My Life in Shambles(92)

How about 30 min?

See ya soon.

That doesn’t leave me too much time, so I change out of my pajamas into jeans and a plaid shirt, pull my hair back into a ponytail, swipe a coating of mascara on my pale lashes so I don’t look like a baby chick, then slick on some mauve lip gloss, and then I’m calling the Uber, grabbing my coat and heading out the door.

Traffic isn’t that bad this time of day so I get there fast and I’m just about to exit the vehicle when another text comes in from them.

Running a bit late, save us a table.

I groan. I hate being the first one in a café or restaurant and having to deal with all the “is this seat taken?”

I get out of the car and head into the shop, momentarily dazzled by the glitz and glamor of downtown Philly, the smell of the exhaust and the hustle and bustle of people going places and making things happen. It makes me realize I need to come down here more often.

Maybe I should move here, I think to myself as I walk inside the café and go to the counter to order a latte, my eyes scanning the shop and taking note of the free tables. There’s one in the corner that will be perfect and I hope I can get my coffee before someone snatches it up.

But even though the idea of moving to another city and starting over again isn’t all bad, where I really want to move to and where I really want to start my life over is so far away from me. So far in so many different ways that it feels like nothing but a lovely dream.

I order a matcha latte with almond milk and when the barista gives it to me, I notice the design in the foam is of a green four-leaf clover.

Fuck. A shamrock.

Okay, don’t cry, hold it together. It’s just latte art, nothing more.

This is what I mean about the smallest things setting me off.

Somehow I keep the tears back and make it over to the table.

I sit down, facing the shop with a clear view of the door for when Sandra and Angie walk in.

I hope I don’t breakdown and cry when I’m here.

I mean, I should prepare for it because these damn tears are at the floodgates and they’re barely being held back. I can’t even look at the fucking latte art right now and my sisters have a way of making it all come out because that’s what sisters are for.

I’m so fucking thankful for them, I need to tell them that more often.

I need to tell them that going to Ireland with them changed my life and I am so happy that they invited me. I don’t know where I’d be right now if I hadn’t gone, but I wouldn’t have known Agnes or the Major or Colin. I wouldn’t have loved Padraig. And … I think loving Padraig was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.

The ache returns and my heart shudders.

A single tear rolls down my cheek.

As I’m wiping it away with a napkin, someone walks through the door to the coffee shop.

I just see the silhouette out of the corner of my eye.

But a silhouette is all it takes.

The napkin falls out of my hands.

He spots me at the back and walks toward me, hands in the pockets of his black peacoat, looking so very European amongst the people in the shop. It’s enough that patrons turn to stare at him as he goes.

But he only has eyes for me.

They burn into me with such heat and brilliance that all the hurt in my body begins to fall away, like I’m sloughing off dead skin that doesn’t serve a purpose anymore.

My purpose is right in front of me.

Padraig.

I’m already up on my feet.

“Valerie,” he says to me in his Irish brogue, so much hope and longing on his brow.

All he had to do was say my name and I was his again.

My chin trembles and I burst into tears.

He pulls me into his big arms, wrapping them around me, holding me tight, so tight.

I sob into his coat, breathing in the smell of him, feeling my heart lift and lift and lift, right up into the sky, soaring away like a bird.

“I am so sorry,” he whispers, pressing his lips into the top of my head and now I hear him crying too. “I am so, so sorry.”

I hug him tighter, afraid that this is a dream that I can wake up from at any second, afraid that he’s not really here at all.

So I stand there holding him and he holds me and the rest of the world does its thing whenever the two of us are together.

It just dissolves.

Until it’s just us.

Eventually, though, the world comes into focus and I realize we’ve been hugging in the corner of this coffee shop in Philly and I’m not even sure how that’s actually possible, that he’s here.

I pull back and peer up at him, not letting go.

He gazes down at me through his long, wet lashes, tears at the corner of his eyes.

“Are you really here?” I ask.

“I am.”

“How?”

“I’ve come back for ye, Valerie,” he says, his voice a low murmur. He pauses. “If you’ll have me back.”

He’s come back for me.

“What changed?”

He gives me a small smile and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Everything changed. Every single thing. I realized how horrible I’d been. Made the biggest mistake of my life by telling you to leave. And I understand if you want nothing to do with me. I won’t blame ye, not even a little. But … if I could somehow convince you to hold my heart again, it would mean the world, darlin’.”