RETURNING HOME from Ireland was difficult. The whole family, along with Fergal, saw me off, and the good-byes were tearful—especially with Fergal. I was still happy for my time at home, which I spent subletting my apartment and making sure I had everything I needed taken care of. I spent every spare moment with my dad, hoping and praying that he would be able to look after himself once I was gone.
On the day before I left for Ireland once more, I paid a visit to the cemetery where Mom was buried. Dad offered to go with me, but I decided I’d rather go alone. I walked amongst the finely manicured grass and up the gentle slope of a hill to the spot where she was buried. I didn’t recognize the place, my memory of her burial a haze of pain and gray. It looked so different on a sunny July afternoon; it was beautiful, which was how Mom would have wanted it.
I sat on the ground, cross-legged, next to her gravestone and caressed the marble gently, as if it were her cheek.
“Hey, Mom, you probably already know this, but I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m going back to Ireland. You always wanted me to go there. It was one of the last things you ever said to me. I did—I did, and it was amazing. It changed my life, as I’m sure you knew it would.” I plucked a blade of grass and spun it between my thumb and index finger.
“I fell in love—and not just with the country. His name is Fergal, and he’s amazing. Dad hasn’t met him yet, but he’s planning on coming to Ireland in September and will meet him then. Needless to say, Fergal’s terrified.” I chuckled, tossing the blade of grass away. “I miss you so much, Mom. I think about you every day, but I know you’d want me to move on with my life, so that’s what I’m going to do.” I pushed myself to my feet.
“I’m not going to say good-bye because I know how much you loved home, and I know that you’ll be right there with me. Just make sure to spend a little time with Dad too.”
I hurried away from her grave, then, a few tears flowing down my cheeks.
THOUGH I still hated flying, this time around, knowing I was going home—it didn’t feel strange at all to think of Ireland that way, much to my surprise—made it easier to endure, as did the phone call I got from Dad right before I boarded the plane in Newark for the second leg of the flight.
I spent the last few hours in the air watching the map on the screen built into the seat in front of me, seeing the distance close slowly, anticipating finally being off the airplane and back in Ireland.
The path through customs and immigration seemed to take forever, but finally I emerged from the doors into the main hub of the airport. I was expecting to be greeted by a group of people, and instead it was only Fergal, standing there with a bouquet of flowers and a big smile on his face.
I ran to him as fast as I could manage while dragging two massive suitcases, a backpack, and a duffel bag behind me. Our embrace lasted far too short a time for my taste, but we were standing in the middle of an airport, no doubt blocking foot traffic somehow, and I didn’t want to just embrace, and the other ideas I had couldn’t be done in the middle of a public space.
“Are you the only member of my welcoming party today?” I asked, clearing my throat and hoping my desires weren’t too obvious on my face. Based on the hooded look Fergal gave me, he was thinking the same sorts of thoughts at that moment.
“Oi asked the others if they’d let me come get yeh,” he confessed. “Oi wanted as much alone time as Oi could get before deliverin’ you to be surrounded by the Murphys fer the night.”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to be the first to find out,” I said, unable to contain my excitement. “Dad called when I was in Newark—my acceptance letter to Trinity College came! I’m officially enrolled for fall classes!”
“That’s great!” Fergal pulled me close once more, kissing me lightly. “Oi’m really happy to hear that! Oh, and these are fer yeh.” He presented me with the bouquet. “Now, let’s get yeh to Gwendolyn’s place.”
Fergal grabbed the heavier suitcase from me, as well as the duffel bag, and started out towards the parking garage. His familiar F-250 was sitting out there, seeming to occupy multiple parking spaces. We loaded my bags into the back—I kept my backpack with me, because it had my laptop in it—and climbed into the truck.
When we had the doors closed, Fergal leaned forward to capture my lips in a deeper, much less chaste kiss than before. His tongue teased and danced around mine before he pulled back to nibble on my lower lip.
“One more thing,” he said, eyes meeting mine. “Welcome home.”