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Back The Falling in Love Montage Save as PDF
Chapters (45)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1.
  4. 2.
  5. 3.
  6. 4.
  7. 5.
  8. 6.
  9. 7.
  10. 8.
  11. 9.
  12. 10.
  13. 11.
  14. 12.
  15. 13.
  16. 14.
  17. 15.
  18. 16.
  19. 17.
  20. 18.
  21. 19.
  22. 20.
  23. 21.
  24. 22.
  25. 23.
  26. 24.
  27. 25.
  28. 26.
  29. 27.
  30. 28.
  31. 29.
  32. 30.
  33. 31.
  34. 32.
  35. 33.
  36. 34.
  37. 35.
  38. 36.
  39. 37.
  40. 38.
  41. Acknowledgments
  42. About the Author
  43. Books by Ciara Smyth
  44. Back Ad
  45. About the Publisher

I wasn’t really expecting a response, but Mum stroked my cheek with her hand.

“You have to do what makes you happy, Claire,” she said. “You always look so sad.”

Tears sprang into my eyes and I blinked fast. My aunt Claire isn’t my mum’s biological sister. No worries for her about inheriting the dementia. She doesn’t visit much and I hate her for it, but in a way, I’m glad that Mum thinks I’m her. At least she doesn’t know how many people have left her behind. She can’t miss me; she doesn’t know who I am. But she might miss Claire if she didn’t come around.

This way at least I can make her happy.

9.

So, the breakup. Obviously, you want to know. The way you want to gawk at any terrible accident to see where the blood and guts are spilling out of. After visiting Mum I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I thought about it the whole walk home, so when I looked up and found myself back in my bedroom, I didn’t really remember getting there. I do my best not to dwell on it anymore. See, for months after it happened I played it over and over in my head so many times, like I was a camera operator looking down on the whole sorry cliché, cringing for the girl in the café who had no idea what was coming. Let’s look at it again, shall we?

There I am, sitting across the table from Hannah. It’s a cute café with gingham tablecloths and twee pictures on the wall that say things like Baking: where the fondant stop. All I’m thinking about is how pretty she is. I don’t realize she’s about to ruin my life. I’m noticing the adorable way her glasses sit on her round cheeks so that when she talks they kind of bounce up and down. I totally miss the tone of the conversation. I’m also really into the caramel cake I’ve just stuck a fork into.

“You’re my favorite person, Saoirse. You’re so generous and funny and sweet and I love those things about you, but . . . ,” Hannah says, and I smile. How did I miss it? This is the start of every breakup scene in history.

“I love you too.” I stand up and lean across the table to kiss her. In a coffee shop. This is not something I would have done two years ago when I was a baby gay who thought everyone was looking at me.

She turns her head so my lips graze her cheek, leaving a smear of peppermint lip balm on her skin. That’s when the word but travels to me from ten seconds ago and registers in my brain.