Page 98 of An Irish Summer

“Are you trying to make me cry?” She made a dramatic show of wiping away tears, which made us both laugh. Then cry a little more. “People come and go here all the time, Chels. But you made yourself an institution.”

“Oh, stop.”

“I’m serious. It isn’t going to be the same here without you.”

“You’ll all be just fine,” I said.

“And will you?”

“Of course I will.”

“I’m going to pretend I believe you,” she said, “but you need to work on your acting.”

I swatted her arm, and she pulled me into another hug. “If you ever aren’t, you know where to find us,” she whispered.

“Thank you.”

“Good luck,amore mio.”

With one more squeeze she was out the door, and I was left standing tearfully in front of the empty wardrobe. It took everything in me not to crumple to the floor, but I had to keep moving. This was what I wanted.

When I arrived at the Wanderer a few months ago, I was already counting the minutes until I left. I would have jumped at the chance to bump my flight home a day earlier, but now that I only had a few hours between me and that flight, I’d have killed for an extra day. It was beginning to feel like I was convincing myself this was the right idea just as much as I was convincing everyone else, and an extra day to get my head on straight would have been a gift.

I took out my phone and pulled up the website for Hotel Blue, swiping through the gallery and reminding myself why it was my dream to work in a place like this. I thought of the events I could plan in their outdoor spaces and the kind of people I would meet. I thought of how inspired I’d be with the myriad of colors, tumbling plants, and the trendy stretches of patterned wallpaper. How much I’d enjoy working with the young, creative-looking people I saw in the photos. How I could find an apartment within cycling distance and maybe even ride to work.

My new life unfurled before me with a few swipes of my thumb, and I released a dramatic exhale. If I was going to prove this was the right decision, I needed to make it work.

By the time I was fully packed with alarms set for an ungodly hour of the morning, Lori appeared in my doorway the same way Flo had hours earlier: out of breath and a little teary-eyed.

“Chelsea, dear,” she said, holding me at arm’s length like an old relative she hadn’t seen in ages. “You’ve been such an asset to the Wanderer this summer. My sister wasn’t lying when she said you’d be irreplaceable.”

“Oh, please,” I said, fighting the blush creeping onto my face. “You’ll have someone new in no time.”

“Someone new, maybe, but no one near as good. Hard to find people who really embrace the spirit of this place, you know?” She shook her head, waving off her own words. “Though I’m sure that’s not helping you leave, is it? You’ll be grand in whatever you go on to do, Chelsea. I wish you all the best.”

“Thank you, Lori,” I said. “For giving me this opportunity. And for saying yes to all my last-minute plans.”

“I’ll miss those plans,” she said. “And I hope you know thereis always a place for you here if you change your mind. The Wanderer never forgets the good ones.”

Lori and I hadn’t spent much time together this summer, but she had never hesitated to send an encouraging email or drop a kind word when we passed each other in the lobby. She had a way about her that really made you believe every word she said, and that only made this conversation hurt more. Being trusted so thoroughly by someone who hardly knew me struck a chord deep in my chest.

Lars came by only a few minutes later, and I was more grateful than ever for his levity. We hugged, we laughed, we briefly reminisced, I thanked him for my training, and he was out of my doorway and off to a volleyball tournament before either of us could get too emotional. If only it could have been so easy with the others.

My only goodbye left was Collin. We hadn’t run into each other, and I had a feeling it was by design. We’d already said goodbye. Maybe I’d tied up my time at the Wanderer with a sloppy bow, and the only thing left to do was leave.

I shook the thought from my mind, remembering the words of the people I’ve met here and the constant urge to embrace how I felt. I couldn’t bring myself to just disappear.

I dug through my carry-on for the almost-empty journal, tearing out a page and sitting at my desk for the last time. After nearly twenty minutes of staring out the window and trying to determine what was left to say and exactly how to say it, I scribbled a note to Collin that I’d slide under his door on my way out.

My last night in the Wanderer passed much like my first: restless, anxious, unsure of what was ahead. I was awake when my alarm went off, staring mindlessly at the ceiling, but thatdidn’t make it any easier to get out of bed and take the necessary steps to the door. I reread the texts from Ada and my parents expressing their excitement to have me home, trying to psych myself up for the journey.

The sound of my door closing behind me was so final, I heard it rattling around in my brain for the long walk down the hallway. I stopped outside of Collin’s room to listen for the silence inside. He was still asleep, which I’d hoped for, so I slipped the note under the crack, dragged my feet down the stairs, and walked out the door and into the car waiting for me.

It wasn’t until we were halfway to the airport that I allowed myself to feel the weight of leaving Collin behind with nothing more than an awkward afternoon and a last-minute note, and before I knew it: I was the Girl Who Cries in an Uber.

And then: the Girl Who Cries in Airport Security, and the Girl Who Cries on the Plane. Every time I went through the mental montage of the summer—the picnic at Glendalough, the rain at the hurling match, spinning freely in Collin’s arms at the ceilidh, falling asleep to the sound of his voice—I broke my own heart all over again.

Sleep evaded me on the flight much as it had the night before, so I arrived home in a daze. Tired, uncertain, in need of both caffeine and a two-day nap. I only had to scan the passenger pickup area for a minute or so before I spotted my parents, waving frantically while people honked and shouted at them to get out of the way.

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