Page 27 of Snowed In
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Impatient, are we?”
“Thirsty,” I correct. “A drink wouldn’t go amiss.”
“We’ll get there,” he says. “This is a multistep date.”
“What’s the first step?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He gestures to a building across the road, swiveling to face me as he slows his steps. At first, I think he’s joking.
“The Dead Zoo?”
“It’s open late tonight. They’ve got a special exhibition.”
“Of dead animals?”
“Of history,” he corrects. “Which also includes animals.”
The affectionately named Dead Zoo, otherwise more professionally known as the natural history part of the National Museum of Ireland, is an old Victorian building just off Merrion Square, housing an admittedly impressive collection of taxidermied animals, flora, fauna, and all manner of things. I’m pretty sure the last time I visited it, I was eight, and so I still think Christian’s kidding right up until he walks us through the doors and wanders off to pick up a leaflet.
Guess not.
Feeling overdressed, I pull my coat tighter around me and gaze up at the skeleton of what the little plaque tells me is a 10,000-year-old elk and then glance around the room. It’s pretty, I’ll give him that, with brass fittings and glass cases and dark polished wood floors that creak under my every step. What’s most surprising is that it looks like we’re not the only ones here on a date. Couples roam around the large ground floor, speaking to each other in hushed voices as they peer at the exhibitions, and I’m more than a little confused.
Whatever happened to dinner and a movie?
Christian comes up beside me, clutching a pamphlet behind his back, and I point to a particularly bloated-looking fox in a case next to us.
“That’s you.”
He doesn’t look impressed. “Let’s go find some sexier animals.”
“Like what?”
“Tigers,” he says like it’s obvious, and we head farther inside, passing bears and badgers and otters and gulls.
I try not to look too much at them, suddenly squeamish, but the extinct ones I can handle, and I pause beside a couple more skeletons of ancient Irish deer that look like they could eat me in one bite.
“You know,” Christian says conversationally. “One of those guys has an antler span of 3.5 meters.”
“Sounds like he’s overcompensating,” I quip, as I head down an aisle with a much prettier display of shells. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid,” I add, peering into one.
“I come here all the time,” Christian says. “Or at least since I got back.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Mam and Dad used to bring us whenever we came up to Dublin. I think it’s my favorite place in the city.”
Any snappy retort I was about to make quickly dies. “It is?”
“It’s peaceful, isn’t it?” He scratches the back of his neck, looking utterly sincere. “I guess I wanted to take you somewhere that meant something to me.”
Oh God. “Well, now I feel bad for my jokes.”
“You should.”
I sidle closer to him as another couple drifts past. “Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t know you were giving me insight into your soul.”
