In the unlikely event that we have three boys and no girls…we promise not to have everything in the house blue and watch footie all weekend.

In the unlikely event Mal moves to New York…I promise not to allow him to wear tweed jackets and become the cliché tortured artist.

All those things seem important, but they’re still hanging in the air like stars, unreachable and far away. We don’t talk about what counts. About his secrets. About the mysterious calls he takes every few hours in the hallway.

We don’t talk about the fact that I don’t want to move to Ireland, because my life is in America, and he doesn’t want to move to America, because his heart is in Tolka.

We don’t talk about Kathleen.

Or Father Doherty.

We don’t talk about my nightmare.

At some point, Mal slips to the hallway to take another phone call, and I pick up my phone to text Callum and ask him how he is.

After I’m done with the message, I slide into my unopened text messages to face the Summer music. It’s more like a scream, if I get the vibe right, and what I see makes me want to throw up.

Summer: Please answer.

Summer: I guess he told you.

Summer: I NEVER meant to sleep with him, Rory. You have to believe me.

Summer: And I knew he loved you so much. Please, please forgive me.

Summer: Omg, stop! You were going to break up with him, anyway. You told me so a million times. In my mind, you weren’t even, like, fully together. It was always Mal you wanted. Pick up.

My mouth is slack when Mal returns to the room, looking around.

“Shall we pack up?” he asks with his fists balled at his waist. I force myself to look up and ignore the way my heart shatters like windows.

Boom, boom, boom.

“Three more days.” I muster a weak smile, playing dumb again.

That’s what Ashton said. Three more days. And he actually sent for Mal to come work with him today for an hour, to justify our stay here. I joined Mal to take pictures, and we broke the news about our wedding to Ashton, who was elated. But then again, he was also very, very high. I’ve a suspicion he would have been just as excited if I told him I’d bought a new keychain of the Temple of Hephaestus at the local market.

Yup. Ashton looked higher than an airplane. I remind myself yet again to tell Ryner he needs to send Ashton to rehab after this project is over. It’s obvious things have gotten way out of control.

“I need to go back,” Mal repeats his usual mantra.

“You do? Awesome. I’ll meet you there in three days.”