“Why are they calling you a mystery woman?” she asks. “Call them up and tell them your name. You’re Valerie Stephens! Aren’t you proud of your name?”

“We want to keep the relationship quiet for now,” I tell her. I haven’t told her we’re “engaged” because that would not go well considering my last engagement.

“Quiet?” she repeats. “I will not be quiet. I want the world to know that you’ve landed this man. And what a man. I’m not a fan of his tattoos or that ugly beard of his, but I’m sure you can convince him to shave it off. And anyway, this will certainly make Cole jealous.”

“I don’t care about Cole,” I snap. I can’t help it. She does this to me. My blood pressure is already rising. “And please, just keep this between us for now. I don’t want you to jinx it.”

“Oh, I will not jinx it. Besides, knowing your last relationship, I want to be able to brag about you before it all goes to hell. You have to seize the moment. That’s what you always used to say to me.”

Funny. Now my mother wants to brag about me, but when I got my job or graduated college, or when my first piece got published, she didn’t say shit about it. Goes to show what she considers something to be proud of—just marry up and that’s enough.

Oh, and be thin.

As if she knows what I’m thinking, she says, “By the way, I know you’re in love all of a sudden, but you better watch what you’re eating out there. The dairy in Ireland is known to be fattening and none of those angles you were photographed from were very flattering.”

“Sounds like you need to take that up with the photographers,” I tell her, but instead of being upset about her disapproval over my appearance (Lord knows I barely hear it now), I’m focused on what else she said.

That I was in love.

When I eventually hang up the phone with her, delighting in the fact that there’s an ocean between us, I bring up the pictures that were taken and inspect them again. She’s right. They aren’t flattering, weight wise. My coat makes me look bigger somehow. But in each one of them I’m smiling, beaming, with this glow I hadn’t seen before.

I look truly happy.

I look like I’m in love.

And the honest truth is…it’s because I am.

I’ve tried to deny it, tried to tell myself that it’s impossible to fall for someone so quickly but there’s no use lying to myself. Even if it doesn’t make sense from a logical point of view, well, I’ve never been very logical anyway.

Plus, the heart doesn’t listen to reason. It has a mind of its own and the last thing it will do before it feels something is consult with you on whether or not to feel it. It beats without you telling it to, from inside your mother’s womb, all the way till death. It beats and beats and goes on like a tireless machine and when it chooses who it loves, you don’t have a fucking chance. The heart decides what love is, no matter what the mind says.

I sigh, feeling both elated and joyful like I want to open my chest and let a million song birds fly out. But those birds fly right back, because they’re afraid of what lies ahead. My future.

I’m in love with Padraig and I don’t know what it means for us.

If there’s even an us.

And I have no idea if he feels the same.

Sometimes he looks at me with such softness that I feel it burn right through my body, the kind of tenderness that comes from the soul. He called me the pulse of his heart in Dublin and I think about that several times a day.

Other times he looks at me in pain and in fear and shame. He’s grappling with so much right now that love has to be the last thing on his mind.

Then again, the mind doesn’t get a say in who the heart loves.

“Valerie,” Padraig says, knocking at my bedroom door.

I go over and open it. I’d left him downstairs the moment my mom called, knowing I didn’t want to have that conversation with him there.

“Hey,” I say. “I’m done.”

He frowns. “How is she doing? Everything okay at home?”

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know. She just wanted to talk about you.”

“About me?”

“Sandra had shown her our picture in the tabloids. Which reminds me, I need to ream her out.” I bring out my phone and start texting her angry-faced emojis.

“So what did she say about me? Did ye tell her everything?”

I’m not sure if he means about his MS or about the engagement, but I say, “No. I explained who you were and that we were dating and I was staying with you in Shambles but that’s about it.” I pause and add dryly, “She says she’s never been so proud of me.”

“She sounds easy to please for once.”

“Only when it comes to shit like being with someone rich or famous. Or being thin. Anything else, forget it.”

He gives me a soft smile and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me in to him. “Does it help if I tell you I’m proud of you?”

“For what?” I ask, embracing him back, letting that woodsy, fresh, manly smell of him wash over me.

His hug tightens and he kisses my neck. “Just for being you. For all you’ve had to overcome. The fact that you are so much more than your scars and you know it. You know what you have to offer, it’s the rest of the world that’s too stupid and blind to realize it. But I do.” He pulls back and cups my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. “I really do.”

My stomach tingles. I bite my lip and gesture to the bed, “Do you want to come in?”

A tight smile flashes on his lips. “I would. For a nap. I am so knackered. Fell asleep on the couch the moment you were gone.”

“I guess it’s a big night tonight,” I say. I can hear the chaos from downstairs, Nan and Gail running around and setting things up. I should probably help with that. It is our engagement party after all.

“The last thing I want is company,” he says. “But I might feel better later.”

“Come on, let’s put you to bed,” I tell him, leading him into the room.

He crawls over the bed and immediately falls asleep.

I watch him for a moment and then take in a fluttery breath. I’m not so good with company either. My social anxiety gets turned to eleven and I have the urge to hide under the table. But this means a lot to Nan and his father, and so we’re doing it.

I close the door and head downstairs just as Sandra texts me back with an IM SO SORRY! I HAD TO! SHE WAS BEING SUCH A BITCH ABOUT U AND IT ALL CAME OUT.

I shake my head at that and put my phone away, not really mad at my sister anymore, and see Nan shuffling over to the dining room table with some furniture polish and a sponge.

“Valerie!” she barks at me. “Where ye been? We’ve been needing help.”

“Sorry, that was my mother on the phone,” I tell her. “What do you need help with?”

“Ach, yer mam. I hope she’s well and doesn’t mind ye gallivanting around Ireland.”

“So far she doesn’t,” I tell her just as Gail sticks her head out from the kitchen.

“Howya, Valerie,” she says. “Can I borrow ye for a moment?”

Oh damn. I was hoping I’d get stuck with furniture polishing duty.

I nod, pasting a smile on my face and hurry over to her.

“What can I do for you?” I ask.

She points with her knife at a bunch of vegetables on the cutting board. “Here,” she says, handing me the knife. “If ye could cut those up into chunks for the Shepherd’s pie.”

“Sure,” I say, cutting them slowly because I’ve never been that skillful with a knife. I’m fast when I’m typing but when I’m wielding something sharp and have to be extra precise, then I turn into a clumsy mess.

Meanwhile Gail is coating a fish with a layer of flour and frowning at the way I’m working. “Not used to cooking, are ye?”

I know what she’s getting at, I’m just waiting for her to say it.

“I lived in New York. Manhattan. For years. Most apartments don’t even have proper kitchens. You eat out all the time there.”

“I’ve been to New York. I know what it’s like,” she says, sprinkling spices on the fish. “But you’re not planning to move back there, are ye? Padraig’s career is here. And so, ye better learn how to cook.”

That’s what I thought she was getting at.

I give her a sweet smile, refusing to let her ruffle me. “Oh, I am sure I’ll pick it up eventually. Until then, well, there’s always you.”

Her face turns grim and she puts her back to me.

I roll my eyes.

After that, I start chopping faster so I can get the hell out of there, so maybe that was her strategy all along. Then Nan pulls me aside and gives me the task of polishing the silverware while she does the washing.

“So, uh, how many do I do,” I say, looking at the drawers of fancy looking silverware in the china hutches.

“The normal amount,” she says, carrying the basket of laundry to the back door.

“But I thought this was an engagement party.”

She pauses. “It is, don’t tell me yer daft.”

“So how many guests are coming?”

She just stares at me for a moment and I know she’s calling me an eejit in her head. “One for me. One for Colin. One for Padraig. One for you. One for Gail. One for Major. Any more questions?”

I shake my head and she continues on her way. I watch out the back door as she heads over to the laundry line. It’s been lashing down rain the last few days but today it’s sunny and cold again and I noticed the moment it’s sunny, she heads right outside. Maybe the fresh air is how she’s able to live so long.

Well, I guess when she said she was throwing us an engagement party, it didn’t mean that other people were invited. It seems like it’s going to be a normal dinner for us, albeit with fish and sparkling silverware.