Pull At My Heart Page 17

  “I knew it!” she exclaims. “You’re all a bunch of dogs.”

  Everyone’s laughing now, even Juliana, but there’s something a little bit off about the way she’s looking at me, like maybe she’s disappointed. Like maybe she wants to find out some truth about me and this is her way of asking.

  I have this strong desire to defend myself. To tell her that it’s not as bad as it sounds, that the woman used me as much as I used her, but that would just sound mad and way too feckin’ serious for what’s supposed to be a fun game.

  “Okay, everyone’s gone but you, Eoghan,” Ruth says. “Your turn.”

  If Juliana used this game to learn more about me, there’s one question that’s been burning at the back of my mind since the day I picked her up from the airport and met that boss of hers. “Never have I ever fooled around with someone I work with.”

  Everyone starts to laugh, a little nervously, mind you. After all, most of us are coworkers. My beer stays firmly planted to the table, because I’ve never crossed that line before. But that’s not the case for everyone. Juliana shifts in her seat and her eyes turn down toward her beer, as if facing her executioner. But she doesn’t do it. She doesn’t raise her glass, and I’m actually wondering if she’s holding back.

  “Do you have something to tell us?” Liam directs at Ruth and Dylan. I’ve been paying such close attention to Juliana, I didn’t even notice Ruth and Dylan take a drink.

  My jaw drops.

  Ruth starts babbling. “It’s not a big deal. It was on New Year’s Eve, ya know?”

  “The two of you?” I ask with a silly grin on my face.

  Dylan lifts his eyebrows and then looks back down at his drink.

  “Everyone hooks up on New Year’s Eve,” Ruth prattles on.

  Juliana seems happy to hear it, or maybe she’s happy that the focus isn’t on her.

  “My turn,” Dylan says, and I’m literally shocked he’s such a willing participant. “Never have I ever fooled around with my flatmate.”

  Bastard!

  My eyes instantly flicker to Juliana’s. There’s a hint of mischief in hers, maybe even a little heat. Everyone is staring at us, but they’re not going to get the show they want. Then, like we’re both in on it together, we cross our arms across our chests at the same time and shake our heads.

  “Come on,” Ruth says.

  “Never,” Juliana says firmly, and my heart feels like it’s being stabbed with a thousand tiny pin pricks. Even though I know it’s true, I hate that it’s true. And there’s something so resolute about the way she says it, the pride in her voice, that makes me worry that any future opportunity will be squashed. Now it’s all I want. I wish we’d both had to drink to that, more than anything in the world.

  Julie

  The photoshoot of the band was one of the most fun times I’ve ever had taking pictures. They ribbed each other mercilessly, so I was laughing pretty much the whole time. It was hard to even get them to sit still. They spoke so fast and in that high-pitched Cork way that made it nearly impossible to understand them, and so it took me a while to get focused and start capturing anything decent. Once I did, though, I was completely in my element and enjoying every second of it.

  The space Eoghan set up is perfect and a little nudging voice inside my head won’t shut up about how it would be such a waste if I didn’t use it again for other jobs.

  Even now, as I’m sitting with Liam at the desk in the studio, clicking through the pictures I selected and edited for the band, I realize how easy it would be to do this with others.

  “Well done, Julie. Well done, indeed,” Liam says. “This one’ll be pure class for the album cover.”

  “Album cover?” I ask, “You’re making an album?”

  “We’ve already got two.”

  My eyes double in size. As if I wasn’t already a bit star struck with these guys.

  “It’s no big deal, Julie. We know a lad with a recording studio who helps us out. We sell them at shows. Speaking of, we’ve got a gig down in Baltimore the day after Halloween. It’s at this swanky new pub. Mind coming along and taking more photos?”

  “I’d love to!” I exclaim, probably a little too enthusiastically. Not only will I get to hear them play in such a great place and take pictures, but I’ll also get out of town for a bit and see something new. I haven’t seen much outside of Cork City and Ballycoom, only Blarney, and that was the whole point of moving here.

  “Grand,” Liam says, and gives me one of his classic chin lifts.

  My phone starts ringing beside my keyboard and my dad’s rugged face fills up the screen.

  “Oh, I should get that.”

  “Right, no worries,” he says and gets up to go.

  I slide the button across to answer before I lose him.

  “Hi, Papá.”

  “Mija, hi, how are you?”

  “Oh fine, how are you? How’s Mamá?”

  “We’re both doing okay. Missing you a lot.”

  “I miss you guys so much, too.”

  Tears well in my eyes. I talk to them about once a week. We’ve even done a few video chats, when Eoghan’s not around. I still haven’t told them that I moved in with a guy and I especially haven’t told them about the pub. I hate lying to them, but I can’t figure out how to tell them the truth without freaking them out. No doubt there’s going to be an argument.

  “So, Thanksgiving is coming up,” my dad says.

  “Not really, it’s only October.”

  “It’s never too early to start planning your visit home.”

  “Oh, about that, I don’t think I can make it.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “I’m planning on coming at Christmas, and with the flight costs, I had to pick one over the other. Wouldn’t you rather I be there for Christmas?”

  “I want you to be here for every holiday. We can pay for your ticket.”

  “No way. I will not do that. I didn’t move here and take up a job for you guys to have to pay for it. Plus, I didn’t tell you this yet, but the company acquired another smaller company and we’re working on merging our support centers. I’ve got to be here for that.”

  “All you do is work.”

  “I learned that from you.”

  “Your mamá is worried that you won’t get to have a Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “It will be fine. I’ve made some friends here…I’ll ask them if they want to have one with me.”

  “Friends? Who are these friends?”

  Oops. How on earth was I going to explain Dylan and Ruth and Eoghan? Or the band? I stick to Javier and Brigid.

  “Just friends from work. One is from Spain, another ex-pat. I can sometimes talk to him in Spanish, so that’s fun. His name is Javier.”

  “Really?” my dad asks, a little intrigued. “Is there something going on?”

  “Jesus, no,” I reply.

  “That’s right, remember Jesus, mija.”

  “We are not having this conversation.”

  “No, we’re not,” he says, and we both shake it off. That’s not something my dad and I ever talk about.

  We talk a little while longer and then my mom comes home and the three of us talk together. She’s really disappointed about Thanksgiving, but I assure her that Christmas will be here before she knows it.

  Even as I say it, though, it doesn’t feel exactly right. The idea of missing a California Christmas is simply absurd, and I can’t fathom not opening presents in unseasonably warm weather, of eating something else besides tamales on Christmas Eve, and not going to midnight mass with my family. But Ireland and the life I’m building here pulls at my heart.

  Eoghan

  Every moment since the photo studio has been laced with Juliana. She’s all I think about and all I crave. I thought I could hold out, knowing that she wanted me in that moment, that it would be enough for me to just know. But now I really need to know—I need to know her, every inch of her.

  In the mornings and ev
enings, we circle around each other, never quite getting as close as we did that Sunday morning. But I steal any touch I can get of her skin. I find any reason I can to put my hands on her. And each time feels better than the last. She’s the one woman that makes me forget that I’ve ever been with anybody else.

  There is a cord that starts above my left ribs and connects to her, and that tether grows stronger by the day.

  I confess it. I want Juliana. I want to hold her until they put me in the ground. I want to love her forever.

  But to love her forever, to keep her here, I can’t go too fast. I can’t blow it by putting my lips on hers before she wants that. It’s got to be her choice. Her move. So, I wait. I be the best person I can be for her. The friend she needs after a hard day at work, the sounding board for her ideas, the fun mate that pulls her onto the dance floor, the handyman, the chef, the muscle, the softy, the constant and consistent force she can rely on. Her everything.

  Halloween

  Julie

  “I cannot believe you actually dressed up as a pumpkin,” I say to Brigid. She’s been calling herself a grotesque pumpkin nonstop for weeks and here she is, wearing all orange, with an orange hand-knit cap on her head.

  We’re standing near the table of goodies in the large conference room, chitchatting away at the company’s Halloween party.

  “I think you could win,” I go on. “You’re so darn cute.”

  “Please. You are definitely going to win. Look at you! What’s it called again?”

  “It’s a Catrina, for Día de los Muertos, which is actually two days from now.”

  Even though it’s traditional in Mexico, Javier gives me a thumbs up, which looks especially silly since he’s dressed as a dairy cow.

  “The makeup is impressive. Where’d you get the dress?” Brigid asks.

  “At this consignment shop in town, pretty good, huh?” I twirl around in the blood-red bridesmaid’s dress I bought for the occasion. It’s a little snug, and probably shows off more cleavage than is appropriate for work, but it’s the closest thing I could find to match the right look. My hair is styled in a half-updo, with a plastic yellow flower pinned in it. The skeleton makeup took about an hour to put on this morning, since it’s the first time I’ve done it by myself. Needless to say, I got some really funny looks on the bus this morning. Technically it’s not a Halloween costume at all, but I’m missing home this time of year, so I decided to represent my family. I’ll celebrate properly on Sunday.

  “Well, you look smashing,” she says, and then looks past my shoulder. “And it seems I’m not the only that thinks so.”

  I peek over my shoulder and catch Aiden staring at me. He’s dressed as an Irish footballer, which basically means he put on a Cork City Football Club jersey over his dress shirt for the occasion.

  Perhaps I’ve taken the holiday a little too seriously.

  I have to, though, at least for later. Eoghan assured me that Halloween is a big night at Murrough’s, and that all the staff dress up and the majority of customers do, too.

  Aiden winks at me and then goes back to talking to somebody. I glance back at Brigid and she has a tough expression on her face as she continues to stare at him.

  “What?” I ask.

  Her gaze snaps back to me and then she shakes her head. “Nothing at all.”

  I don’t really believe her, but I don’t want to press the issue, especially since it’s her last day of work.

  “What a day to call it quits,” I joke.

  She laughs at that and then says, “I’ll be back.”

  “Yeah, like a year from now. How do we get maternity leave like that in the States?”

  She shrugs her shoulders and slumps a little bit.

  “Want to sit down?”

  “Yeah, I should get off my feet,” she says, and Javier is off without a word to get her a chair.

  “I’m guessing you don’t want to come to Murrough’s tonight?”

  She laughs, big and loud, and the baby belly bounces up and down. “I’ll be lucky if I make it home, into my own bed, before I fall asleep.”

  “Oh! That reminds me, I got you something.”

  “Oh no,” Brigid says. “You shouldn’t have. It’s just a wee baby, it’s not that big of a deal.”

  “Stop it! I’ll be right back,” I say and leave the conference room to go back to my desk.

  “Hola, Señorita,” Aiden says as I’m bending over to get the gift bag out from under my desk.

  I stand back up and reply with a simple, “Hi.”

  “Great costume,” he says with a wicked smile.

  “Thanks. I see you’re a…footballer.”

  “Real original, yeah?”

  “Mmm,” I answer and wrap the gift bag handle around my finger.

  He takes a step closer to me. “Going out for the craic tonight?”

  Before thinking it through, I answer, “Yeah, I’ll be at Murrough’s.”

  He reaches out and squeezes my hip. “Maybe I’ll see you.”

  I nod, unable to find any words. We’re in the middle of our work place and I don’t know what to think. Thankfully, everyone’s at the party.

  “We better get back,” he says. “Keep up appearances and all for the staff.”

  I clear my throat. “Right, of course.”

  He puts an unwelcome hand on my lower back and guides me across the floor toward the hall where we run into Deidre. In an instant, his hand comes off me and I take advantage of it to step further away from him.

  Deidre gives us a cutting glare, and then bypasses me altogether. “Aiden, I’ve got the RCA we were waiting on for the issue that affected the Collins Group.”

  “Excellent. Let’s go over it in your office, so we can get on the same page.”

  Without a word, they leave me there and go back the way we came. I let out a big breath, shake my head, and go find Brigid.

  She pretends she doesn’t want the gift some more, but opens it with a kid’s excitement. She pulls out a small, engraved plaque and reads the words aloud, “This table is reserved for Brigid O’Brian when present.” She looks up at me and then back down at it. “What on earth?”

  “It’s for the pub. See, the next time you come around, you won’t be a…grotesque pumpkin,” I say, putting air quotes around the ridiculous description she uses for herself. “So that way you’ll always get a table. Eoghan said you could pick one to have it affixed to.”

  Brigid throws her head back and laughs. “That is by far one of the best gifts I’ve ever received,” she says, and laughs more as she starts calling people over to show it to them.

  “Well, even though you won’t be at work, I hope you find time to stop by the pub. I’m going to miss you so much,” I say, then lean over to give her a hug.

  “Be careful, don’t want your makeup to smudge,” she replies. She’s already the perfect mom.

  Right after work, I help Ruth decorate the pub. We put fake cobwebs all across the place that I have no doubt we’ll still be finding in the new year.

  “I’m going to head upstairs and touch up my makeup,” I tell her, and she grins back at me, which looks a little odd coming from a zombie diner waitress.

  “Have you seen Eoghan yet?” she asks.

  “No, not yet. Have you?”

  She nods and then starts laughing.

  “Why? What is he?”

  “Has he seen you yet?”

  “No…” I reply, feeling a little self-conscious. “He left early this morning to go to the market with his mom.”

  “You’ll be quite a pair.”

  “What?”

  She just laughs and goes to the bar, where Dylan is reading a newspaper, dressed as nothing but himself.

  As I head up the stairs, I’m met by a shadowy figure in all black. I know it has to be Eoghan, but nevertheless, Mr. Dark and Mysterious sends a shiver down my spine. The second I can see his face, I know exactly what Ruth was teasing me about. He’s essentially my counterpart, Catrin
.

  He’s wearing a tight black dress shirt, black jeans, boots, and his face is painted white and black to look like a skeleton. His dark hair is slicked back and the top few buttons of his shirt are open.

  He stops in his tracks when he sees me.

  “Juliana?”

  “Eoghan?”

  We take the few steps to meet each other in the middle.

  “Nice look,” I joke.

  He runs a hand over his hair. “I found this face paint in the bathroom. Since I didn’t have a costume, I just did this.”

  “Día de los Muertos? You know, it’s actually on November 2nd.”

  He nods. “I picked up some orange marigolds and candles for you.”

  So, he does know what it’s all about. This guy.

  He goes on. “I remember seeing art for this when I was in Mexico. You captured it perfectly,” he says, and gently pushes a wispy piece of my hair behind my ear. A lovely little sensation bubbles up inside me.

  Ever since the photo studio, there have been these moments, touches like this one. They may seem small in the grand scheme of things, but his touches pack a punch. Like when he gently cups my elbow, or how he connects with my fingertips every time he passes me a drink, and the way he ever-so-slightly grazes his hand across my back every time we pass by each other in tight spaces. Each little touch is electric, and I so badly want to lean into it and jump his bones.

  “Thanks,” I reply, and do a silly looking curtsey because I’m a massive dork that’s trying to play off how much he affects me.

  But the reality is that I can’t take my eyes off him. The painted-on black circles around his eye sockets make his eyes pop, and the white paint that covers his lips make them so much more defined. I’m not sure I ever noticed how his top lip dips into a delicious curve in the center.

  I let out a heavy breath and then have a troubling realization. Women are going to throw themselves at him all night. It’s a given. And I hate the idea completely.

  I’ve got to get on my way before I shove him against the wall and tell him to keep his hands off anyone but me. “I’m going to touch up my makeup.”