Page 35 of Cillian

Thing was, I didn’t need my brothers to convince me. I already knew how lucky I’d been the moment I’d laid eyes on her.

Fourteen

Queenie

Cillian brothers sure did have an appetite. I’d have to make a note of making twice the amount of food if they were going to stop by every morning. Luckily, they left me something to myself but I was going to have to get some real food in my stomach soon.

I didn’t know when to expect him, but I wanted to plan what I’d cook for dinner before he came home but with a quick tour of the kitchen, anything and everything was overwhelmingly Irish. I made a quick mental note that I’d have to do more of the grocery store shopping, especially if I wanted familiar tastes and comfort. I didn’t mind learning how to make a few things in his culture, he was caring and generous, and I was ashamed to admit, I’d do anything to make him happy.

But I had my own upbringing, my own food and culture I didn't want to lose just because my last name was now Sullivan. As if anticipating my needs, the phone rang, and because I didn’t even know our phone number, I predicted it to be Cillian calling. Confused to where it was situated, I followed the ringing until I found the phone’s location, bringing it to my ear to greet the person on the other side.

“Hello.”

“Why’d you take so long to answer? I figured something happened to you,” he fumed, his anger and concern misplaced.

“I didn't know where the ringing was coming from.” A brief silence echoed on his end, but the sound of my voice seemed to ease his frustration.

“Thank you for making the sandwich, baby. I know we ain't been together long, but you’re always doing something nice for me. I promise to reciprocate when I can. I’ve been thinking about that all day. It’s the only thing keeping me going.” Now that I had his attention, it seemed like the perfect time to cash in on that reciprocity.

“Maybe there’s one way you can start with.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before I ask, just know that I’m not complaining. It's just everything in your cabinets, everything in the refrigerator seems to be Irish food.”

“Well love, I know it may not look like it in the dark but I am actually Irish.” I rolled my eyes.

“I know, Cillian, but don’t you want dinner when you come home?”

“It’s a nice thought, sweetheart but I don’t expect it. However, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t fancy a lass who could cook, and now that I think about it, that would be sort of grand.”

“Well, the thing is, I don’t know what half this stuff is. You have different names for things and it’s confusing to me. I don’t know any of these Irish brands, I only know how to cook Black food.”

“Well I'm not picky. Anything you make me, I’ll eat. But if what you’re telling me is what you want to make, you don’t have the things you need, that’s an easy fix. Tell me what you need and I’ll send my brother over to bring it to you. We’re about to leave for to his boxing studio.” Without thinking I started listing off the things I needed without giving him time to process it.

“I need macaroni, two blocks of cheddar, brown sugar, and?—”

“Slow down woman, let me get a pen and paper.”

“Let me know when you're ready,” I said, twirling the cord of the phone between my fingertips.

“Okay, go on.”

“Red wine vinegar, a bottle of Texas Pete if you can find it.”

“Shit, give me a minute.” The sound of his voice became muffled, or perhaps he took the phone away from his mouth, under a whisper he muttered a question to the person he was with.

“Bell, do you have a clue on what a Texas Pete is?” he asked, before confirming with me my request was possible, so long as I had patience.

“I had a question about something else, too.”

“Oh?” I formed as a question.

“Hypothetically speaking, say I wanted to buy flowers for a pretty girl. Which ones would you recommend I surprise her with?” From the moment we started talking, I was grateful we weren’t face to face. He’d never let me live down the smile he put on my face.

“Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but the only flowers worth surprising a pretty girl with would be peonies,” I toyed.

“Any color?”

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