Page 76 of An Irish Summer

“How am I supposed to interview after a night out?” I groaned, grasping at straws.

“I’ve seen you after a night out, Chelsea. You can interview in that state. Frankly, you could interview in any state, and they would be crazy not to offer you the job.” He softened his voice, making a decent pitch at sincerity.

“You think flattery is going to convince me?”

“Is it working?” He reached out to push a piece of hair behind my ear, but I swatted his hand before he had the chance. “Ah, come on, Chels!” he pleaded. “You gotta come. It’ll be minus craic without ya. We’ll make sure you’re all set for the interview.”

“Oh, please,” I said. “You’d be the first to sabotage the interview.”

He made an X over his heart with his pointer finger: a wordless promise. “Listen, do I think it’s ridiculous that anyone would leave this for American city life? Absolutely. But you really think I’d ruin something you care about?”

“You’re really turning on the charm here, aren’t you?” I crossed my arms if only to resist the urge to reach for him and bridge the gap between us.

“I’ll turn it off if you agree.”

“Bullshit.”

“Guilty.”

We exchanged smiles in the fading sunlight of my bedroom: his, suggestive; mine, reluctant. I weighed the circumstances. A good night’s sleep was out of the question, but he was right about my ability to rally after a night out. I would have to finishmy preparations from the car, which wasn’t impossible, and I was now a pro at getting ready in a hostel bathroom. It was ridiculous, but he was also right about it being my only chance. Which was something that mattered to me now, apparently.

“One condition,” I said.

“Anything.”

“I’m riding with Flo.”

By the time we arrived in Dublin, I needed a drink. I’d spent the ride doing last-minute preparations, and I was feeling more unsure about the interview by the minute. And if I was still trying to convince myself it was a good idea, I had a feeling a night out in Dublin was going to do the opposite.

I contemplated asking Flo for advice, but I already knew what she would say. And I wasn’t sure I was willing to put a point on theIrelandside of the board right before an interview. Maybe I should call my mom. She wouldn’t entertain the idea of staying in Ireland for a second. It would be all Boston, and all business, and I could use that energy before the interview. I made a mental note to call her later, which would also hold me accountable not to drink too much.

Flo found parking in a dingy garage not far from the hostel with Collin and the rest of the gang pulling in behind us. Lars had to work tonight, and I didn’t recognize the others who climbed from the back of Collin’s truck, so I’d have to rely on Flo to keep me in check.

As we walked in the direction of the hostel, Collin dropped back so the two of us lagged behind the group.

“That’s Reg, the one with the uncle,” he said, indicating a guy with a buzz cut. His arm was linked with the woman next to him, and Flo seemed to have already met them both.“There should be one more car following behind, and then that’s everyone.”

I made a noise to confirm I heard his voice, but I wasn’t entirely focused. As Dublin unfurled beyond the parking garage, I began to realize what I was getting myself into. The city was more Boston than Galway, and I was at once at home and overwhelmed.

I hadn’t been away from home for very long, but the size and scope of the city intimidated me in a way cities never had before. Was I already losing my edge? And if so, how badly did I want it back?

“This here is the Ha’Penny,” Collin said as we approached a bridge, pulling me from my thoughts. “First iron bridge in the country. Used to cost a ha’penny to cross.”

I was tempted to tease him as he turned on his Tour Guide Voice, but the echo of his accent over the water changed my mind. It was melodic, and I remembered that many come to Ireland to be inspired. People came to the Wanderer and to Collin to be inspired. As much as I tried not to admit it, he had a way of making people see Ireland the way he did. Myself included.

The hostel stood three stories tall and was unusually thin, sandwiched between an old pub and a cheap sushi restaurant. Curated graffiti splashed across the brick exterior, and a neon sign not unlike ours welcomed us above the door.

As we filed into the lobby, we were greeted by Reg’s uncle. The man welcomed us to Dublin, told us we would be sharing a twelve-bed mixed dorm, then said a handful of other things that got lost in his accent.

“Did you get a word of that?” Flo whispered to me in the back of the group.

“Not one,” I said. “You?”

“Niente.”

“Breakfast is from seven to nine, we should make use of all the amenities, and the Wi-Fi password is on the room key,” Collin whispered. “Anything else I can do for you ladies?”

“Yeah, make yourself busy so we can get ready,” Flo said, pretending to toss her hair over her shoulders.

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