Page 46 of An Irish Summer

“If you say ‘other’ it makes it seem like I’m his usual woman.”

“Well, you want to be, don’t you?”

“No,” I said, “youwant me to be.”

“I only ever want what’s best for you.”

“And without having ever even met him, you’ve decided a random hostel tour guide in Ireland is what’s best for me?”

“It’s the most you’ve ever talked to me about a guy in a long time, and he seems to make you happy, when he isn’t making you insane, of course. But even when he is making you insane, when was the last time a man made you insane?”

She had a point. Men didn’t make me insane. In fact, they did the opposite. They all but bored me to death, to be honest.

“What’s insane is the idea of pursuing this at all,” I said. “He’s obviously just interested in whoever is the newest face to come through here, and at the end of the day he lives in Galway and I live in Boston, so what’s the point?”

“Last I checked you also live in Galway.”

“Temporarily,” I reminded her. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said. “In fact, I might just come live there with you.”

“Which would be great, if I actually lived here. But it’s just a visit. Which is why getting involved with Collin is stupid.”

“A summer fling is never stupid. Men with lots of tattoos and messy hair who make good cocktails and take you on picnics to parks with lakes are not stupid.”

“Men are always stupid,” I said.

“Ireland has made you cynical.”

“Boston made me cynical.”

“All the more reason to give Ireland a chance, then,” she said.

“And by Ireland you mean Collin,” I said.

“Bingo.”

“We don’t even know if he’s interested,” I whispered, suddenly nervous he might have come back from the bar and could hear me from his room. Then I remembered he probably wouldn’t be alone if that was the case, which made me want to crawl out of my own skin.

“Chelsea, please,” Ada said. “He tells you fairy stories. What man tells romantic fairy stories to a woman he isn’t interested in?”

“An Irishman,” I said. “It’s a thing here. But even so, maybe his interest in me isn’t the issue. Maybe the issue is he’s also interested in everyone else.”

“Maybe he’s trying to make you jealous.”

This thought had floated into my mind for a fraction of a second at Blackrock, then again in the bar, but I had snuffed it out like a flame. It was wishful thinking at best and embarrassingly delusional at worst.

“I doubt it,” I said. “He wouldn’t go through the trouble.”

“Have a little faith, Chels.”

“Even if I did, now what am I supposed to do?”

“Make a move, duh.”

“Easy for you to say,” I said. “You aren’t here. And you haven’t seen the other woman.”

“No, but I have seen you,” she said. “And I know that the ‘other woman’ couldn’t hold a candle, regardless of how she looks.”

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