Page 59 of Cillian

“This is what you get when you let a man do the gathering.” An older woman, whose accent I slightly understood better than most. She held up a bag of sweet potatoes with disdain.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do with this?”

Looking around, not a single person volunteered to peel or prepare them. “I'll take them if you don't want them,” I offered, as my voice shook like I was afraid to speak.

“I take it you like sweet potatoes?” Órfhlaith pointed, before silently volunteering to peel them with me.

“You don't?” For as many bags of potatoes there were, I couldn’t imagine them not knowing what to do with sweet potatoes.

“Never had it. To be honest, Cork doesn't have the climate for them. And a potato that's orange ain’t really good at convincing people that it goes good with Irish food.”

“I thought that everyone ate sweet potatoes,” I said, shrugging it off. Watching how Irish elder prepared their food, it was no wonder Cillian had had so many reservations about my food at first. “Cillian seems to like my cooking.”

“Let me tell you, I spent my entire childhood—damn near adulthood—cooking for four brothers and Cilly’s the least picky of them all. Don't know where he fits it all, but even when he was a runt, that one was always eating.”

Cillian didn't discuss his childhood much, but I never pushed him given his abuse. Still, it was nice hearing something wholesome about his past. It certainly suit the man that I had fell for.

“I have a hard time picturing Cillian small,” I gently beamed.

“I'm sure you do,” Órfhlaith winked, and I was almost positive we were not talking about the same thing.

Managing to finish the cobbler I had set, Órfhlaith didn’t give me much warning before she dragged me into an empty bedroom. Before long, she was insisting I sit on the floor with her, as she flipped through a photo album.

Órfhlaith didn’t stop until she stumbled upon those signature strawberry-blond curls, and I was humbled to see Cillian look so angelic. “Oh my.” I brought my hands to my mouth in disbelief. “Is that Cillian?”

“Yup. Just as spotted and as red tempered as he is today,” she said in jest, flipping through the pages with me.

Cillian looked so adorable, those big blue eyes filled with warmth and innocence. Then came a time where the warmth just…stopped. Bruised skin. Arms in casts. I'm sure while most of these pictures held fond memories, I couldn't help seeing past the smiling faces and notice what I was really looking at. Documentation of their most challenging times.

“I'm sure Cilly told you about Oisín.” Órfhlaith managed to read my quietness for over observance.

“I can't really judge. My Papa wasn't the kindest man either. I just feel like Cillian might have made different decisions if your father hadn't…” I stopped myself, remembering Cillian didn't share his past lightly. “I just think he would be a different man.”

“Cillian struggled a lot since he was so little. He was clinging to my leg by the time I was ten. I called him my little gremlin before he outgrew it.”

She hesitated before she went on, lingering on a photo of Cillian with a blond kid I assumed to be Paddy.

“I did my best to protect him and Paddy but…the younger you were, the tougher Oisín gave it to you. Perhaps if he had gotten that growth spurt earlier, it could have saved him a few years of beatings.”

No wonder Cillian was such a broken man. Even in his own home he hadn’t been safe. It was one thing to hear it from his own mouth, but a whole different thing entirely to hear someone confirm the worst of it. It made me grateful he still had enough good in him to be good to me.

“Who's this?” Pointing to another toddler with red hair.

“That’s my son, Eoghan. His father wasn't a ginger, so he definitely takes after my mother's side of the family.”

“Órfhlaith, this is going to sound like a silly question, but the only person I could have asked would have judged me for just being curious. Does having babies hurt?”

Órfhlaith’s face stretched into a grin, as not long after, laughter ensued. “Fuck yeah. And I'm forever grateful I'll never do it again. You're not pregnant, are you?”

“No,” I clarified. “But Cillian and me…talk about it.” In our own dark way.

“I'll put it like this. Nothing that feels as good as lovemaking, that also has the power to create a human being, can’t come without discomfort. But letting a man put a baby in you is more worth it when you love the dumb fuck.”

Which I did. Not that I would have called him a dumb fuck, but seeing a future with Cillian meant seeing children. But you couldn't ask questions like this from other women without them asking why you're asking.

“Would I be bothering you if I had another private question?”

“First she's quiet, now she can't shut up.” A sly smile etched at the corner of her face and all of a sudden, my nerve to ask was waning.

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