CHAPTER 12

Allie

This is a complete disaster. I’ve always known the O’Briens as a lively and eccentric bunch, but I have never known them like this. Once free of Tess’s protective hold I feel doomed, like a convicted felon ready to be stoned.

I glance back at Tess and Sofia, silently pleading with them to rescue me. They offer encouraging smiles, Tess’s toddler reaching to Curran to hold her. Curran scoops her with his free arm. His opposite hand strokes Tess’s backside as he speaks to Declan and his fiancée Melissa.

I’m literally on my own because, goodness knows, Seamus has been absolutely no help. “You having a good time?” he asks me.

Now is not a good time to kick him in the groin, I remind myself. I simply look at him silently, at a complete loss of words. How do I explain that no, I’m not having a good time. In fact, I’ve died and gone to Hades. But I can’t hear why I’m condemned to eternal damnation. You see, the O’Briens are in Hades with me, yelling at Oedipus that he’s poking his eyes out all wrong, and calling him a dumbass for marrying his mother.

Five minutes. How is it possible that I’ve only been here five minutes? And now I’m to meet Seamus’s mother.

Seamus often jokes that his mother is the midget of the family. In all actuality, she’s close to my size. But when your smallest sibling is Wren at about 5 feet 8 inches, I suppose it’s fair to classify anyone smaller into little person status.

What makes her appear tiny is her thin and delicate figure. There’s barely a wrinkle on her fair skin and while she’s petite, the stern gaze she pelts me with squashes any misconceptions that I could take her in a fight. This woman would snap my neck like a taco shell before I could finish screaming.

“Don’t panic,” Seamus says through his teeth. “You’re totally panicking. Ma is like a hornet. She’ll smell fear and sting your ass.”

I return his smile, speaking through my teeth. “If this is your idea of cheering me on, I’m going to rip off your pom-poms and throw them at you.”

“You can’t do that. I’m you’re ride home. Besides, the pom-poms are good for covering unmentionables, and if anyone asks, can I brag that you’ve used some to cover yours?”

“Of course. Why not?” I spit out. “We’ve gone this far.”

“Thanks. You’re a real doll,” he tells me proudly.

The room closes in and all eyes fall upon me. This must be what it’s like to walk down the corridor of an ancient insane asylum, right before the door shuts tight behind you and the shock therapy begins.

My throat tightens and my breathing quickens. I shouldn’t be so afraid. She’s one woman. One.

A soft, light blue cardigan that matches her eyes, wraps around the bodice of her denim dress. Brown Ugg boots, cover her feet. As long as I’ve known her, Mrs. O’Brien has never worn pants or jeans. She’s not a woman who fusses over fashion, nor does she fret about how others may see her. After a lifetime of being judged and talked about in whispers, she doesn’t care and perhaps she never did. Simply speaking, she’s a woman comfortable in her own skin who dresses for comfort in return.

“Hey, Ma,” Seamus says. He practically bends in half to kiss her cheek. “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Allie. She goes to church and everything.”

This is how he introduces me to his mother. Perhaps I should be grateful he didn’t bring up the green woman with tentacles Andres supposedly pleasured himself with.

“Hello, Mrs. O’Brien. I don’t know if you remember me.” I offer her my hand. “It’s nice to see you again.” She doesn’t take my hand, keeping her arms crossed over her small chest. I try not to take offense, grateful instead that she didn’t rip my limb off at the shoulder and smack me across the face with it.

“It’s okay, Ma!” Finn yells from his position on the couch. Sol remains on his lap. I now presume to keep him put and out of trouble. “It’s not Allie’s fault she had sex with a loser. The important thing is she’s having sex with Seamus now. Isn’t that right, Seamus?”

“That’s right,” Seamus agrees, proudly.

“Jesus,” Sol says, her hands returning to cover her face.

“What?” Finn asks. “We’re all adults here.”

“No, we’re not,” Tess snaps, motioning to her daughters.

“Tess, Fiona doesn’t know what we’re talking about,” Curran says, coming to his brother’s defense. “Remember the time she caught us going at it? All she cared about was me putting you down long enough to get her a cookie.”

“Curran!” Tess says, blushing, although she doesn’t strike me as someone who blushes.

“Where are you going?” Curran asks, chasing her into the kitchen. “I gave her the cookie.”

“Animals,” Molly mutters. “Just a bunch of animals.”

As my skin returns to a somewhat less dangerous temperature, I wrestle with what to say to connect with Mrs. O’Brien. Perhaps I should ask her about the upcoming church social, the one to raise money for that family who lost their home to a fire. I change my mind, not wanting to appear disingenuous. My office is contributing to the event, but I want her to like me for me. Not necessarily the things I’ve done.

“I know you,” Mrs. O’Brien says before I manage to speak. “You took care of my children. Every Sunday before mass.”

I swallow back the sigh of relief that wants to escape. She does remember me. “Yes, Mrs. O’Brien. I taught your youngest children Sunday school.”

A small sad smile appears on her face. It’s my first glimpse of the mother behind the impenetrable matriarch. “You helped my Killian when those boys attacked him in the bathroom.”

I don’t mean to appear as surprised as I am, but I had forgotten the moment until now. Killian used to be a small, almost frail child, not the Goliath he is now. I remember that day. He’d raised his hand following the Lord’s Prayer and asked politely to use the restroom. Two other boys hadn’t shown up for class. They walked in shortly after Killian’s departure, their shirts ripped and stained with drops of blood.

I knew right away what had happened and ran to the boy’s bathroom. I found Killian crying in one of the stalls. His tears embarrassed him and he wouldn’t initially show me his face. I stayed on the floor with him, until he regained his composure and allowed me to clean up his bloody nose.

When I returned to the classroom, I made the boys who hurt Killian apologize and rewrite the Hail Mary a hundred times in their copy books. Killian was very young, no more than eight. He probably doesn’t remember me helping him, but his mother does and that means more to me than she’ll ever know.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “That was me.”

“I never had the chance to thank you like I wanted to,” she tells me. “But thank you for looking after me son.”

I nod, her kindness and love for her children choking me up. She looks up at Seamus and then back to me. “We have a few things to finish in the kitchen before we can eat. Would you like to help us put out the food?”

My chest warms and I almost can’t speak. “It would be my honor, Mrs. O’Brien.”