Page 11 of Heart Strings
She’s right. What Aidan does with his own body shouldn’t bother me. But two years after our breakup, my resentment still burns hot. Unfortunately, so does my attraction. I need to focus on whatever makes him less appealing. Right now, all I have is the lack of authenticity. Lark can pry it out of my cold fingers. “He’s not the guy I fell for anymore.”
Lark stares at me, her lips pursed.
“What? Stop looking at me like that.”
“You never got over him. I knew it…”
“It was just a six-month fling,” I lie to both of us.
As delicious as our vacation three-night-stand had been, I didn’t expect more with Aidan. I’d worked too hard and come too far to risk getting distracted and washing out of med school. But once I relocated here for the Atlantic Bridge study abroad program, we kept running into each other. Every interaction with Aidan crackled with the knowledge of just how well we’d harmonized in bed. How easily our conversations had flowed, how satisfying it felt to make him laugh. How talented he is. The way this confident man had become tongue-tied after our first kiss.
I couldn’t get him out of my head.
After a few group outings with Lark and Callum at the Hare’s Breath, he asked me for coffee. We talked about our ambitions and passions for hours. Some guys are intimidated by intelligent women, but Aidan never made me feel like I needed to dull my shine for his sake. He learned about my family’s culture instead of fetishizing my heritage. One latte soon became a standing date at the café down the street from the solicitor’soffice where he worked at the time, his dimpled smile the brightest spot of my day amid brain-melting lectures and exams.
Before long, I was counting down the hours until our penciled-in dinners and Aidan’s performances, spending the night at his place more often than not because for once I wanted someone’s company more than I wanted quiet.
Suppers with his family came next. Although they didn’t have much, they welcomed me with open arms and offered me a seat at their table; made me feel like I belonged. I’d thought maybe Aidan and I could be forever. We were together just long enough for it to feel right. Long enough for my world to be rocked when he told me he was leaving to pursue his musical dreams without me.
Lark scoffs. “I know things ended badly, but it was more than a fling.”
I don’t need him, but I have missed him. Or at least I’ve missed the guy I thought he was. Mercifully, she ignores the fact that I haven’t directly answered her accusation.
“Hey,” Lark says. “Since we’re on the subject of men you don’t want at my wedding: Your dad finally RSVP’d ‘no’ today.”
Equal parts relief and disappointment twinge in my chest even if we hadn’t expected him to make the trip out to Ireland. Traveling cross-country as a tech consultant keeps him busy. Growing up, he was often absent from milestones. He made it to my high school graduation but missed my last day of chemotherapy. When I tearfully rang the “last treatment” bell as my mom and doctors looked on with bittersweet pride, he was on the other side of the country. It was hard to forgive him for that one, even though I now understand it was his tireless work keeping us afloat.
“It’s not that I don’t want my dad there. It will just be less complicated with only one parent to deal with. Our moms will already be kind of a handful.”
“Amen to that,” Lark agrees.
Eager to see me and my dad smooth things over, Lark had made sure it was all right with me before inviting him. He is her uncle, after all. Before he’d become all but absentee, he’d been a part of her life, too. Fireworks and cookouts for the Fourth of July (any excuse to set something ablaze and grill carne asada and fajitas, really), Nochebuena celebrations that ran late into the night every December. He hadn’t always had to sacrifice time with the family to cover my medical expenses. Everything changed when I got sick, and it’s never been the same between us since.
“Probably for the best, right?” I say. “At least my mom will be relieved he’s not there.”
“I don’t know. Forgiveness is powerful.”
Her words pluck a string in my heart that I’d rather ignore.
Chapter 7
Aidan
Crisp notes ofmy mandolin reverberate through the funeral home where Lark and Callum live. Floral arrangements crafted by Saoirse provide a pleasant scent and add a bit of color to the traditional décor. We play in the parlor after hours because it’s more practical than moving Callum’s piano to Saoirse’s flat.
Really, the only downside of playing here is that Lo lives directly next door. I know she’s rarely home but being so close to her flat feels familiar in a way that makes me ache.
“It was a…bold move,” Saoirse replies, rosining her bow as I recount what happened after I followed Cielo out of our impromptu show at the Hare’s Breath.
Stealing Lo’s kebab right out of her hand might not have been my finest moment, but I have no regrets. Getting a rise out of her is preferable to being treated like a stranger. And besides, slagging people off is practically a love language. I quite like her abuse.
I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if she was suddenlyfawning over me. With Lo, you know where you stand, which is refreshing considering these days most people want my attention to raise their own profile. Except for Callum and Saoirse, who couldn’t care less. Callum hates attention and refuses to perform for an audience at the pub, only for mourners and at these private jams.
Lark strolls in with a tray of biscuits that smell delicious. She stops by the piano and pops one into Callum’s mouth, then offers some to Saoirse. I extend my hand with a thanks, and she pulls the tray away.
“Are you messin’ with my cousin?” she asks. Cielo has definitely told her about our encounter.
“I mean, I enjoyed taking the piss when I saw her.”
