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Saoirse

 

 

 

Moina called me.

And told me.

It had been an overdose. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I was surprised at how I reacted. By breaking down. With huge gulping sobs like I was drowning, clutching at my kitchen counter like it was my lifeline.

Then somehow through blurred vision, I was calling Diarmuid. My world was cracking up underneath my feet, and he was the first and only person I wanted to be with.

And with every missed call, my heart began to tremble.

So I ran. Through the rain, like a ship returning to its safe harbour, until I reached his porch.

Where I waited—always waiting—for him.

Diarmuid took me inside the house. He stripped my wet clothes off me, dried my body, my hair, brought out clothes for me to wear. Then he pulled his armchair in front of the fire, sat me in his lap and pulled the largest, softest blanket that he had around us.

There I stayed, wrapped in his warmth.

He called his work and told them he was taking the next few days off. Then he called the coroner back in Dublin and arranged the funeral by phone. I sat, mute, numb, beside him, always clutching to a part of him as if he were the only thing tethering me to this earth.

The next morning, he packed me into his car and we drove to Dublin to attend my ma’s funeral.

I didn’t have a dress to wear or anything else with me for that matter. We stopped off at a shopping centre on the way and Diarmuid picked out a few things for me to try on, led me to the dressing room and practically changed me himself. And he paid for everything we bought.

He was my rock. He kept my world turning. While I remained still. While I was numb.

 

 

 

Diarmuid and I stood at the foot of my mother’s grave, his arm around my shoulders the only thing keeping me steady. The pastor’s voice droning on.

No one else came.

Moina had to work so she wasn’t here. My da didn’t want to come. He had work, too. Also, quite frankly, he stopped caring about my mother a long time ago. None of her “men” bothered to come either.

“She had no one else, Diarmuid,” I said, a near whisper, when the pastor had left us. “She had no one else except me and I left her. Sh-she died alone.”

“Hey,” he said turning me to face him, his strong hands on my shoulders, “this is not on you. She had her own stuff that she couldn’t deal with.”

“I should have tried harder. Made her get help. I should have—”

“She should have been a better parent. She could have asked for help, wanted to get help, but she didn’t. Don’t you dare blame yourself.”

“W-why does it hurt so much? I-I didn’t even like her,” I choked on a laugh.

“Because she was your mother, and despite her many flaws, you loved her.”

“I don’t want to be her, Diarmuid,” I choked out.

There it was, my deepest fear laid bare.

The irony was, by weaving myself into my da’s business, I was following my ma’s dark path. I was becoming the very woman I feared becoming. All it would take was for me to lose Diarmuid and I’d sink into a hole I could never crawl out of.

A sob ripped from my cramping, aching lungs. “I d-don’t want to die alone like she did, with no one.”

Without you.

“You won’t,” he said fiercely, tucking me into the safety of his arms. “I swear to you, you won’t.”

I wanted so much to believe him.

Diarmuid and I stayed in a boutique hotel in Dublin, south of the river in the beautiful Rathmines neighbourhood of Georgian houses and tree-lined sidewalks. We stayed there for several days, just walking under the willows along the swan-filled canal, holding hands, having a drink in a dark corner of the local wood-panelled “old man’s” pub.

Slowly I was able to untangle this messy jumble of feelings, this ball of guilt and regret over the broken woman who gave birth to me.

But there were pieces I could not let go of.

 

 

 

Diarmuid pushed open the front door of his home in Limerick for me. I had to brush past him as I walked in, my body tingling from that mere casual touch. Even through all my grief, he could set me on fire with one look, one touch.

I walked straight into Diarmuid’s bedroom and dropped my bag on the bed without even thinking about it.

This place was already feeling like home. He’d already made space for me to leave clothes in his drawers. He bought me a red toothbrush, which sat next to his blue one, and stocked his shower with my exact brand of girlie body wash.

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back for these last few days,” I said as I began to unpack the bag full of clothes Diarmuid had bought me. We hadn’t stopped at my house on the way to Dublin.

Diarmuid slid his arms around my waist. “You don’t have to pay me back.”

“Diarmuid.”

“Saoirse.” He turned me in his arms so I was facing him. “You are not paying me back.”

I pouted.

He kissed my nose.

I pouted even more.

He smiled and kissed my lips. That was all it took for me to melt. To give in.

“You didn’t have to do all that for me, you know?” I said when I pulled back, my breath a little heavier, my body a little warmer.

“I know. I wanted to.” His pulled away and walked over to his dresser. “I have something for you.”

“Diarmuid!”

What? More? He’d already spent too much.

He turned towards me, hiding something behind his back, a sly grin on his face. “I was gonna give this to you on Monday night, but…”

I shook my head even though I was smiling. “What have you done, Diarmuid?”

“Hold your hands out.”

I did. Into my palms he dropped a small velvet jewelry box.

Oh shit.

“What have you done?” I asked again, this time my voice a mere squeak.

“I didn’t give you a birthday present this year yet.”

I blinked at him. “You…”

“I know I didn’t have to,” he said, taking the words out of my mouth, somehow knowing what I was about to say before I said it.

It was another charm. It had to be.

I cracked open the box.

But it wasn’t a charm.

There, nestled in the navy velvet cushion, was a key.

I pulled it out, frowning.

“It’s…a bit big for my charm bracelet,” I said, immediately regretting it because it made me sound so damn ungrateful.

He laughed. “Silly selkie. It doesn’t go on your charm.”

“Then where does it—”

I knew where this key belonged. Which door it fit.

My eyes widened. “Is this a key to your house?”

He nodded, his features serious. “I never want you to have to wait on my porch again. Besides, you already have the key to my heart. I thought you’d like this one to match it.”

He winked at me.

I laughed and threw my arms around his neck. I whispered, “Best present ever.”