Page 77 of An Irish Summer

“Easy enough. See you back down here in half an hour, then,” he said, heading to the downstairs bar, but not without a glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, girl, you’re never going to make that interview.” Flo laughed, shaking her head and watching me watching Collin.

“I don’t have a choice, remember?”

“There’s always a choice,cara.”

For a second, Helen O’Shea flashed into my mind.The choice is yours, Chelsea, she’d said to me when she slid me the pamphlet for the Wanderer moments after she pulled the rug out from under me. At the time, choosing the Wanderer felt like upending my entire life. But that didn’t mean choosing the Wanderer wouldalwaysfeel like upending my entire life. Maybe there could be a time when choosing the Wanderer would simply be choosing my life. But that time wasn’t today, and I had to do what I told myself I would do.

“Well, either way, I need to choose myself,” I said eventually, figuring that was the closest I could get to the truth. “And that means moving on with my life, which means doing this interview.”

“Anything else you plan on doing?” She glanced in the direction we had just watched Collin depart, and I groaned so loud I was sure they could have heard me back in Galway.

“Yes, actually,” I said. “I plan on getting ready and having a good time, so I don’t regret this trip altogether.”

“Let’s do it, then,” she said. “We can prep you for the interview while I do your hair.”

“Your arms are finally rested from last time?” I teased.

“Don’t remind me or I’ll change my mind. And by the looks of you now, you can’t afford for me to change my mind.” I gasped and she grabbed my arm, dragging me up the stairs and toward the room.

Flo was reminding me more of Ada by the day. Riling me up, calming me down. She was stepping into dangerous close-friend territory, and I was suddenly aware Collin wasn’t the only one it would be hard to leave.

Forty minutes later, we were ready to go. I glanced at myself in the mirror, marveling at Flo’s ability to create a salon-quality blowout in a hostel bathroom. She’d insisted her little black top would be perfect with the jeans I’d packed, and despite my protests, she was right. The asymmetrical neckline left one shoulder uncovered, which felt like just the right amount of exposure.

When we arrived back downstairs, Collin was sitting on a barstool with one ankle crossed over his knee, sipping a dark beer. I studied the faded ink on his ankles that I noticed the first night we met, wondering how it was possible he was ever a total stranger to me. Wondering what else about him would become this familiar by the time I left.

“It’s about time,” he said, swallowing the rest of the beer in one gulp as we approached.

“Seems like you kept yourself occupied just fine,” I said.

“Lucky you two are worth the wait.” He addressed us both but looked only at me. He wore a charcoal-gray shirt that changed the color of his eyes, turning them the same deep, stormy green as the Liffey.

The three of us made the short walk to the iconic bar together, winding down glistening side streets, under colorful awnings, and through groups of other twentysomethings looking for a good time. This corner of the city was so lively it was impossible not to get sucked in, and I could already feel the night taking hold.

As we turned the corner and the Temple Bar came into view, I was momentarily, unexpectedly stunned. I’d seen it in pictures, of course. It was one of the most famous bars in the world. But as I stood there on the cobblestones between Collin and Flo, staring up at its cherry-red exterior dripping in string lights, the reality of my circumstances set in.

I was in Ireland.Livingin Ireland. I had made a temporary home in a place people dreamed of going. A place people came to be inspired, to spend time in nature, to be healed. A place people came for adventure. A place with culture and history and stories older than America itself.

And I’d been hell-bent on resisting that magic. Sure, I’d seen and experienced some of the country, but had I really taken it in? Had I really been present, or had I spent this much of the summer with one foot out the door?

A combination of shame and embarrassment washed over me, leaving me as open and exposed as the windows of the bar. I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in the people inside; I practically skipped over the cobbles as I followed Collin and Flo through the doors.

Inside, the bar was as loud and energetic as I’d hoped. A large band crowded a small stage, and everyone on the floor seemed lost in the music. Bartenders and servers performed a choreographed dance through the tight crowds, carrying trays of shots, Guinness, and gin and tonics high over their heads.

I let my eyes roam greedily, admiring the traditional dark wooden beams and the clutter over every inch of the walls: photos, bunting, flags, postcards, coins, advertisements. I roamed the faces of patrons, from all corners of the world, clinking glasses and dancing to the sound of an electric fiddle. Eventually, my gaze landed on a bronze statue of a well-dressed man in the middle of the room. With his arms raised in the air and his head low, he looked how I imagined we’d all look after a few drinks tonight.

“Who is that?” I asked Collin as we made our way toward the bar.

“Aye, that bloke there? They call him the unknown drinker.”

“There’s just a statue of a random drunk man in the middle of the bar?”

“Of course there is,” he said. “You should know Ireland well enough by now not to be surprised.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

After Collin ordered us drinks (beer for him, gin and tonics for me and Flo), we took to the floor, milling around and finding a spot against the wall with a small ledge to rest our drinks.

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