I grip the edge of my seat for support. It would have been less painful if he had slapped me across the face. A horrible vision comes to mind of another girl in her twenties moving in, rubbing arms with Killian in the morning, sharing dinner, sharing a bed.
“Why are you really ending this, Killian?”
“It’s not good for either of us. I can’t give you what you need. What you deserve. You’ll thank me in time.”
“Sounds like a line,” I sneer. How many times has he said this before? I jump up from the seat. I can’t bear another minute of this agony. “Fine. I’ll go home and pack my things and be out of your way. You can stuff your visa, your apartment, your allowance, and your bloody blue eyes, and your…” I draw in a sharp breath. “Your fancy tartare restaurants up your arsehole!” I shriek. I don’t want the American Dream that way.
His eyes glint as he stands abruptly. “Clodagh-”
“Don’t get up.” This time, it’s my turn to cut him off. I give him a look that I hope is as cold as his. “I’ll show myself out.”
Feeling faint, I march toward the door and flip him the bird before slamming the door behind me.
My exit is met with a loud crash from the other side of the room, like a fist hitting a desk.
***
Due to my zombie-like state, it takes me an extra hour or so to get home.
Home.
What the hell am I talking about? Killian’s Fifth Avenue townhouse isn’t my home.
Where the fuck did it all go wrong? When did I let my feelings get involved? I ignored the expiration date I knew we had and blew this fling up to be something more in my head.
Killian never truly cared about me.
Sure, he wanted me to feel protected. He wanted to show me New York. He wanted my company and body, but he didn’t want to be with me.
That’s where I went wrong.
I stand in front of the retina scanner at the door of the townhouse, wondering if it can detect my identity past the mess of red eyes.
Sam is picking me up in an hour to take me-air quotes-“anywhere I want to go.” Anywhere so long as I’m gone by the time Killian is back from work.
I have some decisions to make now. Last minute, the only option that the dodgy au pair crew has is nannying for a family with triplets, a teen just out of the correction center, and two Rottweilers. I would have doggy daycare duties as well as nannying.
It sounds bloody awful.
Just as I’m about to call Orla again, a number flashes on my phone.
Shit. Teagan.
Do I answer it? I’ll be gone by the time she’s back.
“Hi, Teagan,” I answer with false cheeriness.
“It’s Dad’s fault, right?” she cries.
I pause. The less I say now, the better. “He decided it wasn’t for the best.”
“What? Did something happen between you two? No cap! You hear?”
I smile for the first time since I entered Killian’s office. Teagan makes me laugh. No cap means tell me the truth, apparently. How the hell does Siri understand teenagers?
I can’t tell her the truth because I don’t know it myself. Killian was distant and ambiguous, so I don’t truly understand why he fired me.
I’m looking for a grand explanation that will make me feel better. Maybe he was worried about Teagan. Perhaps he felt responsible for Alfred’s behavior or was uncomfortable with our age gap. Anything to make me feel better. But the reality is, he probably just got bored with me or had always planned for this to be a short-term thing.
“I’ve no idea. He said…” What bullshit did he use? “We didn’t fit. It’s probably best if you talk to your dad.”
“That is so stupid,” she wails, and my heart breaks a little more at the fact that Teagan cares.
“How did you know so quickly?” I ask tentatively. “Did your dad tell you?”
“Yeah.” I hear her sigh down the phone. “He called me. He wanted to make sure that he was the first to tell me. I think he felt bad.”
“I’m sorry. We can still stay in contact, though.”
She hums unhappily. “What are you going to do now?”
Fuck if I know.
“I’ll be grand,” I tell her because this is the perfect moment to apply the useless word.
***
One week later
“Flight BA4703 to Belfast is now boarding at gate 10,” the American flight attendant announces over the intercom. “Please have your boarding pass and passport ready.”
The waiting area becomes a flurry of activity as people stand and rush to the gate, juggling duty-free bags and luggage.
In front of me, a line forms. The other passengers look relaxed. Normal. Too content to be leaving. The lucky ones are going on holidays.
They don’t look like they’re leaving their hearts behind in New York.
On the outside, I’m sitting, staring at nothing, not eating the egg-and-cheese sandwich I’m holding because I haven’t had an appetite in a week. A frozen statue in this sea of hurry.
On the inside, I’m drowning in pain. Consumed with so much of it that I’ve tricked my body into a daze so I don’t break down in public.
I leave behind Orla, the Quinns, and all my hopes for a new life here in New York.
And my heart.
Goodbye, New York.
Clodagh
One month later
“They’re giving it to rain tomorrow.”
I look up at Tommy as he does the final sanding to the chest of drawers he’s working on.
I’ve been helping out at the furniture store in the village for three weeks now. It feels like three years.