One Night Only by Catherine Walsh

5

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say we were at the reject table.

There’s Uncle Trevor, who lectures both Declan and me about the dangers of liberal New York; Great Aunt Eileen, who doesn’t acknowledge me for the rest of the evening; two teenage boys, who don’t look up from their phones; and their parents, who must have argued on the drive over, as they spend the entire first course swapping pointed comments with each other that make no sense to the rest of us.

It’s not how I imagined my first night to go.

By the end of the main course, I’m exhausted trying to keep the peace and am relieved at the natural break that occurs before the dessert is brought out. At some unspoken cue, the guests begin to move, stretching their legs as they visit other tables to talk to family and friends. Thankfully our table is no different and soon there’s no one left but Declan and me.

It’s the perfect time to escape, except for the fact I have nowhere to escape to. Without Annie or Paul beside me to make the introductions, the promised Irish welcome isn’t exactly enveloping me. No one approaches us. Or rather, no one approaches Declan. Besides the odd clap on the shoulder or polite hello when they move past, no one stays to chat.

Declan doesn’t appear to notice how ostracized we are. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

I watch him from the corner of my eye as he methodically pulls apart a flower arrangement in the center of the table. I’d heard Paul mention his brother once or twice over the years, but always in passing. I got the impression they weren’t close. I certainly can’t see any resemblance. Both handsome, sure, but in completely different ways. Paul, with his sandy hair and golden skin, looks more like he belongs on a California beach than the Irish countryside. Declan meanwhile looks like he just got off the plane. His slacks are creased but his shirt looks freshly ironed if not slightly too big for him, as if he borrowed it from someone else. His dark hair is just as unruly as it was back in New York and his eyes are a little bloodshot. But whether that’s from the flight or the alcohol I can’t tell. What I can tell is that he looks exhausted. And more than a little unhappy about having to sit next to me all night.

“It’s impolite to stare.”

I start, embarrassment making my tone sharper. “You can leave if you want to,” I say. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“I have no idea what you’re doing. All I know is I was looking forward to eating dinner with my best friend and instead I’m stuck here listening to Uncle Trevor trying to convince me the KGB is listening to me through my phone.”

“Not a big fan of the Murphy family then?”

“Not when I’m stuck with the black sheep.” I say it without thinking, immediately regretting it when he stiffens.

“The black sheep?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You met Aunt Eileen, didn’t you?”

“You’re obviously uncomfortable being here,” I say, flustered. “And I’m not that much of a narcissist to think it’s just because of me. You’re surrounded by family and yet…” I gesture around us, at the invisible force that cuts off our table from the rest of the party.

“So I’m the black sheep.” His gaze turns mocking when I don’t answer. “It’s like you can see right through me.”

“Maybe because you’re not that deep.” I turn back to the table, folding my arms over my chest. “You can leave,” I repeat. “If you’re uncomfortable being here. You don’t need to stay on my account.”

He mutters something under his breath, focused back on the flowers.

“Did you say something?”

He sighs, crumpling a leaf into little pieces. “I said you’re a middle child.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Feelings of exclusion, lack of attention—”

“Are you analyzing me?”

“You’re not that deep,” he mimics.

I bite back my retort. “I’m an only child,” I say stiffly.

“Even worse.”

“Oh, excuse you, like you know anything about me.”

“I can take a guess.” He abandons the flowers, dusting his hands free of the petals. “You have, after all, so confidently diagnosed me.” He turns to me then, a spark in his eyes I don’t like. “You’re from where? Pennsylvania?”

“How did you know that?”

“Annie mentioned. But she didn’t mention where exactly, so I’m going to guess it’s a small town. Is that right?”

“I don’t—”

“You met Annie in college, so you left when you were eighteen. And I know you two lived together before she met Paul, so you never moved home.” He tilts his head, frowning as I gape at him. “You’re an architect, so you’ve got a decent job. You’ve got a nice apartment too. And a roommate who didn’t look too surprised to see a stranger in the morning. But the speed and skill with which you threw me out—”

“I didn’t throw you out.”

“Shut the door in my face then,” he continues pleasantly. “Suggests it’s not the first time you’ve done it. And it’s how you like it.”

“Are you trying to mansplain my feelings to me?”

“I wouldn’t take it personally,” he says calmly. “I do it to everyone. Men included.”

I fight the urge to look away as he holds my gaze, his expression suddenly clearing. “A bad breakup.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s your thing.”

“My thing?”

“Someone broke your heart back home. You ran away to New York and told yourself you’d be independent forever.”

“My heart’s just fine.”

“Your parents then,” he pushes and I flinch in surprise. He latches onto it, triumphant.

“Only child, small town,” he continues. “Tale as old as time. You have overbearing parents who can’t cope with you gone. Every Christmas they ask when you’re coming home. Sarah, they say, why don’t you find a nice man to settle down with it? Why don’t you give us a grandchild? It drives you nuts and that’s why you—”

“My parents don’t speak to each other,” I say, cutting him off mid-stride. “They divorced years ago.”

Declan stares at me in surprise. I have the feeling I’m looking at him the same way. I can’t believe I told him that. I mean, I can believe it. The wine has loosened my tongue and he’s annoying me and I…

I finish my glass as things grow even more awkward between us.

Declan presses a loose petal between his fingers. “Do you seriously believe you get points for that?”

“What?”

“No way. You think you can beat me?”

“Beat you?”

“You think because your parents divorced you somehow beat a cousin who’s spent the last twenty years trying to start a nudist movement on the west coast of Ireland, a great aunt who collects toothbrushes—”

“Toothbrushes?”

“I’m just saying, if you want to corner the market on family drama, you’re going to have to give me a lot more than that.”

“I… You want more?”

He shrugs. “Usually Americans are much better at this game. There are a lot of cults in your country.”

I watch him, unsure. But he no longer looks like he’s trying to cut me down. If anything, he looks like he wants to cheer me up.

“If you impress me,” he adds. “I’ll introduce you to the cousin.”

I almost laugh then. Almost.

“Alright,” I say. “How’s this? They divorced because my mom had an affair with my soccer coach.”

Declan’s eyes widen and I raise my empty glass.

“That’s my thing.”

“It’s a great thing,” he says, sounding impressed. “Very traumatic.”

“I like to think so.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

He lets out a low whistle.

“A very uncomplicated, unemotional age.” I hesitate. “I was a mess.”

“But look at you now,” he says as I reach for a fresh bottle.

I shoot him a glare but it’s half-hearted.

“That sucks,” he says, more gently. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well… It was a long time ago. She’s married to a man called Phil now. He works in insurance.”

“Let me guess,” Declan says. “At your wedding, I get to sit with them.”

“Oh no, you’ll be with Uncle Alan. He’ll spend three hours trying to get you to join his pyramid scheme.”

He smiles then and my stomach dips at the sight of it. It’s the first real one I’ve seen from him all night and I wonder if we’ve reached a kind of truce. If we can finally stop this back and forth and agree that the whole situation isn’t ideal for either of us.

Declan seems to think the same thing.

“Alright,” he says after a beat. “Why don’t we start—”

“Declan?”

I lean back, startled as a tall, fair-haired man in his early fifties appears behind him. Declan tenses for an instant, something almost like alarm flashing across his face before he relaxes again, turning to face the newcomer.

“Robert,” he greets as the man takes the vacated seat beside him. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Just for tonight,” Robert says. “I missed the drinks reception. Got kept back at the office.” His voice is quiet, measured. I like him instantly. “It’s good to see you. Paul said you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”

“I got an early flight. Have you met Sarah?” he adds, turning to me. “Annie’s maid of honor. Or so she keeps telling everyone.”

“I haven’t,” Robert says, offering me a smile. “It’s lovely to meet you.” But I’m not why he’s here. “Things going well in New York?” he asks Declan. “Harry never stops talking about you.”

“I can’t complain.”

“That’s good, that’s good.” He pauses. “You know, if you ever need it, I’d be happy to—”

“I appreciate it but I’m grand.”

Robert nods at once and silence falls between them, one I know better than to try and fill no matter how confused I am. The way Declan is speaking to him is verging on rudeness, the strained politeness only making it worse. Now, he invites no further conversation and though Robert looks disappointed, he takes the hint. “I’ll let you get on with your dinner,” he says as he stands. “It was nice meeting you, Sarah.”

“And you,” I say meekly as he retreats to his table.

“What was that about?” I ask when he’s out of earshot.

“Family feud,” Declan says instantly. “He stole our cattle. We stole his sheep. You know how it is around these parts.”

I sigh as he goes back to ignoring me.

“Maybe you should take it easy,” I say as he reaches for the whiskey again. He doesn’t listen.

The other guests are still milling about. Paul and Annie are speaking with a group of people across the room and Mary’s only a table away, fawning over a small child.

Still, no one else comes near us and I’m wondering how drunk I’m allowed to be before it gets embarrassing when Declan abruptly finishes his drink and pushes his chair back.

“You want to get out of here?”

I can only stare at him. I can’t keep up with the change in his moods. “We’re still waiting on dessert.”

“I’ll buy you an ice cream in the village.”

“I have to stay for Annie.”

“Fine,” he says, the word clipped. “Enjoy your meringue.” He stands, dumping his napkin on the table but before he can take one step, Mary is there, smiling broadly.

“What did you think of the salmon?” she asks. “I thought it was only gorgeous.”

“We had the soup,” Declan says, barely sparing her a glance. “I’m just popping out. Need some air.”

“A great idea! Why don’t you show Sarah the fountain?”

“Sarah’s staying here.”

“But you can—”

“Mam,” he interrupts. “Please just stop.”

She rears back, one hand fluttering to her necklace. “Stop what?”

“You know what,” he says, sounding exasperated.

I send a pleading glance to Annie. Thankfully she’s already looking my way and tugs Paul away from his grandmother as they start toward us.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mary continues.

“No? You don’t have any clue why Sarah has been stuck dealing with your second cousins all night instead of sitting with Annie like she wants to?”

“I don’t mind,” I say quickly. “It’s fine,” I hiss at him.

A worried-looking Paul arrives a moment before Annie does. “Everything okay?”

“Declan needs some air,” Mary says crisply.

“So let him get some air. He’s not sixteen Mam.”

“Then he should stop acting like it. I’m sorry for the trouble, Sarah,” she adds. “I just thought it would be nice for you two to get to know each other.”

“We already know each other,” Declan says tightly, ignoring my warning look.

“Just leave him be,” Paul says.

Mary looks annoyed. “I only thought—”

“You didn’t think,” Declan interrupts. I lay a hand on his wrist, but he ignores me, his patience gone. “You never think. You never ask.”

I pull on his arm, trying to get his attention. “On second thought, ice cream sounds great.”

“Maybe you should have checked with me first before you decided to play matchmaker,” he says, ignoring me. “Maybe you should have checked with Sarah to see what she wanted.”

“Declan—”

“Maybe then you would have realized that you didn’t need to go to all this trouble, seeing as how we already slept together.”

And there it is.

Paul grimaces as though he’s made a bad joke. Annie rolls her eyes.

“I can never tell when you’re joking, Declan.” She glances at me and her smile drops, no doubt seeing the alarm on my face. “What?”

A group at a nearby table glances our way.

“Two nights ago,” Declan says casually as if he’s reading out a dinner menu. I drop his wrist, slumping back in my chair. “Small world, right?”

If I didn’t feel so embarrassed, I would have found their reactions comical, so identical in their shock. Mary is the only one who doesn’t look horrified. If anything, she seems a little pleased.

“I thought we had an agreement,” I say under my breath.

“For dinner.” He glances at me and I swear I see a hint of an apology in his expression. “Dinner’s over.”

“It is now,” I mutter as Annie’s mouth opens and closes like she’s forgotten how to speak.

Only Declan looks lighter. As if a weight has just been lifted from his shoulders. “Thanks for the food,” he says. “Let’s try and coordinate schedules next time, Sarah.”

He kisses a still shell-shocked Annie on the cheek, hugs his mother and then he’s gone, strolling out of the room toward the lobby.

A second passes while we all watch him and then the three of them turn to me as if I can explain what just happened. As if I even know what just happened.

“Sarah?” Annie asks faintly. Paul looks like he’s still processing. Mary looks contemplative.

I decide not to answer and instead reach for the wine bottle, taking Declan’s advice.

I drink up.