Page 102 of An Irish Summer

“I just realized it wasn’t the dream I thought it was,” I said. “I was so concerned with getting back here to the life I thought I wassupposedto have that I didn’t even realize it was becoming less and less the life Iwanted. I know it sounds crazy. I really do. But sitting in that conference room, it just didn’t feel like my life anymore. It felt like someone else’s.”

“Wow,” she said, accompanied by a slow exhale. “You’re serious about this?”

“I know how it sounds,” I said. “But I am.”

“What does this mean for you and Collin, then?”

Goose bumps covered my body at the sound of his name, and I was relieved to finally see her smile. “Okay, first of all, you know this isn’t about him, right? I don’t want you to think I’m moving halfway across the world for a boy.”

“Of course not,” she said. “That’s more something I would do.” We both laughed. “But it is a perk, isn’t it? That there will be a gorgeous Irishman who loves you there when you get back?”

“I don’t know that he’ll be there. Or that he still loves me.”

“Because I’m a good friend, I’ll pretend to believe you.”

“Seriously, Ada. I mean, physically he will be, obviously.He’ll probably be at the Wanderer until end of days. But we didn’t end on a great note, so I’m not sure he’ll be thrilled to see me.”

“Okay, I can’t pretend anymore.”

“That was short-lived.”

“The man loves you, Chels. He spent all his days off this summer trotting you around a country you thought you hated, trying to convince you to love it. You didn’t end on a great note because he couldn’t bear to see you leave. He’ll be thrilled to see you. He’d be crazy not to be.”

My skin was crawling with anticipation. If I could have snapped my fingers and been back at the Wanderer in an instant, I’d have already been gone.

“Am I really doing this?”

“Leaving me, you mean?” she said. “Leaving your dear best friend behind?”

“Ada! Don’t do that, please.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Yes, Chelsea. You are doing this. And youcando this. And I’ll remind you of that every step of the way if that’s what you need.”

“How am I going to live across an ocean from you?” I said, fighting the prickly onslaught of tears.

“We made it through the summer, didn’t we? What’s another, you know, indefinite amount of time?” We tried to laugh, but I could tell she was fighting the same tears. “Chels, you are my sister. No stretch of ocean is going to make that any less true. We have technology, and I’ll come out to visit! If any friendship can withstand this, it’s ours.”

We were both freely crying now, but they weren’t just sad tears. We’d seen each other through every stage of life so far, and this was just another piece of our story.

“I never could have done any of this without you,” I said.

“Oh, stop. Give yourself some credit. You’ve done huge things here! You’ve taken risks, you’ve put yourself out there, you’ve trusted your intuition. I’m really, really proud of you, babe.”

“Thank you,” I sniffled.

“It’s an honor,” she said. “I canceled the rest of the meetings I had today. What do you say we go back to your parents’ house, order Thai from that place down the street, and get you ready to go?”

The relief of having Ada’s support, having someone beside me while I figured out my next step, was almost too much to bear. All I could do was nod.

“I love you,” I said eventually, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

“I love you more.”

I sniffled once more at the familiar refrain and pulled her into my arms. We laughed at ourselves, at the scene we were making in public, before paying the bill and heading in the direction of my parents’ house.

Ada and I spent the night much like we had two months ago, before I left for Ireland the first time. Only this one had none of the uncertainty, none of the anxiety, none of the fear. Galway was no longer the unknown.

Together, we ticked off everything on my checklist: call Lori and take her up on her offer to return, talk to my parents, book a five a.m. flight, gather my still-packed luggage, and spend one more night in Boston before I left on a new adventure.

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