Because no matter who Glen O’Connell was, he led me to the love of my life. To my new home. To the place where I matter. Where I take pictures of babies for a living and don’t chase coked-up, glitzy starlets and dodgy, sexually harassing bosses. Where I go up to Northern Ireland from time to time to hang out with my half-brother, Taron, putting fresh flowers on his grave and telling him all the stories I couldn’t have when I still lived in the US.

I visit Kath, too.

I even visit Dad—and yes, it helps that they were buried in the same graveyard.

Kathleen might’ve said she’d never accept a child of mine back when Mal slipped into the bathroom, but I am lucky enough to raise a child of hers, and that’s all that matters.

And when Mal’s eyes meet mine, and people shout and whistle and laugh, because it is so stupidly clear what he’s thinking about while he’s singing this completely innocent Christmas song, Tamsin cringes and waves the bag with her brand new boots in the air. She says the words I never thought I’d hear her say.

“Ma, Da, get a room!”

In this moment, I’m not burning.

Not ice cold.

Just…perfectly warm.

Fifteen years later

Mal

I will not strangle my child today.

I will not strangle my child today.

I will not…

“Da! Kiki said I’m not tall enough to be a basketball player.” Grayson elbows his sister, Kathleen, in the backseat. I loosen my bowtie (bowtie!) as I maneuver my Volvo SUV from our plush cottage (yup, you heard that right, too) toward Dublin, where I am going to watch my daughter, Tamsin, get married.

“Well, your sister is right,” Rory interjects, kneading my thigh to calm me down.

Look, I like the lad Tamsin is marrying fine. He doesn’t appear to be a serial killer/wife beater/Manchester City supporter. I’m just uncomfortable with handing my baby over to someone else.

And I don’t mean that in the literal way, of course. Tamsin can take care of me better than I do her. But there’s something so final about letting go, about not being the main man in your daughter’s life anymore.

“That is slanger!” Grayson throws his hands in the air.

“It’s slander, you eejit, and it’s not,” Kiki huffs.