Page 77 of Snowed In
“You’re not having fun?” I joke, but he doesn’t smile.
“No,” he says, and that’s that.
“It’s fine, Cormac,” Christian says behind me. He tries to wave his accidental assailant off, his attention on me, but I just mouth a goodbye as we head to the door.
Jason offers a limp wave, and from the corner of my eye, I see Sophie step toward us, but whatever she wants to say, Aidan doesn’t let me hear it, guiding me through the pub and out of sight.
* * *
The next morning, I sit at the kitchen island with my brother, who’s beingextranice to me. Despite the other night being an unmitigated catastrophe, it also kind of wasn’t. Hannah didn’t seem to think I was the worst person in the world anymore, and Aidan finally opened his eyes to the fact that not everyone was pleased to have me home. Which is probably why he walked into the kitchen twenty minutes ago, insisting he make me breakfast.
It’s not going well.
“You put the egg in the bagel,” he says. “You bake the bagel. And then you have an egg bagel. It’s not hard, Meg.”
“Those eggs are too big.”
“They’re not.”
“They are,” I say, as he takes them out of the carton. “They’re going to spill over the side.”
“I made the hole bigger.”
“It’s going to spill.”
“It’s not going to—”
“It’s adisaster,” Mam shrieks, and Aidan drops the two eggs he’s holding. They fall to the tiles with a cartoonish splat, and I raise my coffee mug in a mock toast.
“Good job,” I say, as he scowls. “You alright, Mam?”
“No, I’m not alright,” she says, striding into the room as Aidan grabs a dishtowel. “Fionnula canceled on me.”
I try to remember if Fionnula is the girl who does her hair or the one that—
“At the hotel,” she continues. “There’s a burst pipe in the kitchens. They won’t be back up and running for another week.”
“So you can’t have the fundraiser?”
“Not at Cliffside, anyway,” she says before she notices the state of her kitchen. “Aidan, what are you doing? That’s the good dishcloth.”
“Why do we have a good—”
Mam plucks it from his hands and hands him a roll of paper towel. “It’s fine,” she says, more to herself than to me. “I mean, it’s not because I’ll have to update all our invitations and the suppliers and the girl doing the decorations, but I’ve already rung around, and we’ve confirmed space at—” She cuts off abruptly, her eyes widening in alarm.
“What?” I ask when she just stares at me.
Aidan straightens, dumping the eggy paper towel in the bin. Whatever’s wrong, he figures it out before I do, and I know he does because he starts to laugh.
“Mam?” I ask.
“They have space at the Regency,” she says reluctantly, and my stomach doesn’t so much drop as it does plummet straight to the floor.
The Regency Hotel. Where I was supposed to get married.That’swhere she’s throwing it?
“Mam,” I protest, and she waves a hand, ruffled.
“I forgot you were coming.”
