Page 74 of An Irish Summer

“You what?!” People snapped their heads up to look at me, but I didn’t care. “Why didn’t you start with that?”

Ada laughed. “I don’t know, we were on your thing!” I felt like such an idiot for rambling on about a job and a summer fling while she was on the brink of engagement.

“So, he’s, like, about to propose then?”

“He’s trying to be coy. Pretending he just wanted to gauge my taste, that’s all. But I’m pretty sure he went right back to the jeweler with his credit card.”

“Holy shit,” I said.

“I know,” she said.

“It’s finally happening.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

“Please,” I said. “Ben’s been madly in love with you since freshman year. I hardly think he’s going to change his mind now.”

“You’re probably right,” she said. “Who would have ever thought we’d both find love?”

“Ada! Oh my god. I have not found love.”

“What was that? Sorry, you’re breaking up. Service must be spotty.”

“Don’t make me scream so loud someone kicks you out of the class.”

“You’d get kicked out wherever you are first,” she said. “Besides, getting kicked out of the class would be a dream.”

“Do it for your future sister-in-law.”

“Fine,” she grumbled, though I knew she was secretly thrilled by the phrase. “You do something for yourself then, yeah?”

“Fine.”

We blew kisses through the phone and promised to call soon before hanging up. With a morning of job applications looming over me, I found myself envying her yoga class. And I hated yoga.

I booted up the old computer, staring at my reflection as I waited for the home screen to load. My freckles had multiplied tenfold since I’d gotten here, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d styled my hair beyond my air-dried waves. At first, it was because there weren’t outlets in the bathroom here and the straightener cord didn’t reach from the outlet in my room to the tiny mirror in the wardrobe. But now, dare I say it was because my natural hair might have suited me after all?

Fortunately, before I had time to answer that, the screen blinked to life. No more excuses. I was caffeinated, I had aboost from my best friend, and I desperately needed to get my life back on track before I was out of time.

I returned to the Google search bar and typed the phrase “event planning + hospitality + manager + director,” then let my finger hover over the “B” for longer than necessary. I knew the next word in the search was Boston. It was a familiar search, bookmarked on my own computer, even, and there was no reason I should have hesitated before completing the phrase.

But I did.

I sat there for an extra second, weighing Ada’s words, letting my gaze wander around the café. I scanned the families, first dates, tourists. But it was the solo woman in the corner behind a laptop who caught my eye.

Most of her dark hair was pulled off her face with a plastic clip, and beside her laptop sat an empty mug, a notebook, and two different colored pens. Large headphones covered her ears, and she rested her chin in her hand, visibly lost in whatever she was reading on the screen. She was undoubtedly working, or maybe studying, and the longer I stared at her, the more I realized what I was doing; I was imagining myself in her shoes. I was imagining myself in Galway, coming to the café in town to get some work done, maybe running some errands, meeting a friend for dinner, doing the kinds of things I did in Boston.

Then I thought again about Ada’s words, and while she was right that maybe I could be happy in two places, I couldn’tbein two places. I typed “Boston” at the end of the search bar and scrolled through the results.

A “guest services” position at a Four Seasons caught my eye, but only for long enough to force me back into a contemplative spiral. I didn’t even want to go into corporate hospitality, did I? I’d loved O’Shea’s because I was flexible in my work, and I knewI wouldn’t have the same at a big corporation. But Iwouldhave significantly more money, which would probably mean a nicer apartment and maybe even a chip at my student loans.

I wrote and rewrote my cover letters, customizing each for the job descriptions and poring over every word. Sure, event planning and hospitality might have been my “passion,” and I was definitely keen on “improving communities,” but did I really care about “exposing the magic of the greater Boston area”?

Beyond the first sentence, was my entire cover letter a lie? Was everything I’d been telling myself about what I wanted in a job a lie?

This morning had really gotten away from me.

In my last cover letter of the day, I tried to be more truthful. I tried to get to the root of what I was looking for in a job. How it felt to provide people with an experience that would change them in some way. Something that would bond them, challenge them, inspire them. How it felt to bring an idea to life, to know people are enjoying an experience I created for them.

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