Page 58 of Cillian

“My sister. Looks like she’s hosting a Sunday dinner today. She invited us both to come.” Cillian sat quietly, seemingly in a drift, as I sat on the bed with him to ensure he was ok.

“Is that okay?” As his once drifting eyes found their focus on me.

“No one’s mentioned Sunday dinner since I got back. Honestly, since my mum died, I thought they’d never come back.”

It was clear they brought out a lot of pain for him, whether it the loss of either parent, or the loss of his freedom many years ago. But I’d known a little about it. Or at least, I had mentioned to Órfhlaith wanting to bring them back in passing, but I wasn’t sure how soon I’d be engaging with only his people.

They were my family too, and sure his siblings liked me, but if they were like any traditional family, I would be the only Black person in attendance.

“What are you looking frightened for? My family already knows you.”

“Yeah. But will it be just the people I've met before, or will there be more I will have to win over? Being the only colored girl is hard enough in public, but even harder around people who I can’t understand once they get going.”

“You understand me.”

“Not when you’re around your people, I don’t. You don’t notice, but your accent gets heavier around other Irish folk. Even around your siblings I’m left there standing trying to figure out what you’re all talking about.”

Adopting a challenged expression, Cillian pursed his lips, rubbing his fingers over his ginger curls. “You're right. I don't notice that. But you’ll be around family. They won’t be strangers to me. And if it helps, I won’t leave you by yourself, okay?” He smiled.

The way I melted at that smile. I wish it didn’t affect me as much as it did, but when he smiled, it was like I’d say yes to anything. “Okay.”

***

Cillian’s sister lived outside the city, in a quiet suburb not much different than the neighborhood I grew up in. It made it that much easier to find her house, as all you had to do was look for the driveway with a dozen or so cars parked, in and on the sidewalk.

Even if that hadn’t been a dead giveaway, all the people on the porch, laughter and lively music made it an easy find.

Cillian took my hand, leading me to the house’s porch, introducing me to all his present uncles. Some were handsome, some had a bit of wear and tear, but what surprised me the most was how warm they’d been. He spoke of his father a lot, but never much about the elders outside of that, so even if they weren’t being genuine, I’m glad they faked it for my sake.

By the time we’d made that run, reaching the inside of the house, there had to be forty unknown faces to me, children included, as Órfhlaith had been just coming from upstairs when she set her eyes on me.

“Eoghan finally settled, thank the mother Mary herself.” While it hadn’t been spoken out loud, as a woman, it was expected for me to help in the kitchen. I took no issue to that, especially given Cillian had honored his promise not to leave me by myself.

He clung to me like a shadow, but it was clear from all the stares and hostile energy from his female family members, that the kitchen was a place he was far from welcome. Sensing this, Órfhlaith gave her best attempt to run him out. “Cilly, why don’t you go outside and join the hurling. Or just about anything but be in here. Between you sampling and picking at everything, won’t be much left to serve come supper.”

“I’m only trying to help,” Cillian said, looking to me with sympathetic eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about your wife, Cilly. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of,” she said, nudging him out of the kitchen.

Cheers and celebratory claps followed, ecstatic to be rid of the male energy in their space, but to say it aided in my own comfort would have been a lie. I didn’t need Cillian at my side at all times for everything, but sure eased my anxiety to have him around.

Heavy accented voices sung and carried across the room, but it was often so thick I couldn't tell if they were speaking English.

“Queenie, come with me.” Órfhlaith took my hand and lead me to the other end of the kitchen. “Don't feel too offended. My Gaelic’s horse shite. Not as well preserved as my older brothers,” she admitted.

“Is Gaelic your language?” I asked, aware of the insecurity riddled in my tone. Cillian had never mentioned that Irish people spoke their own language.

“It's supposed to be. But the English made it damn hard to retain the fucking thing. Hence why the older you are the more of it you tend to retain. Sure that's why Cilly never mentioned it. His is worse than mine,” she joked.

Opening a bag of white potatoes, Órfhlaith offered me a knife, where we proceeded to peel together, as I initially did so in silence.

“You’re a quiet little thing,” she said accusingly.

Looking around, I couldn’t ignore the obvious. “I don't think I fit in well,” I admitted with defeat.

“One of the things you've got to understand is, no one's showing it but most are in shock that Cillian married you. The Irish are proud. Our father all but beat it into the lot of us to never even think about being with someone not Irish. That being said, you're young and you're beautiful. All the men outside probably took one look at you and are questioning everything they've been taught about Irish pride.”

Unsure if that was supposed to make me feel better or more insecure, Órfhlaith squeezed my shoulder. “Queenie, you're going to have to learn a thing or two about the Irish if you plan to survive being with one. When people joke at you it means that they like you,” she reassured. Having never been around this many Irish people at once, I took her word for it.

---