“D’ye see me asking after yer personal life?”
“You were there when I bought Lauren’s ring!”
“Aye. Ye could have done that on yer own time.”
Paddy’s eyes linger on me, and I sigh, pulling away from the curb and shooting him a glance and a shrug.
“Aye. It’s about Mellie.”
“Good for you.”
Shaking my head, I turn for his West Roxbury house. The sooner the bastard is back in his lass’s arms, the sooner I can get home to Mellie. If I’m going to be gone for a week, I want to taste her as many times as possible before I leave.
I stare up at the semi-detached, the drizzling rain wetting the shoulders of my coat. A sour taste settles in my mouth. I’ve not set foot in this house in over ten years. I’ve not wanted to for longer. Am I even making the right decision?
After he found out Tiggy was pregnant, Seamus bought the biggest, shiniest fuck off diamond ring he could for her. Liam barely made it out of the room in time before she had Seamus’s dick in her mouth to say thank you.
Paddy bought the most un-engagement-like engagement ring I’ve ever seen for his lass. It’s a nice ring. Pretty, even. But it’s all square and brown and not sparkly. Paddy insists it’s perfect. He picked it because he thinks of his lass when he looks at it.
So I’ve looked at every fucking ring I can, but not a single one makes me think of Mellie. I think my brain is broken. I might love her, but I think I’m missing the part of my brain that thinks like that.
So I’ve come for the Claddagh ring. My pa told me about it when I was a little lad, just before he died. He said it had been my grandmammy’s and that she had worn it every day of her marriage to my granddaddy, and she’s been happy for most of them.
He also said that when the time came, if I wanted to give the ring to a lass I loved, my aunt would be happy to give it to me as she’d never had any weans of her own. Now, I don’t know if the woman will be glad to hand it over, but I’m here to ask regardless.
The door opens at my knock, creaking in the soft, rainy weather.
“Niall Byrne?” she croaks, looking me up and down. “Ye’re the spitting image of yer pa.”
“Aunt Niamh.”
“Come in then, lad. Let’s get ye warm and a spot of tea.”
I follow her inside, hanging my coat on the hook at the door, settling into a seat at the scrubbed kitchen table as my aunt bustles around, making the tea.
Setting the cup in front of me, she sits opposite her emerald-green eyes, like mine, like my pa’s, fixing on me as she clutches her teacup with both hands.
“Ye’ll be here for my mammy’s Claddagh ring, no doubt.”
I start in surprise, my eyes narrowing as a fleeting look of amusement crosses her face.
“And so I am. How did ye guess?”
She cackles, nodding to me as she sips her tea. “Sure, and ye’ve not once set foot in this house since ye left these green shores for America. Ye’ve been back. I’ve heard rumors.”
“I’ve been back, but not in a visiting capacity.”
“Anything’s a visiting capacity, Niall Byrne, if ye came to visit.”
“Sure, and I’m sorry, Aunt Niamh. Ye’re right. I should have come to see ye before now.”
She waves a hand dismissively at me. “It’s all right, lad. I understand. This place brings back memories of yer mammy. Ye’re allowed to want to square it away and be done with it.” Sighing, she drains her tea, hauling her bulk to her feet. “Ye stay here. Drink yer tea. I’ll bring the ring down.”
My eyes dart around the small, neat space as I hear her move above me, the floorboards creaking as she climbs the stairs and walks through the bedrooms.
When the stairs creak again, my eyes dart to the doorway. She appears, holding a faded, burnished velvet ring box. Setting it down on the table in front of me, Aunt Niamh drops into her seat, her eyes fixed on the box.
“Ye tell that lass of yers that this is a family ring. She’s to take good care of it.”