Chapter Thirty-One

The next morning, Aiden was awoken by his doorbell. The sound traveled upstairs and jarred him from fitful sleep. He rolled over in bed and cracked his eyes against the morning light. He was back in his own bed. In Claddagh. He struggled to remember the night before, but it came back in foggy patches. The pain in his hand was a helpful reminder that he’d done something foolish. The doorbell rang again, pushing him from his bed.

“I’m coming!” he bellowed. He put on a shirt and loped down the stairs. From the stairwell, he could see his mother and niece peering into his living room window. “Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath. What day was it? Aiden was certain that it was only Thursday and he didn’t have to see them until tomorrow. He was also in a state that he didn’t want on display in front of his mother and a twelve-year-old.

He opened the door to a worried-looking Clare. “What are you doing here?” he asked, squinting against the sun.

His mother pursed her lips. “Is that anyway to greet your own mother, Aiden Donagh Byrnes?” She grabbed Soircha by the hand and pushed her way past him. “You smell like a distillery.”

Aiden closed the door behind them and rested his head against it. “I had a rough night,” he said.

“Well you’re about to have a rough morning if you don’t adjust your attitude,” Clare said in a huff.

“Are you drunk, Uncle Aiden?” Soircha asked. There was concern in her voice.

“Only slightly, love,” he admitted as he carried himself to the couch and plopped down. Soircha sat beside him and laid her head on his chest. Her fluffy blonde curls tickled his nose and obscured the vision of his mother whose fists were planted on her hips.

“Really, Aiden,” Clare admonished.

He reached a weak hand up and ruffled Soircha’s hair. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“I tried calling you last night,” Clare said, drifting to the kitchen. Plates clattered and water ran as she put the kettle on the stove. “Of course, you didn’t answer. Too busy to take a phone call. I thought we’d show up early since you have your conference today.”

He wasn’t going to be distracted by his mother’s passive aggressive tone. “What are you really doing here?” he whispered to his niece.

“Nana wanted to meet your girlfriend,” she said softly.

Aiden closed his eyes. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“How did you scare this one off?” Clare asked, breezing back into the living room. She sat on the chair across from him and eyed him suspiciously.

He cracked one eye open and saw that she wasn’t joking. “Mother, don’t.”

“I’m just concerned that one of my sons is incapable of bending to the will of any woman because he’s so bullheaded. What was it this time?”

“What does it matter?” he asked. “It’s not like you were a fan of Lisa “Lace-Curtains” Brennan. How did you get so invested in a woman you’ve never met?”