Page 13 of A Second Chance Summer in Dublin
‘No. Absolutely not,’ I’d told her honestly.
She took a gulp of her wine. ‘He wants me to give up my job and be a stay-at-home mammy. He makes more money than I could ever dream of, he make six times what I earn, in his state-of-the art finance office in the Docklands. I could, if that was what I wanted, but it isn’t and I don’t want to sound ungrateful but I feel so suffocated. I have so much I want to do in my career in journalism, I feel like I’m only getting started.’ She’d looked down at the table, lost for a moment in her thoughts.
‘It seems to me like you are both on very different paths,’ I said.
She stood up, threw her hands in the air. ‘Right! It’s like I’m living in a timeline that doesn’t match my own growth. I have to get out, Grace, I have to tell him tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ I gasped as I stood up, too. I put my arms on her shoulders. ‘It’s okay to feel how you feel, Mia. It doesn’t erase the love you once had for him, but you’re a grown-up now, you’re thirty-three years old, you’re a super smart woman. I’m here for you.’
She nodded. I could tell she was relieved I was on her side. ‘I can’t tell you how much that means to me. I need you behind me so badly. This is our week, Grace. Same thing, every week, week in, week out. Sunday, we go out for breakfast to The Queens, he reads the paper, I people-watch in envy. Then we go to Cornelscourt to do the weekly shop. We come home and he does up a menu for the week that he sticks on the fridge. Same dinners every week. Monday, chicken curry. Tuesday, spag bol. Wednesday, fishcakes. Thursday, steak and chips. Friday,homemade pizza – and Saturday, a Camile takeaway and a bottle of wine.’ She pulled at the neck of her top as though she couldn’t breathe. ‘All meals on the couch in front of the TV. And then there is his constant flicking, channel after channel after channel. He asks me, what about this? I always say the same thing, I don’t care, ’cause I don’t. He doesn’t put sex on the menu, but that occurs on a Sunday night, after his bath; well, it used to, but I can’t anymore. It’s why I’ve let myself go, hoping to turn him off and I think I have a little.
‘Jesus, Mia.’ I couldn’t think of anything more to say.
‘I feel like such a bitch,’ Mia said. ‘But it’s over.’
I remained quiet.
Suddenly my problems with Logan seemed utterly infantile and pathetic in comparison. I was ashamed of myself and my blindness.
‘You are the furthest thing from a bitch. You are incredibly loving and patient. This is the first step, telling me. I’m here for you. I love you so much. I’m just sorry I was so disgustingly self-involved with my own relationship I didn’t notice what you were going through. I mean, we go to the Stella every month, I should have seen your unhappiness. I’m mortified.’
‘You couldn’t have known, I lied. I hid it well. Logan’s not the only good actor in the Hunter household.’ She made a half attempt at jazz hands.
As I lifted the bottle of wine and dried the underneath on a napkin, the front door opened.
Mia stood up slowly, smoothed down her skirt. ‘Right on time. He’s home. It’s why I need you here. I can’t do this without you.’
I jumped up. ‘W-what? Do what?’ My words came on a loud gasp.
‘I told you. I’m telling him tonight. I’m telling him right now.’
I was struck dumb in shock.
*
A sweetly scented breeze finally flows into my flat as I shake all thoughts of Moaning Michael and that evening from my head. I pop the last segment of juicy melon into my mouth. Mia made the decision that was right for her and I was both emotionally and physically behind her. Picking up my plate, I drop it in the sink and rinse it. I have a ton of beading and hot brooch work to do on Kathleen’s bridesmaid dresses before I leave for the Stella. Settling myself at my sewing machine, I click into my Spotify. I select theWalking Down the Aisleplaylist I love to listen to as I design. Chris Isaak’s ‘Wicked Game’ plays out as I gather the gold material for Kathleen’s dress. I drape it across my knee as I install the appropriate needle for this fabric and securely insert it into the machine. I wind the braided gold thread onto the bobbin, guiding the thin strands through the upper threading part. It’s a solitary job, but I never feel lonely doing it. As I work, I think about Donal and that woman running out on him on their date. Her granny’s cat up a tree, I ask you! He must have felt lonely. I can just picture those kind eyes of his and the sad look in them. I lift the presser foot to facilitate threading my needle, and all I want to do is sew for a few hours and get lost in the music and my work, until it’s time to meet Mia.
*
Inside the Stella cinema, makeshift fans blow cool air around. Delirious diners sit in minimalist clothing, as they fan themselves with the stiff laminated meus. I’m demolishing my cheeseburger and parmesan fries in record time as Mia slowly eats her hummus and olive plate, dunking a carrot stick with as much enthusiasm as a sloth in a sprinting competition. She’s ona diet, but I don’t know what for, she looks great, stylish in her colourful Adidas Spezials, patterned knee-length skirt and T-shirt combo.
‘So, go on, what’s this exciting news you texted me about.’ I squeeze the last part of the burger between my hands, bending my head to lick the juice from my thumbs.
‘This date you want for my party.’ She smirks sitting back, twirling a gold hoop in her ear that’s so large a trapeze artist would feel right at home.
‘Oh yeah. Any luck? I really think it’s for the best and I’m good company, aren’t I?’ I search for the paper straw in my soda water with my mouth and hoover up the fizz.
‘Sure. Who wouldn’t want to date you? You’re empathetic, kind, loyal, funny, a great listener – they should be so lucky, lucky, lucky!’
I raise a comical eyebrow. ‘You left out sexy as hell,’ I tell her as I dip a chip in my ketchup.
‘Oh yeah, sexy baby.’ Mia nods rapidly in agreement. ‘If it wasn’t for these pesky hetero genes, I’d be all over you!’ She winks playfully, then stares at my chips as she gnaws her way down a limp carrot baton like a deranged rabbit. ‘Although, you can burn a boiled egg, can’t keep a cactus alive and have overstuffed drawers that would give Marie Kondo a panic attack, but you’ve still a lot to offer. I also know you want to share your life again, but with a regular, low maintenance, down-to-earth guy?’ Mia knows me so well, but I wonder if she knows I secretly want her brother back.
I pull at the neckline on my maxi dress to avoid a direct answer. ‘You know me. I just want to eat great food in nice restaurants, have sneaky Sunday afternoon pints in The Long Hall, go for walks, movies and melted Minstrels in the dark.’
‘Hey! That’s our thing!’ She waves an olive at me that’s wedged between her finger and thumb.
‘Okay, well, Netflix and nachos, then. Look, I just want a date for the party .?.?. a friendly date, I don’t want to go on my own, it’s awkward.’
