She doesn’t wait for Dave to kill the engine and open the passenger door. She’s out of the car, her shoes crunching gravel as she walks around it towards the porch.
“Mary, wait!”
Too late. The front door opens, and my mom is standing there wiping her hands on her faded Christmas apron, her face rosy from the heat of the Aga in the kitchen.
“Emmett! Thank God you’re here. The twins have been driving us crazy to go and choose the Christmas tree, and I keep telling them that we can’t do it until Uncle Emmett is here.”
To prove a point, my eight-year-old twin cousins Joseph and Jamie come bounding around the corner of the house and almost knock me over with the force of their embrace.
“Uncle Emmett, can we go and get the Christmas tree?”
“Everyone else has their tree up already.”
“I don’t know why we had to wait for you to get here. You’re always late.”
The twins are identical with red hair that refuses to be tamed, a smattering of freckles across their noses, and boundless energy. Their mom, my Aunt Clare, says that if they don’t do after school activities every day of the week, and then go sailing with their dad on the weekends, she’ll never get them into bed. It’s one way to put people off having kids, spending time in the twins’ presence.
“Whoa, I’m pleased to see you too.” I watch them, trying to figure out which one is Jospeh, and which one is Jamie. “Joseph?” I raise my eyebrows at the one wearing the Spiderman sweater.
“I’m Jamie. He’s Joseph.” Sometimes I swear they lie to me because they think it’s funny.
“You have to wait for me because I have the final say on what tree we bring home.”
“That’s not fair,” one of them says, but they’re already running back inside the house, no doubt to inform everyone that I’m here.
“Ach, stop ye teasing.” My mom pulls me in for a hug, and I breathe in her familiar smell that still reminds me of when I was a kid.
She pulls away, and that’s when she realizes that I’m not alone.
Her eyes flicker back and forth between me and Mary, more questions on the tip of her tongue. “You never said that you were bringing someone home for Christmas.” Her smile is there, waiting for me to introduce her, and I know what she’s thinking: dear Lord, please let him finally be settling down.
“Mom, this is Mary.”
Mary steps forward, her hand outstretched to shake my mom’s hand formally. She appears to be shy suddenly, out of her depth, and I pray this means that she’ll be so quiet, they won’t get to know her at all. It will make it easier for everyone when this is over.
“Mary. What a lovely Irish name. It’s Emmett’s granny’s name too.”
Mom smiles at me, and I tell myself that this is a good start. Only ten days to go.
She wipes her hands again like she wants to make a good impression and hugs Mary, kissing her cheek and then holding her at arm’s length so that she can get a proper look at her.
“Look at your hair.” Mom teases some curls around Mary’s face. “I wish Emmett had warned me that you were coming, I’d have saved the big guest room for you. But that’s my son, he likes to keep me on my toes. Come in, Mary. Come in, and I’ll get the kettle on. You must be exhausted after the journey.”
She takes Mary’s hand. It’s a gesture so natural, so welcoming, that my mom would’ve thought nothing of it, until her fingers brush the ring on Mary’s finger. She freezes. Her eyes catch mine briefly, and then she raises Mary’s hand in front of her face, and she’s muttering to herself, “Oh my sweet baby Jesus, my son is getting married.”
Mary and I exchange glances. I wish I knew what she was thinking, because it occurs to me now that I know nothing about Mary Chrysler other than she’s employed by O’Hara Developers and she has a temper. We haven’t even discussed our fake relationship, where we met, or how long we’ve been seeing each other, so fuck knows what she’ll tell them if I don’t get a chance to speak to her alone first.
“You kept this fecking quiet, Emmett. What are ye trying to do, give me a heart attack?” Mom squeezes Mary close to her chest and then throws her arms around me. “What a celebration this Christmas is going to be. I’ll have to send your pa out for more champagne.”
“No, Mom, it’s fine. You don’t have to do that. We want to keep it quiet and simple.”
“Nonsense, Emmett! My only son brings a young woman home and tells me he’s getting married, and you think we’re going to keep this to ourselves? I’ll have to call Maureen. I’ll have to speak to Father George. Sweet Lord, please tell me that you’ll give me time to organize the wedding.”
“Mom.” I catch Mary’s eye, and she smiles at me like her job here is done. I know she hasn’t said a word yet, but I can’t help feeling that this has played right into her hands. “We haven’t even set the date yet.”
“But you’ll be getting married here on the estate.”
It isn’t a question. Everyone in the O’Hara family gets married on the estate, in the folly at the back of the house overlooking the stream. I’ve always known that’s where I’d get married eventually, but I don’t want my mom to start organizing a wedding that she’ll have to cancel in a couple of weeks’ time.
“Of course we will.” Mary speaks for the first time, and I catch the slight accent that I haven’t noticed before, probably because until now she’s done nothing but yell at me. “One of the first things Emmett told me was that he wants to get married here. At home.”
Mom strokes my face with tears in her eyes. “Wait till Granny Mary hears about this. You’ll have Granny Nina knitting a baby shawl before the new year.”
Dave is waiting patiently with my luggage for the greetings to be over. “Usual room?” Is that amusement I see glinting in his eyes?
I give him a curt nod and will him to keep moving. For once I’m grateful that my father won’t allow me to share a room with a woman out of wedlock. At least I won’t have to worry about dividing the bed in half: my side, her side.
“Where’s Mary’s luggage?”
Mom frowns at Dave who waits for me to respond. He’ll get me out of sticky situations when required, but this line of questioning doesn’t come under his remit.
Before I can utter a word, Mary chimes in, “I didn’t get a chance to go back to my apartment. Emmett surprised me too…”
Her expression is smug. She might’ve explained the lack of a suitcase, but I know she’s toying with me. She might as well wave a banner above her head saying: Be nice to me Emmett because I can shatter your mom’s illusions just like that.
“Ach, why didn’t you give the girl a chance to pack some clothes?” Mom bats me playfully on the arm and links her other arm with Mary. “Fianna will sort you out. She’s about your size and she brings enough clothes with her to last a month.”
She’s already leading Mary inside the house.
I have to act quickly. Once the women get hold of Mary, we won’t get a moment to ourselves to get our stories straight, and I don’t want them getting suspicious. The O’Hara women might know how to milk a cow and bake the best soda bread in Ireland, but I never met anyone shrewder in a boardroom.
“It’s okay, Mom. Stop fussing. I’ll show Mary to one of the guest rooms.”
“Stop fussing?” She clucks her tongue at me, but really, she’s already sharing a moment with her future daughter-in-law. “You might as well tell the Pope to stop attending Mass.”
I try again. “Mary might want to shower before she meets everyone.”
Mom hesitates just inside the entrance hallway. “Everyone will be so excited to meet you, Mary, but I can bring towels to your room first if you prefer.”
“No, it’s fine. I can’t wait to meet everyone. Emmett talks about you all the time.” She flashes a smile at me over her shoulder as she follows my mom towards the kitchen at the rear of the house.
I have no choice but to follow.
Before I even set foot inside the kitchen, I can hear the squeals of excitement. Auntie Clare and Auntie Erin are already checking out the ring while my mom busies herself filling the kettle and setting it on top of the stove to boil.
My dad and his brothers Uncle Sean and Uncle Ciaran are playing cards at the huge pine table while the two grannies are seated at the opposite end, a ball of thick creamy wool on Granny Nina’s lap. Fianna is hovering near the women, waiting her turn. I haven’t seen her in almost a year, and she seems to have transformed from a teenager to a woman in my absence.
I’m guessing she’s around Mary’s age, and if Mary is going to bond with anyone, it will be my cousin. Only, I don’t know if that will work in my favor or against me. What if Mary confides in her what’s really going on? Can Fianna be trusted to keep our secret?
My dad is on his feet and pulling me into a bearhug before I’ve barely crossed the threshold. “Congratulations, son. I’ll need to drive into Laragh later to pick up some more booze. Ye could’ve given me a heads-up.”
“Aye, sorry. It was all last minute. I didn’t think.”
“Never mind your dad.” Uncle Sean claps my back with his meaty hands. “You know he’ll stop off at Jake’s and celebrate with a few pints of Guiness while he’s at it.”
Uncle Ciaran shakes my hand warmly. This is how Christmas always looks in our home. Everyone comes to stay until the new year. Everyone is loud, excited, and often drunk, and I usually can’t wait to get back to work once it’s all over.
“Congratulations, Emmett.” The gentle lilting voice belongs to Fianna, standing in front of me, looking up at me with her brother’s eyes. “She’s perfect.”
My gaze instinctively flits towards Mary, who is watching me with bright eyes. I can’t tell if she’s loving or hating the attention because I’m trying to see her through Fianna’s eyes.
My cousin was always the quiet one, but she withdrew into a rigid-backed shell when her brother Oisin died. According to my parents, Fianna went through therapy to help her deal with her grief, but I only ever saw her at Christmas, and it never seemed like the right time to ask her how she was feeling. Then, I realized that I’d missed the boat. Too much time had passed with no communication, and guilt prevented me from reaching out.
“I’ll have someone on my side when I want to watch cheesy movies,” Fianna says as if reading my mind and diverting the subject.
“No one wants to watch cheesy movies.” Her dad, Uncle Sean, resumes his seat and picks up his card hand.
“I saw you scrolling through the Christmas movie channel last night, Sean.” Mom fills a teapot with boiling water. “You thought no one was watching.”
“Aye, Dad. Don’t bother denying it, I caught it on camera.” Fianna slides her phone from her pocket and waves it at him.
“Fecking hell.” Sean shakes his head, but his grin is wide. “Can no one keep a fecking secret in this house?”
Everyone laughs. I catch Mary’s eye, her expression unfathomable, as the twins come barging into the kitchen, yelling, “Jamie caught a toad. Can we keep it as a pet?”
“Not in here, you can’t.”
Mom is already shooing the boys back towards the door as Granny Mary says, “Fill a bowl with water and let them keep it for a while. They take after their grandpa; he once kept a whole toad family in a bucket when he was a lad.”
While the women are distracted, my dad gestures for me to follow him to his study. Inside, he half fills two crystal tumblers with whiskey and sits behind his desk. I sit opposite him and sip the whiskey, feeling it burn as it goes down.
“Congratulations, son.” Dad’s eyes are moist. “I didn’t think that you were ready to take over from me yet, but I’m proud of you. You’ve had your fun, and now you’ve found a decent Irish girl to settle down with.” Pause. “Does she know?”
This is what I was dreading. I thought I might’ve bought some time with it being Christmas, but my father must be eager to step down and hand over the reins. He’s kept it peaceful between the Irish families for the past twenty years, but it doesn’t mean it’ll stay that way when they learn there’s a new Don at the helm.
Am I ready?
It was inevitable, but I feel like the hole I dug when I proposed to Mary to save her ass is getting tighter, squeezing me into a shape that doesn’t quite fit. This is the way it goes: get married, take over the family helm. It’s the reason I never get involved. I’ve been stalling all these years because the thought of introducing the woman I love to a life of bodyguards, blacked-out windows, and one eye over her shoulder isn’t exactly how I pictured starting married life.
Sure, my mom and my aunties take it in their stride, but they came from similar backgrounds. It’s the life they were born into. I love them for it, but is it what I want for my woman?
My dad watches me closely, sitting back in his seat, one leg crossed over the other.
“No. Mary doesn’t know.”
“Don’t leave it too long, son. The best marriages are built on trust and honesty.”
I smile. Mary and I are fucked then.
“I will tell her.”
Weariness settles over my shoulders like a mantle. Since Oisin, my cousin, died, I’ve been finding it increasingly difficult to turn a blind eye to the dark side of the family business. I wouldn’t be where I am without it, but I’ve been thinking about legitimizing the American branch. In time. When I’m ready to settle down.
“I’ll tell her soon.”
