Astor
I spend the rest of the drive in a total state of panic. Why would he take me to meet his mother? I hadn’t agreed to this at all.
Cory drives into a part of town that I’ve never seen before. It’s upscale and fancy, the streets riddled with expensive looking shops and restaurants. The people walking the streets carry shopping bags with designer labels, and wear clothes I’ve only ever seen in fashion magazines.
The restaurant he pulls into looks almost out of place against the backdrop of upscale establishments and wealthy patrons. It’s dwarfed on all sides by ritzy architecture and buildings several stories higher. The name O’Neill’s flashes in green neon above the door, accompanied by green flags with white shamrocks hanging in a row from the roof.
“A bar?” I ask, not even bothering to control the discomfort in my voice once we dismount the motorcycle.
“That’s no bar.” He grins. “That right there is the best Irish restaurant on this side of the world.” Cory snags my hand and starts walking toward the door. I follow along, mostly because if I don’t, he’ll be dragging me, but also because I’m curious.
Really, my life experiences are almost nonexistent. Mother doesn’t approve of restaurants. She thinks the idea of paying someone else to cook for you when you’re completely capable of doing it yourself is preposterous. I’ve been to lunches and dinners held by the church, but have never been to a restaurant, and never a true Irish one.
The music that plays through the speaker system can be heard from outside as we approach the front door. It’s upbeat and cheery, full of drum beats and fiddles, and the occasional bagpipe. Excitement flows through my veins as we get closer, and when the door opens, I can barely contain it.
It’s like taking a step back in time. The entire place is made of wood, stone, and steel. The bar is polished until it gleams, and the wooden tables are old and marked, but in a way that you know they’re meant to be. It adds to the authenticity of the whole place. There isn’t a table in the building that isn’t taken. Laughter and clattering dishes battle with the music, and in the center of it all is a smiling woman with long blonde curls who can be no one other than Cory’s mother.
“Ma,” he calls, dragging me toward her. “You get that table ready for me?”
The woman turns to us, her brow arched. “Cornelius, is that any way to greet your mother?”
He chuckles softly and pulls her in for a one-armed hug, because his other hand is still wrapped around mine. “Hello, Ma.”
As she pulls away, she reaches for me. Her Irish accent is thick as she asks, “And who do we have here?”
“Ma, this is Astor. Astor, meet my Ma.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes at him. “You can call me Aileen, dear. You must be pretty special indeed if my Cornelius is bringing you here. He has never introduced me to any of the ladies in his life, but after seeing you, I can see why he’s so taken. You’re truly lovely, Astor.”
My face heats as Cory draws me closer. “Ma, you’re embarrassing my date.”
My head whips toward his, eyes wide. Date? Since when is this a date? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it’s a date, but wasn’t a date something both parties had agreed to ahead of time? Seems to me the only thing I’d agreed to was for him to take me to get my car from his friend’s shop.
Aileen’s head falls back with her musical laughter. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to embarrass anyone. If there’s one thing I’m known for, it’s speaking my mind.” Right then, her eyes lift to something beyond me, and her face goes from joyful to stone.
“Aileen,” a voice says from nearby, and I turn as Cory’s body tenses. “It’s been a long time. I was wondering if we could have a word.”
“I have nothing to say to you, woman. Get out of my restaurant.”
The woman comes into view, and Cory draws me closer to him, his hand tight around my waist. She’s a middle-aged woman with dark hair, pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her dress is austere, making her look matronly and out of her own time. The smirk on her pinched face fades as her eyes land on me. “My, aren’t you gorgeous. What’s your name, honey?”
From the way Cory and his mom are holding themselves, I wonder if I should even answer her. But Mother raised me to be polite to my elders, and while this woman could be no older than fifty, she is definitely older than me. “Astor,” I say, pressing my body tight to Cory’s side.
The woman smiles, but there’s no joy or laughter in it. It’s a cold smile. Empty. “What a lovely name. I have to say, Astor, it’s surprising to see a nice girl like you hanging out with the likes of this family.”
Before I know it, I’m behind Cory, his shoulders heaving as he stands in front of me, blocking my view. “Get out,” he snarls.
“Cory,” the woman admonishes. “Is that any way to speak to your godmother?”
Cory steps forward and gets into her space. “You stopped being my godmother the second you screwed my mother out of every penny my father ever earned.”
She leans around Cory and jabs a finger in his direction. “Always been an angry one, even as a young child. You best watch yourself around him, Astor.”
I don’t even have time to register her words before Aileen speaks. “My son told you to get out. Go.” Her words are low, and spoken through gritted teeth. “Now, before I call the Bastards to come and take out the trash.”
After the threat of Cory’s club, it doesn’t take the woman long to do as she’s told. She’s gone in a flash, leaving Cory, Aileen, and me all standing in the restaurant with them glaring, and me likely gaping in shock at what had just gone on.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“That was Mrs. Todd, dear,” Aileen answers, her eyes still on the door, as if she’s afraid that Mrs. Todd will come storming back inside. “That’s all you need to know. That, and if you ever see her again, stay far, far away.