Page 82 of Weekends with You

We’d been strategically avoiding the “what are we” conversation that plagues every new relationship, but since we had agreed to take it slow, I tried not to push it. I had a feeling, however, that Ireland would force our hands.

“What choice do I have?” I said to Renee. “But I’m sure it’ll be grand. I’ve been dying to see Henry, and I think things are actually going well for us.” I knocked on the wooden worktop, just in case I’d jinxed it. “Then again, usually as soon as things start going well, they immediately go to shit, so who’s to say what this weekend has in store, really?”

“Glad to see your attitude has changed,” she said. “Havinghope is part of being generous with your heart, you know. Allowing yourself to see the best instead of expecting the worst.”

“Any other parting wisdom, fairy godmother?” I asked.

“Watch yourself,” she said, opening and closing the pair of shears in her hand. “I’ll cut that tongue right off.” I pretended to zip my mouth closed with my fingers, and she nodded her approval. “Go have fun, pet,” she said. “Try to enjoy the weekend. Don’t get so caught up in what is supposed to be or what might be or what was. Try to just focus on whatis.”

“Easier said than done,” I said. “But for you, I will try.”

“You should try for yourself, you know.”

For reasons I was grappling to find, heat pricked the back of my eyes. Did I try anything for myself, or was doing things for other people my default? Didn’t I deserve to enjoy this weekend just for me? Would I have even had that thought if Renee hadn’t said it?

“You’re right,” I said.

“I always am.” She offered a soft smile, her head cocked and her kelly-green glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“Right, then. I guess I should be going.”

“It’s about time.”

“Call me if you need anything. We’ve done some stuff for Vivienne before so she shouldn’t give you any trouble, but let me know if she does.”

“For the last time, I’ll be fine.”

I took a deep breath when I got out onto the sidewalk, trying to exhale the stress of my job so I could focus on the weekend ahead. Because we were going to Ireland, I was certain we would see all four seasons in a day, but the warmth of the spring sun in London was enough to restore my excitement and make the weekend seem a bit more promising. I could shed my nerves with the cool breeze and turn my face to the sun for once.

Since we were all running on different schedules as we closed out the workweek, we had decided it’d be better to meet at the airport instead of trying to convene at the warehouse first. I’d brought my luggage with me to work so I could leave without stopping at home.

I was thankful for the time alone on my ride to the airport, but by the time I arrived, I was ready for my noisy roommates to interrupt my endless overthinking. We had just enough time for a pint at a crowded bar before we had to board, and my body welcomed the alcohol to steady my nerves.

“Are you excited to see Hen?” Raja whispered to me on the plane as we squeezed down the narrow aisle looking for our seats.

“I’m nervous,” I said. “What if it’s, I don’t know, what if it’s different in person?”

“Judging by how it usually seems in person, I think you’re going to be just fine,” Liv said, joining the conversation. The three of us found our seats, just across the aisle from Margot and Cal and in front of Jan and Finn.

“I hope you’re right,” I said to Liv.

“And I hope you and Henry aren’t going to christen my parents’ brand-new bed-and-breakfast,” Finn said from his seat behind me. Apparently, I needed to be talking at a pitch only dogs could hear if I didn’t want everyone weighing in on the conversation.

“No one’s having a shag anywhere,” I said, though a minuscule part of me hoped that wasn’t true.

We settled in for the flight, each of us occupying ourselves with a book, music, a nap, more alcohol, or idle, mindless chatter. I let a playlist called Cruising Altitude lull me to sleep, hoping my nervous energy would disappear into a REM cycle.

Henry had texted while we were in the air to say he wasonly about thirty minutes behind us. My stomach turned itself over the way one might flip an omelet, which was quite distracting, given the silence of the Irish countryside.

The only sound that rippled through the expanse of land was that of our luggage rumbling along the unpaved paths. Finn had warned us that an Uber couldn’t pull directly up to the B and B, but could “get right close.” We quickly learned that Finn’s definition of “right close” was at least a 20-minute trek across neighboring farms on muddy, overgrown paths. I wondered how this would affect business but refrained from voicing my concerns aloud. Liv was doing enough whining for all of us, and the last thing we needed was more negativity.

When the B and B came into view, I had goose bumps for reasons that had nothing to do with Henry. It was even more brilliant than it looked in pictures. A traditional rectangular structure, the building boasted high brick walls smothered in wild ivy. Hidden lights illuminated the B and B as the sun set, casting the entire property in a warm glow. The garden stretched out of sight in all directions, and the air smelled of sweet primroses and freshly cut grass. Each window of the B and B held a small candle, like a storybook, and a wildflower wreath covered most of the front door. It was magical.

“Deadly, innit?” Finn said from the porch, watching us all admire the estate in silence.

“It’s like a property fairy tale,” Liv said, leaving her bad mood behind on the path.

“Told ya,” Finn said. “Let’s get inside and meet Mum and Da, then I can show you to your rooms and give you a proper tour.”

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