Page 1 of Twist of Fate
ONE
Aisling
PAST
“Did you see the butt on that boy?”
“What?”
My eyes widen as she motions to the front seat of the cab, where the boy in question—a man, thankfully—has his hands firmly on the wheel as he carries on like he can’t hear us.
“His butt, honey,” she reiterates in that same tone that she believes is a whisper but is more like a whisper…shout? Not subtle in the least. She holds up both hands in front of her and flexes her fingers like she’s squeezing a ripe, juicy melon. A soft chuckle floats back from the front seat.
I inwardly groan.
We’ve been in Ireland for less than two hours, and I already want to die of embarrassment. It’s my own fault, really. I’m the one who agreed to this vacation.
Six days and five nights.
On a cramped bus in Ireland.
With my mom, forty-some strangers, and a tour guide.
God, help me.
I shoot my mom a pleading look to stop with the butt talk.
“What?” She shrugs, giving up completely on her attempted whispering. The cab driver is now privy to this extremely embarrassing conversation. I guess it’s only fair. It’s his ass, after all. “I’m just pointing out the obvious. Ireland has a lot of handsome men.”
“I know what you’re trying to do.”
“I’m just saying…it could be good for you to have a bit of fun while you’re here. If I were still your age—” She goes on without any remorse, completely ignoring the shade of red my face has turned. Or the giant grin the cab driver has plastered on his face as he turns his head to look across the street.
“I came here to spend time with you, Mom,” I remind her. “It’s why you’ve been pestering me to come on one of these trips with you for so long, isn’t it? A little mother-daughter bonding time? Well, here I am.” I hold my arms out wide as if to prove my point further.
Her brow rose because we both knew that is not the whole reason I suddenly decided to jump on a plane and join her after turning her down about half a dozen times before. My mom travels a lot. She is a retired widow, and thanks to my late stepfather, she has more than enough money to spare. So when she’s not volunteering at the local animal shelter or practicing yoga at the YMCA, she’s usually traveling. And she loves these bus tours most of all. She’s been to more places than I can count and met so many people along the way. She even has her own Facebook group where all her friends from her travels can talk and stay connected.
Until a few months ago, I was content to let that part of her life stay solely hers. Why would I want to travel around a country on a bus when I was literally moving to one? I look down at my left hand, now completely bare. Even the tan line that used to be there has vanished. My thumb absently brushes over the spot before I even realize it.
I pull back, hating myself for feeling even an ounce of regret.
“And I’m glad you’re here,” she says, taking my hand in her lap. I turn, staring into the ocean-blue eyes that nearly match my own. “But just know I don’t mind if you need a little alone time here and there.” She waggles her brow in the direction of the driver like he’s some sort of male escort.Subtle, Mom. Thanks. “If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s survive on my own.”
“While I appreciate your rather odd but generous offer,” I say, giving her hand a gentle pat. “I assure you, there will be no need for any socks on the doorknobs during this trip.”
She laughs and thankfully lets the matter go, and we both settle into a companionable silence for the duration of the drive. The streets of Dublin blur as we drive through the heart of the city, over the River Liffey, and beyond.
I cannot believe I’m in Ireland. I know a lot of people probably have that thought when they get here, but for them, it is probably more of an “I can’t believe this lifelong dream of mine is finally coming true” and not an “I can’t believe I just threw a bunch of clothes in a suitcase and jumped on a plane because my mom told me to.”
She’s not normally so bossy, but over the last six months, my life has taken a turn toward raging dumpster fire territory, so I’m going to guess the concern was warranted.
Needless to say, when our cab starts running parallel with the ocean, I find myself more than a little confused. Other than the last-minute packing and digging my passport out of a box, I have not prepared for this trip in the least.
I look around and frown.
“Why are we at the beach? I thought we were staying in Dublin?”
“A lot of the tour companies pick hotels more in the heart of Dublin, but all the O’Connell Tours start just outside the city so they can take advantage of the views. I think it’s worth it.”
