Page 79 of An Irish Summer

“What about Flo? We can’t just leave her.”

He wiggled his phone in the air. “She texted us in a group chat twenty minutes ago. Said she’ll meet us back at the hostel later but not to wait up.”

“She did?” I said, fumbling in my bag for my phone. When I took it out, it flashed the dead battery icon instead of the home screen.Shit.

“I’ll keep my phone volume on high in case she needs us,” he said, sensing my apprehension about leaving a friend at the bar with no way to contact her. “I’ve got her too. Not to worry.” He was becoming more attractive by the minute, and I needed to get out into the fresh air before I caught fire.

Collin stepped ahead of me, taking my hand in his and leading me out of the bar. His hand was warm but not clammy, and I held on tightly as we wove through the crowds.

The Temple Bar spit us outside into a much smaller throng of people crowded around barrels, smoking while they polished off the last of their pints. Collin extended his arm to me and I slipped my hand under his elbow, letting him guide us through the streets.

The chippy was just around the corner, and if he hadn’t pointed it out I never would have noticed it. It was nothing more than a window with a red-and-white-striped awning, and the lights inside were so dim it looked closed. This did not stop Collin, however, from greeting the single employee like an old friend.

While he ordered, I studied the block on either side of us. Young people dragged their drunken feet over the cobblestone; fluorescent signs blinked over pubs and minimarts. Buses turned tight corners with tired passengers leaning their heads against the windows. If I didn’t look in the direction of the river, I probably could have been convinced I was at home.

I used to be so certain I was only a city girl. Even a few days ago, I’d probably say I would always be more comfortable in the city. And eventually, in a suburb just a few minutes outside acity, where I would settle down for the rest of life. But surprisingly, I preferred Galway to Dublin. It was hard to hear myself think here, even after having left the bar, and I wondered if Boston would feel the same when I got home.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Collin asked, passing me a cardboard boat of fish and chips. The scent of malt vinegar wafted into my nose, making it impossible to resist popping a burning chip into my mouth.

While I chewed and contemplated what thoughts I was willing to share, I followed him to a spot on the ledge near the river Liffey.

The midnight water churned below our feet, carrying reflections of light on its journey through Dublin. For a second, I longed to be carried with them. To wind effortlessly on a dark path between the city and the country without having to decide which direction I should be going.

“It’s not that different from Boston,” I said eventually. “Dublin, I mean. This bit of the city kind of looks like home.”

“I thought the same when I first arrived in Boston,” he said. We both let out a laugh that was more of an exhale. “But does it feel like home?” he asked.

“Of course it doesn’t,” I said. “I still can’t figure out how to cross the street because of the traffic patterns, I miss Whole Foods almost as much as I miss my bed, and my family isn’t here.”

“Well, your blood relatives aren’t here,” he said. “There’s an important distinction.”

“What are you saying?”

“Just that family doesn’t only have to be people who share your DNA, that’s all. There can be all kinds of families, really.”

“And let me guess, the Wanderer is one?”

“You don’t have to guess,” he said. “You already know.”

We both took a bite and stared back at the water, watching the ripples form and disappear beneath our feet.

“It’s easy for you to say,” I said. “Of course the Wanderer is your family. You’ve been there since, when? You were a teenager?”

“Time spent does not measure family, Chels.”

For a reason unbeknownst to me, tears welled behind my eyes. I tried to place the feeling, but it was slipping through my fingers. It wasn’t quite homesickness. Nor was it anxiety about the future. I wasn’t sure they were sad tears at all.

“It’s just a different way of thinking,” Collin said in the silence, possibly in an attempt to assuage my emotional uprising. “It’s not as serious as it is in the States. We’re guided more by feeling here than by logic. So it doesn’t matter if someone istechnicallyyour family. It just matters if someonefeelslike your family. We let the heart lead the way.”

“Doesn’t that make things harder?”

“Nah, not in the slightest,” he said. I loved how his accent sounded any time he said a word with the letterhin it. “Much easier to trust your instincts. A bit of logic never did anyone any good, did it?”

“Abitof logic definitely does people some good.” I gave him a pointed look, refusing to believe he was suggesting we throw it entirely to the wind.

“That’s what got ya here then, is it?” He smiled. “Logic?”

I nudged him with my shoulder, and we lapsed back into silence. Conversations of passersby floated over our heads. A young couple kissed on the bridge nearby, and I averted my gaze for their privacy.

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