Page 62 of Cillian

“I swear, it's hard to be a good man to you. You're like the poster for walking virtue and I'm just as bad as they come. Maybe worse. But I want to be better than my Pa was. I loved him, but I was always so fucking scared of him. Only thing he ever really gave me was nightmares and a pocket watch. And I lost that.” As he pulled out the plain one from his pocket that didn’t hold quite as much sentimental value.

“I’m the youngest, so I’m used to being picked on. Sometimes I can't help it when I'm feeling picked on, my true self comes out.”

Sitting up, I clasped his hands together in mine. “Well, I feel like the person I love has two sides to him.”

“Oh yeah?” He smiled, suddenly optimistic.

“And I look forward to the gentle one raising our future kids.”

“I guess I'll look forward to that too. Two or three little weans running around the penthouse?—”

“No, not the penthouse. A penthouse isn’t very homey. And what is a wean?”

“It's a nickname for kid. And what you mean the penthouse ain't very homey. We live in it, don’t we?”

Sitting back down to lay on him, my head made a home on his chest. There, I could listen to the combination of his breathing and heartbeat. “Yeah, but I always imagined when I became a parent, living in a house with a backyard. With swings and plenty of space for kids to run out all their energy.”

“So, my girl wants a car? She wants to house?” he said, ticking off both with his fingers. “I wonder what else my girl wants.”

“My sweet husband,” I reassured him, leaning in for a kiss on the nose.

Leaning out, Cillian bore his deep-set blue at me. “It’s always gonna be me and you against the world, baby. Me and you.

***

By the time Cillian and me had returned to the patio, music and mischief filled the backyard, and I was surprised at how lively Irish folk moved their feet to the music. Fiddles and flutes, bagpipes and accordions, resulted in a signature sound that made up Irish folk music.

Despite being dangerously out of place, it was a wonder to be a spectator. I had never seen white people dance like this. Cillian encouraged me to come closer to all the sights and sounds, as it wasn't long before he was aggressively clapping to the music along with everyone else.

Órfhlaith skipped up to her brother, strangely more enthusiastic than I was used to with her, shouting over the music. “Did you figure yourself out?” she asked, as she pulled at Cillian’s wrist.

“Yeah, I'm good?—”

“Then come dance with me!” Órfhlaith attempted to pull him towards the center, as it didn’t take long before his family aggressively encouraged him to dance. From my experience with Cillian, he hadn't been in much of a dancer, so imagine my surprise when he moved in step with Órfhlaith and the music.

Cillian had looked so animated and filled with pride, much in a way I had never seen him before. It was like his feet didn't need to be told what to do, as no move he made ever fell out of step.

Most times when I saw white people dance, it was pretty tame or just digestible versions of what we did, but the way Irish people danced? I didn't even have words for it.

“This sure used to look different when he was a runt!” someone yelled over the music, suggesting that he had always been able to dance this well.

In time, partying like a traditional Irish man, Cillian had overextended himself, too unfit to drive on his own with the spirits he had consumed. I could have taken him myself, but when Órfhlaith offered the hospitality of staying the night, it meant I wouldn’t have to lug a six-foot tall Irish man up to a penthouse apartment.

“Down you go.” I helped Cillian out of his clothes to get him comfortable on the bed in the spare room.

“I swear, getting muscular legs out of pant legs is the absolute worst,” I said to myself, struggling to bring his trousers past his generous thighs and butt.

“You should get naked with me,” he drunkenly teased, as I pushed him down on the bed.

“And you shouldn't have had so much to drink. And where do you get off telling me you couldn't dance? Got me looking like a fool.”

“Queenie, I never said I couldn't dance. I just said I didn't dance like you,” he defended.

“Okay, smart alec.” I pressed a finger to his forehead and pushed him down until he put his head back on the pillow. “I'm going to ask your sister if she has some extra clothes.”

Gathering his dirty clothes, I went in search of a hamper, but ran into Órfhlaith, who had already had the same thought.

“I'm sorry,” I said, as we bumped into each other in the hallway.

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