The phone dipped back to her pursed lips. “Please do, you look like a wild man. Have you gotten any sleep? Your eyes are a bit dark.”

“I’ve slept.”

“Out of all of my boys, you’re the chattiest one, you know that? I could always tell when you were worn-out. You’d close right up like a little clam. When you were small, you were so loud and boisterous, performing for the family. Dancing and singin’ in your tap shoes. But as soon as you got tired, you stuck out your lip and furrowed your black brow until I made you take a nap.”

Her rambling made Aiden smile in spite of himself. “I didn’t perform...”

“You did,” his mother insisted. “You’re the theatrical one.”

He was reminded of his talk with Robert last week. He liked entertaining and charming people. Though it didn’t work on everyone, he tried nonetheless. Aiden’s mind drifted back to Lisa and their last interaction. Looking back on it, he felt his performance with her was less than stellar. “I saw Lisa last week,” he told his mother. He didn’t know what he wanted Clare to say, but he needed to tell her. “She came back to town because of that damn Western Ireland Humanities Conference and it threw me off my game.”

“Mmh.” Clare raised a brow. “Why do you think that is?”

“Because I was trying my best to forget her,” he finally told his mother.

Clare took him into her kitchen where she pulled the kettle off the stove. “Dear, do you mind if I put you on the counter while I make tea? We can’t multi-task, you know.”

Aiden chuckled. His mother always had a way of cheering him up. She’d even managed to maintain a jovial spirit during the tougher times. Being a school teacher and a single mother of four sons was no easy feat, but Clare had pulled it off. Aiden now looked at his mother’s ceiling, listening to her clatter dishes. “You certainly don’t need to forget the girl. You remember her so you don’t make the same mistake again,” she said over the noise.

“I want to forget her for this week,” he said. “Is that an appropriate amount of time?”

“Don’t sass, Aiden. You do what you want for a week, but you must see her again before she leaves, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then,” she said, pouring her tea. “Spend this time getting some rest and working on your paper. You’ll feel better when you’ve finished it.”

Her advice sounded vague, like she couldn’t remember which son she was talking to. Whenever one of her children had a problem, she offered sage advice that could have applied to any of them. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” his mother said. The phone was back at her face. “When you’re there you can work in peace and quiet; nothing but the sheep to keep you company. You’ll come back a different man.”

A different man. “I’m sure I’ll be the same. Morose and irritable.”