Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 115885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Her face morphs from happy to shocked, her eyebrows dropping.
“What kind of question is that? Of course, I’m going to keep it. I’m bloody Catholic, Mal.”
I nod.
“I think it’s more a question of what are you going to do.” She sits back, folding her arms over her chest.
“I’m going to take care of it, of course,” I say, feeling my eyebrows jumping up in surprise. Was there even a question?
Kathleen huffs. Wrong answer, I guess. I try again.
“Both of you. I’m going to take care of both of you—financially and otherwise. It’s not going to be just you. I’ll find a real job. And I’ll have it half the time if you let me.”
“It’s not it.”
“Of course, it’s not.” I blink. Jesus. What more does she want?
“It’s a boy,” she says smugly, grinning now. “A little fella, Mal. I can practically feel it. Women know those things.”
I try to smile, but it feels weird on my face. Right. A boy. I reach across the table and take her hand in mine, stroking her inner wrist with my thumb.
“I mean it. You’re not alone. You won’t have to drop out of uni or anything. I’ll take care of him all the time, give him everything I have.”
She looks away. Sniffs.
“What?” I press.
She needs more, but I can’t figure out what more consists of. Suddenly, I want to give her whatever it is that she wants. Even if it kills me. Maybe I could start by not mumbling her sister’s name when I feck her from behind.
Probably, arsehole. Probably.
“I called your ma,” she says softly.
She’s not crying, though, which makes me wonder if it’s an act. I let go of her hand and sit back.
“You did?”
“I told her. I had to. I had to get her blessing, Mal. Plus, she’s been so down since what happened with Bridget.” Kath looks up and smiles, tears in her eyes.
Perhaps it’s not an act after all. Maybe Rory turned me into a jaded bastard.
“She is so happy to get a grandson, Mal. So is Bridget. Perhaps Dad is up there making things right for us. It’s like kismet. Like it was meant to be.”
Kismet.
I told Rory we should leave it to fate, and guess what? Fate flipped us the bird, turned Rory against me, and made sure I impregnated Kath. If fate exists, it is working extra hard to make sure Rory and I are never going to be together. Kath is still talking in the background. I’m catching up on her speech.
“…told her I completely understand. Your mam is very adamant we should get married, especially considering how religious I am, but I told her we could wait. I respect your wishes and know that making your mam and girlfriend happy is not a good enough reason to propose.”
Girlfriend?
It feels bizarre to argue the point that Kath and I are not a couple, especially considering she’s carrying my child. But marriage? Really? It’s not that I don’t like Kath; it’s that I like her for all the wrong reasons.
Because she is here and available and familiar and open-legged and reminds me of her half-sister. Those are quite horrible reasons to be with someone, let alone marry her. But now that we carelessly threw a kid into the mix, I know Kathleen is right. My family—Mam, brothers, sister—absolutely expect me to do the right thing by her. Even if I feel horribly tricked and cornered. Even if I can barely remember that night.
But you can certainly remember all the other times you fecked her with a condom, and sober.
“Say something,” Kathleen whispers, gawking at me.
“I…” Don’t want to marry you. “I need to think about it.”
“Okay.”
“But regardless, I will be there for you. For both of you. Always,” I add fiercely.
Of course, I don’t know what I’m saying.
I don’t know where life is going to take me.
And I definitely have no fecking clue how badly I am going to break that promise.
I marry Kathleen eight months into her pregnancy, her round belly looking like the gleaming moon in the shapeless, white dress.
It’s a small, quiet ceremony at Father Doherty’s church—late December, on the heels of Christmas. Kiki radiates happiness and triumph, Mam and Elaine are fawning over her, all my brothers and sister are weeping with pride and joy, and Sean and Daniel are here with Maeve and Heather—reluctant, but present.
During my stag party, which Daniel threw, he laughed and said Mam and Kiki finally wore me down and made me propose. I sipped my drink, smiled, and told him to feck off. But he wasn’t wrong, and that bothered me.
I promise Kathleen forever, she does the same, and we exchange rings. These past few months have been intense. Kathleen didn’t want to know the gender of the baby, but spoke only of that. She moved in with me as soon as Mam came back from Kilkenny with Bridget. I was there when the peanut kicked for the first time, I was there when it started moving in her belly—especially at night, and I was there when we could see the imprint of one of its limbs stretching her stomach.