE the next morning to the sound of rain beating against the house. I opened the curtains and looked out. It was no light sprinkling; the rain was coming down in heavy sheets that made it hard to see more than ten feet beyond the house.
I washed, dressed, and started downstairs, then stopped when I heard Hannah and Brendan’s voices. They were standing near the front door, Hannah’s arms around Brendan’s waist, her head against his chest.
“…to go,” Hannah was saying, voice sad.
“I know,” Brendan replied. “If you’d just say yes, we wouldn’t have to be apart much longer, you know.”
“Brendan, I don’t want to rush into anything,” Hannah said. She sounded like she was repeating herself.
Realizing I’d walked into something I should I have, I turned on my heel and tried to climb the steps quietly. The wood beneath my feet squeaked, though, and Hannah and Brendan looked up at me. I flinched. “Sorry—I wasn’t trying to spy on you or anything.”
“It’s fine,” Hannah said, stepping out of the circle of Brendan’s arms. “We’re just saying good-bye before Brendan goes back to London.”
It was bad enough that I was interrupting an intimate moment between them, but I’d probably overheard more than Hannah or Brendan wanted me to at that point. “I’ll just go back upstairs.”
“No, Ronan, it’s fine,” Hannah assured me. She turned to Brendan and kissed him sweetly. “Have a safe drive. Let me know when you’re back in London.”
“Promise me you’ll think about it?” Brendan pressed.
“Of course I’ll think about it,” Hannah laughed. “Now get going before the roads flood.”
Brendan kissed Hannah one last time and then hurried out into the rain, tugging his jacket collar up around his ears since he didn’t have an umbrella.
Hannah stood in the door, watching until Brendan’s car disappeared from sight.
“I’m really sorry, Hannah,” I said, coming up behind her. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay. Stop apologizing,” she demanded, shutting the door at last. “Come on. Let’s go get some breakfast.”
“Where’s Aunt Gwendolyn?”
“She’s working alone today. The shop is only open for a few hours, so she always handles Sundays alone. What do you want to eat? I’m going to make some eggs.”
“Eggs sound good,” I said, sitting at the island on a stool while Hannah went to the fridge and pulled out a handful of eggs and a carton of milk. She placed them on the island and then pulled out a block of cheese. “How was your weekend with Brendan?”
“It was good,” Hannah said. She busied herself making eggs—omelets, judging by how she was cracking eggs into a bowl and mixing vigorously with a whisk. “I’m more interested in how your date with Fergal went.”
“It wasn’t a date,” I countered immediately, even as thoughts of the near-kiss came rushing back to me. “We had a good time. He took me to the James Joyce House, and to St. Patrick’s. Oh, and to this great breakfast place—it was incredible.” I stopped talking and just watched Hannah. She was still furiously whisking the eggs. “Hannah? I think the egg is mixed.”
Hannah placed the bowl down with what sounded like a frustrated sigh.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she insisted, turning to the stove, placing a frying pan on it, and turning on the heat.
“Are you sure?” I didn’t know how far I should press her, but I could plainly see something was bothering her and wanted to help if I could.
“I’m sure. I’ve just got a lot to think about.”
“Would this have something to do with Brendan?”
Hannah said nothing. She poured the egg mixture into the pan and then cut two thin slices of cheese to lay on top of it. I sat there patiently, watching her, hoping she would speak when she was ready.
She didn’t speak again until she finished fixing both of our omelets and put the plates down on the countertop. “Brendan asked me to marry him.”
I nearly choked on my first bite of omelet. Hannah offered me a glass of orange juice to wash it down and help me get a hold of myself. “He did? What did you say?”
“I said yes,” she admitted, managing to look happy and anxious at the same time.
“Should I be saying congratulations?”
“Of course! I’m happy. It’s just… he wants me to move in with him in London as soon as possible.”
“And you don’t want to?”
“I don’t know, honestly. I mean, yes, I want to marry him, and I want to move in with him, but it’s just so sudden—first we get engaged, and then he wants me to move in with him right away? Plus, I’m not sure how Mom will take it.”
I thought back to Aunt Gwendolyn’s interactions with Brendan. “She seems to really like him.”
“She’ll approve of the marriage, that’s not the concern,” she said, waving her fork dismissively. “I don’t know if she’ll approve of the whole ‘whisking off to London’ thing.”
“When are you going to tell her?” I asked, resuming eating before the omelet got cold and congealed.
“I’m going to wait and tell everyone at the same time. This weekend Gran is having everyone over for dinner, and I’ll make the announcement then.”
“We’re having dinner at Grandma Murphy’s this weekend? When? What day? What time?”
“Sunday night around seven thirty, I think,” Hannah answered. “Why? You schedule a second date with Fergal next weekend?”
“It wasn’t a date,” I repeated for the umpteenth time. “But Fergal and I are going camping next weekend. Don’t,” I added, seeing Hannah’s knowing expression. “I mentioned that I wanted to see the countryside, and he offered to take me. We’re going Friday and Saturday night but should be back Sunday afternoon.”
“Camping, alone, on the moors under the stars? How does that not equal romance?”
“It just doesn’t. Hell, you can come along, too, if you want to!”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “Uh, no. I refuse to be the third wheel. Plus, I don’t want to hear my best friend and my cousin getting it on. That would be a little too awkward, even for me.”
“There will be no getting it on!” The image of Fergal’s lips moving closer to mine swam to the surface of my thoughts once more. “Although….” I shook my head. “Never mind.”
“Never mind what?” Hannah’s eyes narrowed, and I knew I’d made a mistake. She would hound me now until I told her something that was at least believable. “You can’t hold out on me, Ronan, not after the big secret I told you.”
Damn it. “I hate you sometimes,” I growled. I told her about the lingering touches during the date, the closeness of the way we walked, and the near-kiss at the door.
“You’re sure he was going to kiss you?”
“As opposed to what? There aren’t really a lot of things he could have been doing instead, Hannah.”
“I don’t know. Maybe you had something in your hair, or—okay, fine, you’re right. Okay, did you want him to kiss you?”
“Maybe? I don’t know.” I thought about it. Fergal was cute and kind, and we had such similar interests. There was that bird in my stomach again, stirring its wings. “Yes, I think so. But I’m being ridiculous!”
“What? Why? Fergal’s a really nice guy!”
“I know that—and that’s the problem. At this point, for all I know, I’m trying to drown the loss of my mother in whatever this is between us.”
“For all you know, you’ve met the one and are falling for him, regardless of what stage of grief you might be in.” Hannah finished her omelet, placing her fork down on her plate. “I believe that everything happens for a reason, Ronan.”
I stared down at my half-eaten omelet. There was a time in my life where I did too. That was one of Mom’s favorite things to say. I couldn’t see the reason in her illness, or her death, though, and it was too hard to try to look for one, so I set that idea aside. “So what? You think Mom died so I would come here and meet Fergal?” My words came out harsher than I wanted them to, and I took a steadying breath. “It’s hard for me to think in those terms right now.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have brought that up. It was insensitive.” Hannah cleared her throat. “Are you done with the omelet? I’ll toss it in the bin, if you are.”
I pushed the plate towards her. “Yeah. Sorry, I kind of lost my appetite.”
I left the kitchen quickly after that, shutting myself up in the guest room, losing myself in books and doing my best not to think of my mother, or reasons, or the future.