Page 5 of An Irish Summer

“And isn’t Galway a city?” she added when I didn’t say anything. “Not like Boston, maybe, but it isn’t like you’re going to be in the middle of nowhere.”

All I did was groan in response. I supposed she had a point there too.

“I guess it would be an easy way to avoid a gap in my résumé,” I ventured.

“That’s the spirit! What else?”

If you gave Ada an inch, she would take a mile. And frustrated as I was, I couldn’t deny her energy was working.

“Uh,” I fumbled, “it would also diversify my experience and make me seem more flexible?”

“Attagirl!”

I leaned into the building momentum. “And it’s definitely aplan, even if it isn’t my long-term plan. It’s a job and housing. That’s what I need right now, so I can’t exactly complain. And I’ll probably learn some transferable skills that will make me more marketable to a wider variety of jobs, which will benefit my career in the long run.”

“Maybe a little too practical for my taste, but yes!” She chuckled, and I was surprised to find I did too. Ada was a romantic, the spontaneous, freewheeling kind, but she’d never beenanything but supportive of my goals, career and otherwise. She may not have been a planner herself, but she recognized how important it was to me. “I know it isn’t ideal, Chels,” she said, softening her voice a little. “I know how much you love a plan, and I know you hoped to be promoted at O’Shea’s. But I don’t think moving to Ireland is the worst option. Maybe not your first choice, but I really think this’ll be good for you. And somewhere deep down, I think you do too.”

This was the problem with having the same best friend your entire life. She always knew exactly what I needed to hear, but I couldn’t hide anything from her. She knew what I was thinking even before I did, and unlike me in this moment, she was brave enough to say it out loud.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to unravel the knot of emotion constricting my throat. “You’re right.”

“Always am. So, it’s settled, then?” she asked, returning to her usual tone. “Because I just walked into Whole Foods and need to focus. I don’t want to hear Ben complain again about how bad I am at grocery shopping.”

Was it settled? Could it really have been that easy?

“Chels?” she prompted when I didn’t respond right away.

“It’s, uh, yeah,” I said, but my voice was breathy and a little manic. “I guess it is? And Ben’s right. You are terrible at grocery shopping.”

“Only someone as type A as you two would think grocery shopping was something you could be bad at. But I’ll attribute your temporary insanity to the aftermath of having just made a huge decision. Anyway, call me later so we can discuss what you’re packing!” Before I could even respond, she hung up.

And that was that.

I fished the brochure from my tote, squinting at it in thesemidarkness of my apartment. Only the string lights around the window were on, accompanied by a few candles on the coffee table, but it was enough.

The glossy photo on the cover depicted a smiling group of backpack-clad travelers in the entryway of the hostel, arms slung around one another like old friends. I flipped it open, catching key phrases in the same bold green font from the cover:seasonal work, make lifelong friends, explore all Ireland has to offer.

I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying to stop the room from spinning. I wasn’t really going to do this, was I? Even as I asked the question, I knew the answer. I needed a plan, and here it was. Temporary, maybe, but as the benefits began to outweigh the drawbacks, the decision was clear as day.

I was moving to Ireland.

Chapter 3

“I’m so glad you decided to do this,” Helen said, standing beside me in the empty space that used to be my apartment. “I think you’re going to love the Wanderer. It’s even more charming than it is here,” she whispered. “Not that I’d ever admit that to Lori.”

“It’ll definitely be an adventure,” I said, because that was what people said about leaving the city for the country, wasn’t it?

“It’s going to be great. I spoke to my sister this morning, and they’re thrilled. The current receptionist is leaving tomorrow, so Lori will be able to turn the room over in the next few days and have it ready for you when you arrive at the end of the week. It might not be your own apartment, but it’s really cozy.”

The end of the week. The end of this era, and the start of the next. I was moving in slow motion while everyone was bustling to get ready around me. Helen’s sister, Lori, was scrambling to turn over one of the staff rooms above the hostel; Ada had forced me to go shopping nearly every day this week; my parents were hustling to help me get the entire contents of my apartment into storage. Yet it felt impossible to believe I was actually leaving.

“And I really get to live there without paying rent?” I asked again, still in disbelief.

“The seasonal workers all do,” Helen said. “That’s why the pay is so low. You’re mostly compensated for the accommodation. And the property has a gym, laundry on-site, a few common areas for socializing and recreation, a bar, and a small restaurant space, so it’s really quite a nice arrangement.”

That was more than I could have said for O’Shea’s, I supposed. Not only would I be saving on rent, but I’d be saving on extortionate gym fees, and I’d have more than one room to hang out in if I needed a change of scenery. It wasn’t all bad.

But still, it wasn’t this. My now former apartment was so empty even the sound of our breathing echoed off the bare walls. Gone were the antique lamps I used in place of the overhead light, the stacks of books I had wedged in every available corner, the colorful collection of candlesticks that cluttered the coffee table. A faint urge to cry pricked the back of my eyes, but a deep breath and a shake of my head was enough to suppress the tears.

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