Page 49 of Twist of Fate
Good choice, dickhead.
“Sad?” I refocus on our conversation, not bothering to recreate the distance between us. There might be other creepers. She could stumble…
Even I know my excuses sound pathetic at this point.
“At first glance, viewing an ancient city wall that once protected a medieval town directly across from a J.Crew feels kind of…”
“Weird?”
“Yeah,” she agrees. I try not to focus on the way her cheeks dimple when she smiles or the faint pink hue that seems to permanently stain them whenever I’m around. “But I’m honestly just glad it’s still there, you know? In the US, they probably would have just torn it down or relocated it and then built a museum around it so they could charge an exorbitant admission fee and sell overpriced T-shirts.”
“I’m sure some people in the city would have jumped at that idea. Much like the rest of the country, tourism is paramount here. But they’re doing just fine. People love Galway.”
“I can see why. Up until now, I didn’t know much about it, other than Ed Sheeran wrote a song about a Galway girl and Claddagh rings came from here.”
“But, if you were paying attention to the walking tour, you know that’s not entirely true,” I tease.
The ring actually originated in a fishing village called Claddagh (hence the name), but since it was now within the city limits of Galway, everyone kind of lumped the two together.
“Which part? The song or the ring?” She glances at me, an amused grin tugging at her lips. Now she’s the one teasing me, following it up with, “I just remember thinking it was really romantic—the ring. Not the song. I always thought it would make a great…wedding ring,” she says, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink as she suddenly seems embarrassed. “But that was before I was single and apparently prone to oversharing.”
I laugh. “I like the rare moments when you overshare. I get to learn the most interesting things.”
“Learning I’m a little bitter isn’t interesting. That’s just sad.”
“No, it’s just real. And for your information, I know a lot of people who buy Claddagh rings for themselves.”
“Really?”
I nod. “Traditionally, if you’re ‘taken,’” I say, using air quotes for the last word, “you point the crown outward. If you’re single, you face the crown inward.”
“So, the crown points to the holder of your heart?”
I hadn’t thought of it that way, but— “Yeah, I guess, and to the person you’ve chosen for lack of a better word—your person. So, instead of being this sad declaration that you’re essentially ‘waiting’ for someone, it’s now a symbol of independence. That you’re choosing yourself.”
She appears to ponder this as we reach the entrance of the chemist. I pull the door open, and a bell rings above, signaling our arrival. The shopkeeper smiles from behind the counter and greets us as I guide us toward the back wall where the pharmaceuticals are located.
“Can I help you find anything, love?” the woman asks before I have a chance to point anything out to Aisling.
“Oh, um—I was looking for Advil,” she says, then corrects herself. “Ibuprofen or naproxen.”
The woman smiles again, fine lines appearing around her aged eyes. “I’ve had plenty of Americans come in. Not to worry, dear; I know what Advil is,” she assures her. “I have both. Which would you prefer? Naproxen lasts longer and works well for aches and pains. Not that I imagine you need to worry about that at your age.”
“The naproxen will work just fine,” Aisling says quickly. “Thank you so much for your help.”
Feeling completely useless in this endeavor, I trail behind her to the counter. She picks up a bottle of water and pays for everything, and soon we’re headed back.
The numerous sounds of the city surround us, but the heavy silence between us drowns them all out. Finally, after she opens the medication, takes two pills, and swallows a drink of water, she turns to me, a sheepish expression on her beautiful face. “Sorry,” she nearly whispers.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“I typically carry medication, but everything about this trip was last minute, and I forgot to throw a bottle in my carry-on. And with all the walking—I have rheumatoid arthritis,” she finally says. “I was diagnosed in college.”
I don’t know what I was expecting her to say, but it wasn’t this. I just figured she had a headache.
My mouth opens to form a response, but nothing comes out. I studied business and accounting at uni, and the only real exposure I’ve had to the medical world is a few broken bones and losing my grandparents when I was little. I try to comprehend the words she’s just thrown at me.Rheumatoid Arthritis. Isn’t arthritis something you get when you’re older? My granda had arthritis before he passed.
Rather than ask a dozen questions, I just stay silent and let her continue.
