Page 48 of Cillian

“Oh.” I snapped out of my stupor, reminding myself of my purpose.

“So, getting to know Cillian more, I was wondering where would be a good place to hold a Sunday dinner. He's always doing such sweet things for me. I wanted to surprise him with an old family tradition. He told me the other day that you used to have them all the time, and I know I haven't been family for long, but I just I wanted to do something that would make him happy. I thought about hosting our place, but it might be a bit crowded for more than the two of us. Assuming that you'd accept my invitation.” Her lips turned down and she shrugged.

“Haven't thought much about it. Partly since the boys ain't gonna organize something they consider woman's work but I like the idea, especially if I had more help. I've got a big house just outside the city, we can host there. I know you've got your own cuisine and culture, but if you'd like a hand with some Irish recipes, give me your number and I'll give you a ring when Cillian’s at work. I know all of Cilly’s favorites, which judging by his pudgy cheeks, you're already fattening him up.” That was easier than I thought.

“Thank you, Órfhlaith. For being so accommodating. Cillian talks about you all the time and always has nice things to say.” Her brows lifted, as she brought a lit match to her cigarette.

“Well, then he's lying. I may be a lass but I'm still a Sullivan. Most times, I don't know how to stay out of trouble. But as a woman with four brothers and a son, it'll be nice having another woman around. And you're one of us, I suppose that makes us sisters. Just make sure my brother treats you proper. I can see what he sees in you. A guide through the darkness. Just see to it that the darkness doesn't consume you.” She came behind the counter and surprised me with a hug.

“We'll talk later, love. Now go out there before my brother starts blabbering again. Once he starts he won't bloody stop.”

***

Cillian

“Mmm, let me try some of yours,” I asked, as Queenie took turns sipping from my milkshake to her ice cream cone. Ironically, her favorite flavors were vanilla and strawberry and while I’d always been more of an ice lollie fan, the pull of chocolate was pretty damn addicting. She held the spoon up to my mouth but I wanted my sample straight from the source. I kissed her, a mix of sweet and tangy as she shyly pulled away from me. “I like it better from your lips.”

“Baby tone it down. People are staring.” I looked around to confirm her claim. It wasn't just one person burning a hole through us, it felt like the whole damn malt shop. I knew mixed race marriages weren’t a common thing yet but I didn’t understand the reason folks were so uncomfortable about it for. She was just a woman, and I a man, and we were in love. I asked myself would this have been me staring a mixed couple down like they didn’t belong three years ago? It made me sick to my stomach to even think about it. If people were so happy about their own lives, why did they care so much about ours.

“I ain’t toning nothing down. If I want to kiss my wife, I'll kiss my wife in public. You don't like it? You don't have to bloody look.” I reached in for another kiss, but this time she was hesitant and I couldn't fucking shake the stare of some wanker being loud and annoying two tables down. You stared too long at someone in prison like that and you got yoked up.

“What are you staring at mate? A man can’t get a fucking milkshake with his lady without you watching us like we’re in a zoo,” I said, interlocking her fingers in mine as he whispered something, and suddenly the whole table started laughing.

“What was that, mate? I didn't fuckin’ hear you.” He cleared his throat wearing this smug look of arrogance on his aged face.

“I said, if you stopped flaunting that monkey, we wouldn’t have to stare like we’re at a zoo.” The hurt on her face forced me out of my chair, ignoring her excessive pleas to let it go. I may have grown up to be prideful fuck, but me having pride in my culture, my country, my language and my people were never an excuse to go around saying things like that.

If he’d been talking about me, I would simply ignored it. But no one was going to get away with calling my beautiful wife an animal. In an instant, I had lifted this man up by his collar, my pistol slamming into his face until he was bruised and beaten. I could’ve went all night smashing his face in but when Queenie ran outside, I ignored the threats to call the police to follow her out to console her.

“Cillian, what is the matter with you?” She screamed, hitting me across the chest until I pinned them to her sides. “Here we are having a good time and you just have to make a big show in there.” I blinked in confusion. Was she at mad at me?

“Baby, help me understand. Why are you upset at me? Did you not hear what that bigot called you?”

“Yes, Cillian. I did. But I've been called worse. It's dangerous to do what you just did. And a gun to a malt shop? Cillian, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I always carry my gun with me. But really, are you mad at me?” She wiped the stream of tears that falling down her face, bringing her emotions to a calm.

“You think this is the first time we've been getting stares? That's the only reason we left the first dress shop. Between being followed and watched, and then being accused of working there.” How could I not see something was off at the department store. I only suspected but this was just one of my blind spots.

“I'm sorry, Queenie. I didn't know.”

“Why would you, Cillian? Some people in this city only have hate in their hearts. Italian and the Irish, Jews and the Chinese, the only thing y'all come together for is the hate for Black folk. You've been dealing with this for one day but I've been dealing with it my whole life. And when you do things like that, it doesn't make me feel safe.”

“I…I don't know how to navigate this space like you, but the last thing I'm gonna do is sit back and allow someone to disrespect my wife right in front of me. Queenie, I don't want to scare or embarrass you, but that's how I was brought up to deal with things, through violence. My first instinct is to protect you, and that’s the only way I know how to.” She wiped her sniffling nose as I offered her my handkerchief.

“Can we just sit in the car for a second?” I opened and closed her door behind her before I walked back to the driver's side. She took a deep breath and I laid back in my chair, the stress consuming me.

“I felt like…it felt like we were having such a nice day before this. Stares aside.” She took my hand, bringing it up to her lips to kiss, as she caressed the tracing of my beard.

“Cillian, I'm not mad at why you did it. I just want you to be more careful. What if someone had come after us? What if he was with a gang of equally dangerous people? Have you ever seen a man get lynched before? Because I have, and I would never forgive myself if something like that ever happened to you.”

“I know, baby. I wasn't thinking. Would you like for me to take you home?”

“Actually, I had another idea.” Assuming she’d want to have nothing else to do with me today, I was relieved when she had other plans. “Have you ever been to a juke joint before?”

Nineteen

Cillian

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