Mismatched (17 page)

“What? Wait. I’m not done with my beer.” She slides off her stool to the floor too, looking from Donal to me.

“Take it with you.” I grab it and thrust it out at her.

“You’re here to see Henry?” Donal asks.

My heart is kind of burning in my chest, maybe with a little pain involved, so I can’t look him in the eye. “Yep. Gonna go find us some true love. Excuse me.” I push past him and go straight for the corner of the room, Henry O’Henry in my sights.

“What in the hell was that all about?” Erin asks me, whispering loudly in my ear as we move across the room.

“Nothing at all.” I’m barely holding in my anger. How dare he act like we didn’t connect today. How dare he hurt my feelings like that. I’m not just some girl…

My heart fell down into my abdomen as I realized that this is
exactly
what I am to him. Just some girl, here visiting from another country, leaving in a few days. Why was I thinking anything different? I must be insane. This Irish mojo is really messing with my head.

“Hello, Mr. O’Henry,” I say as we approach his chair. He’s facing out into the bar, using a tiny side table as his desk. His log book is sitting on it, closed. There are two people nearby, but they don’t appear to be using his services. I say this because both of them are about a hundred years old. “Do you remember me?” I ask.

“Indeed an’ I do. It’s Ridlee from America, isn’t it? And how are ye this fine evenin’?”

“I’m great. And how are you?” I turn on the charm, relieved to have something to do other than nurse my hurt feelings.

“Tip top.” He looks to my right, and I turn my head to bring Erin into the fold. “This is my best friend, Erin. She’s from around here.”

She reaches out a hand to shake his. “Dublin, actually. Lovely to meet ye.”

“And you, dear. So it is,” he says, putting his bent and boney hand in hers. “It’s entirely my pleasure to make your acquaintance. Mrs. O’Grady said I should be expecting ye this evenin’.” He smiles and his face folds up into an origami old man, a thousand complicated creases I never saw coming.

“She did, huh?” says Erin. “Well, see, I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding.”

“Is that so?” He doesn’t seem surprised. Gesturing to two nearby chairs, he smiles. “Why don’t ye take a seat and tell me all about it.”

I keep my laughter inside, but turn my head so Erin won’t see me enjoying this too much. She’s really frustrated right now and this whole thing reminds me of a little girl in front of the principal explaining how she doesn’t need something she’s about to get anyway. Being a spectator in her misery is way better than being a participant in my own. I know that makes me a terrible person, but I can’t help my very strong aversion to being made a fool of by a guy.

Erin sits down and folds her hands in her lap, leaving her beer on the corner of the bar top. “You see, I already have a boyfriend, Mr. O’Henry, and so it would be entirely inappropriate for me to submit myself to a matchmaker’s services, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Tell me about him,” says the matchmaker, drawing his eyebrows together in concentration, leaning over a bit.

Erin’s eyes go really round, but she soldiers on, digging her grave of lies that much deeper. “Well, he’s very handsome.”

She pauses, maybe hoping this will be enough, but Mr. O’Henry just nods.

“And he’s very smart.”

“He’d have to be, to keep up with you, I imagine.” He winks.

Erin smiles but looks uncomfortable. I would too if I were in her shoes. This guy is being very nice while she sits there and lies right to his face.

“And he’s … entrepreneurial.”

“Ah, and that’s important to ye, is it?”

She nods way too much. “Oh yeah, because I’m a business owner too so we need to be able to understand each other, have the same ambitions and so on.”

“Yes, that is very important in a good match. But then there’s the yang yin. Are ye familiar with the yang yin?”

I laugh but then catch myself, turning it into a cough. What on earth is this guy talking about? How does a centenarian living in the middle-of-nowhere Ireland know about Chinese culture?

Erin blinks a few times, processing. “Yes, I know what yin and yang is. I’m not sure what that has to do with my boyfriend.”

“I believe, for ye to be truly happy, ye must find the complimentary opposite to yerself. The yang to your yin. Ye’re a lively, driven, intelligent girl. The perfect man for you will be anchored, driven too, but connected to his roots. He will help ye feel secure as ye soar on the wind he places beneath yer wings.”

“Uhhhh, okaaay.” She turns to me and gives me her crazy googly eyes. Normally it’s a sign that I need to get her away from wherever she is before she starts getting a little too mouthy, but I’m not exactly sure that’s the best idea right now. This guy knows Erin almost as well as I know her, apparently. He’s right when he says she needs an anchor. She can be a little … untethered sometimes. I used to just write it off as part of who she is, but now I’m wondering where it came from. Maybe it’s from the fact that she left her homeland and seems so determined to keep it in her past. And now that I’ve been here, I realize keeping Ireland dead and buried would be an impossibility. It’s already sneaking into my blood and I’ve only been here a couple days.

“Would ye like me to have a look?” he asks.

“A look? At what?” Erin seems worried, like maybe he’s asking her to strip for an examination. Even I’m a little confused until he rubs his hand across the worn leather of his log book.

“To see if there’s someone who might suit?” he explains.

Erin stands in a hurry. “No, no thanks. I’m … busy. I’m not on the market. I’m … taken.” She turns around abruptly, knocking her chair to the side before leaving me in a cloud of her dust. She disappears into the ladies’ bathroom before I get my voice back.

“Uhhh, that was … surprising.”

“I’ve upset her,” Mr. O’Henry says frowning.

I wave his concern off. “Nah, don’t worry about it. She’s just nervous about her family and stuff.” I don’t want to tell him it’s the inheritance issue because of client confidentiality reasons. This town is microscopically small where gossip is concerned, and I know Erin wants all this kept on the down low. It’s the only way she’ll get a fair price for the other half of her bar.

“And what about you, Lass? Are you looking for a match?”

“Me?” I laugh, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. Now I’m getting an inkling about what Erin went through, and her disappearance is making way more sense. “No, that’s okay. I’ve got it handled.”

“Do ye now?” He tilts his head to the side and smiles a tiny smile.

“Well, kind of.” The way he’s looking at me makes me want to confess all my failures in the love department, but I resist. “I’m pretty busy with my career now, so there’s really no time for love and me. But maybe in the future.”

“You’ve never met anyone you felt close to, without even knowing him that well?”

I open my mouth to answer, but stop before the sound actually makes it out because I notice Mr. O’Henry has flicked a glance over my shoulder.

I turn slowly to see what pulled his attention from me, and I see Donal standing in the background with a pint in his hand. He’s looking up at the ceiling.

I blink a few times and shake my head, bringing my attention back to Mr. O. “I don’t think so.” It’s a total lie, but he’ll never know. I suddenly feel the very strong need to pee, so I stand. “I need to check on Erin. Thanks so much for your time and for the referral to the attorney. We’re going to see him tomorrow.”

“Didn’t work out for ye today, then?” he asks, a smile in his voice.

I feel myself blushing. “No, it’s Sunday.”

“’Tis.”

“Irish lawyers don’t work on Sundays, apparently.”

“No, not generally.”

I feel like a complete moron standing here talking like a third-grader. I’ve completely lost my cool and I don’t know why. I’m going to blame it on Donal pretending like he doesn’t know me when he most definitely does know me. Or does he? The me he met today is not the normal me, so maybe he doesn’t know me at all. Or he’s the only one who knows me.
Argh
, I’m too confused to figure it out, so I decide to abandon ship.

I hold out my hand. “Goodbye, Mr. O’Henry. It was nice seeing you again.”

“And you, Ridlee, dear,” he says, shaking my hand. His skin is warm and his grip surprisingly firm. “Should ye feel the need to discuss yer match with me, I’m available to ye at yer convenience.”

“My match?”

He puts his hand on the book in front of him. “Yes. Yer match. The man who makes yer heart race and yer smile shine.”

I point at him and wink. “Yin yang.”

He smiles and nods. “Yin yang. Ye’ve got it.”

I walk as fast as I can away from him without looking like I’m running, headed straight for the bathroom.

Erin’s on her way out and the door hits us both as I try to force her back.

“Ridlee, what the hell …?”

“Get in, get in, I need to talk to you.” I’m flustered and panicked, suddenly desperately in need of shelter from all the eyes in the bar, especially one particular set of them.

She lets me in and we close the door behind me. There’s one sink and mirror to my right and a single walled-off toilet stall next to it. The towel holder is to my left.

“What’s going on?” she whispers, glancing worriedly at the door. “Is he following you?”

“He? Who?”

“The matchmaker.” She looks at the door again, like Gollum himself is out there waiting for her.

“No, don’t be ridiculous.”

She straightens up. “Well, who is it then?”

“It’s no one.”

She reaches around to grab the door and I stop her.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She stands up straighter and crosses her arms over her chest. “What’s the deal? Why are you afraid to go out there? Who are you hiding from?”

I cross my arms too and shrug. “No reason. Why are you afraid to go out there?”

We stare at each other for a long time. Her chin twitches and then finally she breaks, her face crumbling. “I don’t want to go out there because he’s talking to me about
Micheál and he’s not … he’s not …” She can’t finish. The tears come too fast and furious.

I grab her into a hug and squeeze her tight. “Shhhh, I know, I know…”

“What do you know?” she whines over my shoulder.

“I know that you thought there was something there between you and it all felt right and perfect even when it shouldn’t have and then when you were ready to just accept it, it blew up in your face and he acted like it didn’t even happen that way.”

She stops sniffling and pulls away. “Wait a minute … what?”

I tap my foot and look up at the ceiling, willing the tears to stay inside their ducts. “I’m just saying…”

“Are we talking about Micheál here or Donal?”

I turn around and grab the door handle, but Erin stops me by putting her foot against the bottom of the door.

“Not so fast, there, girl.” Her tears are gone, like completely dried up, and now she’s back to being her confident self. “You’re upset.” She pulls on my arm to turn me around. Her tone changes. “You’re
really
upset, aren’t you?” She sounds mystified now.

“No, I’m not the one upset, that’s you.” I can’t meet her eyes. “Move your foot, I need to go drink a pint.”

“No way, not until you come clean.”

I turn around more fully, planning to shame her into letting me out. “There’s nothing to come clean about, okay? Jesus, give it a rest.”

She folds her arms and lifts a brow at me, saying nothing.

I try to stay mad, but I can’t. My face starts trembling in all kinds of weird places as I try to hold in my hurt.

“He blew you off,” she says.

I nod, unable to speak without crying over it.

“And that hurts like a bitch,” she says.

I nod again.

She puts her arms around me and holds me softly. “I know exactly how you feel.” She pats my back and hums.

After a few seconds, I can’t help but laugh. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Shhhh, it’ll be okay.” She keeps humming and then she pats my back, now leaning us side to side a little. It’s entirely possible that she’s mistaking my laughter for sobs. “That’s right, let it out. You’ll be stronger for it.”

Just then someone pushes the door in and hits me in the back with it. Unfortunately, Erin was still seriously into her hugging and humming program, so she got whacked on the top of the head.

“Ow, mother fucker,” she says with a hiss of pain, backing up away from me and the offending door with her hand holding the top of her scalp.

I turn around and face the girl whose head pops in around the corner.

“Ooops. Did I hurt someone?” She smiles as she locks eyes on us.

“It’s you,” Erin says with a scowl.

I move to quickly cover up my friend’s rudeness. “Oh, hey, Siobhan! Come on in. Don’t mind us hogging up the whole bathroom.”

She pushes in the door and enters the bathroom.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon,” she says, waiting for a reply, looking right at Erin.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ERIN

“IT’S ERIN, ISN’T IT?” THE goddess looks me up and down. Suddenly, I wish I’d made more of an effort when I was packing to come here. My jeans have lost their shape and are long over due a wash and there’s a Guinness stain on my Blondie t-shirt.

“Yeah. And you’re
Siobhán.”

“That’s right. Micheál’s
friend.”
She lingers on
friend
and runs her tongue along her top lips, all Marilyn-esque; and I’m not talking Manson either. She has one of those sexy gaps between her front teeth. This bitch is
way
too hot for the west of Ireland. She actually looks like Debbie Harry circa
Sunday Girl.
Dressed in charcoal grey jeans with numerous zips, a funky striped t-shirt and Doc Martin boots, she exudes effortless cool chic. Her hair is teased to within an inch of its life, but her make-up is barely there. It is undeniable; she’s quite the looker. It’s no wonder she’s Micheál’s
friend.