Page 61 of Cillian

“Well, let me just help myself before there's nothing left.” Bellamy reached over, before he and Paddy got into a swearing match about how much was appropriate to take so other parties can consider a piece.

“Holy fucking shit. What the hell was in this, cocaine?” Paddy accused, before every man at the table began reaching for a portion leaving nothing but a clean dish in its wake.

This would have been a good thing had the desserts left behind hadn't been all the Irish ones considering how many women had slaved on them for hours in the kitchen.

It hadn't been an intention of mine to cause jealousy or resentment, but when a younger woman—possibly a cousin chose to ask questions, it was clear that I had.

“What do they call that where you're from?” Her accent light and understandable.

“I'm actually from Boston.” Curious to know why she assumed that I would be from somewhere else. “But it's just a sweet potato cobbler. Real simple one if you ask me, I just saw no one was using them. And in my old home, we didn't waste something as good as a sweet potato.”

“As far as I'm concerned, only sweet things worth making a dessert out of are pecans and fruit. But I'm Irish so what do I know?” She ended with a hint of passive aggression.

Cillian squeezed my hand under the table like he anticipated her to not stop there and he wanted me to prepare for it. So when she continued, I wasn't caught off guard.

“Which when you do have kids, there goes that strong Irish blood. But I suppose there's always cobbler, right?” She snarkily snapped, unprovoked.

I knew not everyone would take to the idea of me being added to their family. In the same situation, I had a few uncles that wouldn’t be quite as warm toward Cillian in a similar first meeting. I just hoped that there could be peace the first Sunday dinner Cillian had since his mother died.

“Well, if it ain't Fiona, the woman with the most to say and the least to show for it. Nobody asked you, but when Queenie and me do have kids, regardless of what their blood is, they'll still be Sullivans. And you'll still be miserable and alone.”

“Fuck off, Cillian?—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, we can’t even have a nice dinner. Can’t you two save that for some other time?” Órfhlaith interrupted, fed up considering all the work she put behind this.

“Aim that shit at her. She’s the only one with a problem.”

“It’s not my fault little Cilly can’t take a fucking joke?—”

“Not when it comes to my wife!” Cillian shouted over her. My attempt at squeezing his hand didn’t go over as well as when he’d done the same for me.

“It’s okay, Cillian,” I said in an effort to calm him down.

“No, it's not fucking okay. Don’t pretend as if my wife had had a choice, that she’d choose to be here. But she didn’t, and I’m doing right by her, so the least all of you can do is keep your mouth shut.”

With that, things got visibly tense, as it didn’t take long for Órfhlaith and Bellamy to join in the argument. Silently, I was able to excuse myself, but it would really be nice if I wasn’t the cause of every situation that started like this.

Cillian didn’t give me long to get comfortable in the kitchen before he popped his head back inside. “Hey, Queenie. Why did you leave?”

“Cillian, don't be obtuse. You know that was uncomfortable for me.” Cillian erased some of the distance between us, taking my waist in each hand.

“I know but I'm not gonna let anyone disrespect you. Not even family. And I handled it. All this really started because everyone was passing over Fiona’s dry ass soda bread.”

“Everything alright in here?” Órfhlaith surprised me by checking in.

“Yes, thank you for asking. If you don't mind, I could use some time to myself. Being in such a foreign environment, even if it is family. It's a lot to process. I just didn’t want to be rude?—”

“You don’t have nothing to explain to me. If you need a minute. An hour. Take all the time you need, just come back. And bring a less argumentative Cillian back with you,” she demanded, before offering one of her spare bedrooms to rest.

Given the first impression that I had given Órfhlaith my first time meeting her at her shop, after taking off my shoes, I had no plans to do more than clear my head. Cillian’s intention was to be forever fresh, but when he realized he wasn't getting more than a kiss and a cuddle, he started to behave.

“I was just trying to defend you more. You know? Without hitting someone,” Cillian defended.

“I know, Cillian. But it doesn't mean I want you to scream at people either. Not that I expect a house with kids to be quiet. But a part of me wants to know every problem solved won't be through anger or violence.”

“I'm sorry, Queenie. Seems like I can't do nothing right when it comes to you.” His eyes sad and guilt ridden.

“Don't say that. I just know there's a man in there that solves problems with patience. Not fear or intimidation.”

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