Part XXIX

The following week was Thanksgiving, and it caught me completely by surprise on Monday morning, when Emily asked if Ronan and I had plans for the holiday.

Truthfully, I had forgotten all about it. In the past few years, Thanksgiving had been just one more quiet day in a long weekend. Sometimes I spent it alone, and sometimes I spent it with Emily, if she didn’t have someplace else to go.

“What do you mean, you haven’t thought about it?” she demanded. “Here you are, with a house-guest from New Zealand, and an opportunity to show him the best holiday this country has to offer, and you haven’t thought about it?”

I hadn’t. I had been too preoccupied with caring for Ronan from day to day. That was a lot more work than anyone realized, and even the thought of preparing a massive holiday dinner on top of it was more than I could handle. Hal was still very much on my mind, too, as I remembered holidays we had shared in our time together. I wasn’t sure that I really wanted to celebrate anything.

Emily hastened to reassure me, believing as she did that my reluctance was all due to the hassle of food preparation. “Jon and I will do the work, and you two can just come over and eat. Tell Liam we won’t take no for an answer.”

Rather than explain my mixed feelings, I accepted the invitation and told Ronan when I got home that night.

He wasn’t happy about it.

Traveling to Emily’s wasn’t the issue, now that he’d ventured out a few times since Hal’s funeral, and nothing bad had happened as a result.

Seeing people didn’t bother him, either, now that his bruises had faded and he looked more like his old self again. Em, Jon, Sean, and Mary had all been faithful visitors from the start, and Ronan was comfortable with them.

Problems arose mainly when he needed to eat or use the bathroom, and even the bathroom business didn’t bother him as much as the eating dilemma. As a guest in someone else’s home for Thanksgiving dinner, he would not be able to hide behind closed doors when it was time to have our meal. Could he cope with having me feed him in front of our friends?

I knew it would be difficult. Ronan wouldn’t even eat in front of Sean, close as they were, and on the rare occasions when he did give in and have something to drink, it had to be a beverage he could manage with a glass and a straw parked right in front of him on the table, so he could partake without assistance.

His voice broke gently into my thoughts. “It’s nice of Emily to think of us, but I wish we could get out of it, a ghrá.”

“I can’t think of an acceptable reason to refuse the invitation. We don’t have a prior commitment, and the fact that you don’t like to have anyone watch me feed you isn’t good enough. Emily and Jon are looking forward to this. It wouldn’t be right to disappoint them.”

“I suppose not, but still—” He sighed and wrinkled his nose. “Damn it, I’m about to sneeze.”

I grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the nightstand and brought one to his nose just in time, holding the others in reserve. Ronan was never a one-sneeze man. This time, there was a series of three. I waited a bit, but he seemed to be done. “Is that it, Ro?”

He nodded and sniffled a bit. “I hope I’m not getting a cold.”

“Ooh, don’t even think that!” I exclaimed. If there was a way to make life with two broken arms even more miserable, that was it.

He sniffled again. “Actually, I think I’m all right. ’Twas just a bit of dust up my nose. You really think Emily would be that upset if we gave our regrets?”

“Yes. She’s so thrilled to have a reason to cook. I know you’d rather not have me feed you in front of people, but couldn’t you swallow your pride just this once? Please?”

“Well—maybe if you persuade me,” he answered, with an arch smile.

I smiled back and turned off the light.

***

My persuasion tactics worked well, and on Thanksgiving morning we rose early, so Ronan could have a bath and a thorough hair-washing. Wearing waterproof sleeves to cover his arms and hands, he could relax in the tub without fear of damaging his casts. The warmth of the water eased his aches and pains, and he really enjoyed having me lather him up with sandalwood soap and a washcloth.

“’Tis every bit as nice as a massage,” he sighed, leaning back against my inflatable bath cushion.

“I could give you one afterwards, if you like.”

“I don’t really need a full one, a chuisle. Just a little work on my neck and shoulders. I know I’m a bit tense through there.”

I picked up a bottle of scented oil and poured a bit into my hands, then sat down at the head of the clawfoot tub and started to work on him.

“Mmmm, that’s nice. What is it? Some sort of evergreen?”

“Kind of. Rosemary and lavender.”

“What, herbes de provence? What do I look like? A leg of lamb?”

I laughed outright. “There are more ingredients than rosemary and lavender in herbes de provence, Ronan, and how could I possibly mistake you for a leg of lamb?”

“Well, now, I know you couldn’t, a chuisle. I was just—er—pulling your leg.”

I laughed softly. “Yes, I knew that,” I answered, kneading his upper back and shoulders.

“Ah, that’s good,” he sighed. “Thank you. Carrying a broken arm in a sling is harder work than one might think.”

“It’s been bothering you?”

“Aye. It puts a strain on my neck and my left shoulder. More of a nuisance than anything, but still—”

“Couldn’t you switch arms from time to time?”

“I suppose I could, if one wasn’t worse off than the other, but as it is the doctor told me to keep my left arm supported as much as possible. I’ve been following that directive, as you know, but I don’t like the feeling of imbalance it creates. Och, well, I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“It’ll all be over and done with in a few more weeks.”

“Yes, or so I devoutly hope.”

“It will be,” I assured him, and gave his shoulders a parting squeeze. “Time to get out.”

“Och, must I?”

“Yes. We’re running a bit short on time.”

“All right, then. Help me.”

I pulled the plug, then moved to face him, caught him under the arms, and lifted. His legs were strong and he stood upright quickly, without too much effort on my part, and leaned against me for balance as he stepped over the side of the tub. I patted him dry with a big towel and wrapped it around his waist, then took off his sleeves and draped them over the towel rack. “Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

***

In the bedroom, he spent a great deal of time considering what to wear, though he really didn’t have much in the way of clothing: just two pairs of black jeans and one pair of black chinos, three t-shirts, two turtlenecks, a white dress shirt, a tie, and his pullover. “What do you think?” he asked. “I should dress nicely, but I don’t want to overdo it.”

“Well, I’m wearing a dress—”

“Aye,” he remarked drily. “Some Irishmen do wear a kilt on occasion, but I’m not one of them. Would you mind helping me choose from what I have?”

I laughed. “I wasn’t suggesting that you wear a kilt, Ro. I was about to say, be comfortable, and wear something with room for expansion. The dress I’m wearing isn’t my fanciest one, but it stretches, and I’ll need that. Emily and Jon have been cooking up a storm for days now, and they’re going to do their utmost to stuff us to the gills. We’ll have to eat a bit of everything.”

“Haven’t they learned yet that I’m not one to indulge in that sort of excess?”

“That doesn’t matter on Thanksgiving day. Excess is as much a tradition as the types of food that are served.”

“Not for me, and if moderation would offend, then I’d best stay home.”

He was starting to sound edgy, so I reassured him. “Don’t worry, Ro. Eat as much or as little as you like. Just don’t wear your tightest jeans.”

“They’re all a bit on the tight side, so I guess I’ll wear the chinos. Let me have the blue turtleneck, too, and my pullover, and the strap for my arm.”

“Not the sling?”

“No. That’s fine with a t-shirt when I’m lounging about here, but not if I’m going out and want to look decent. I know the strap doesn’t give me as much support, but I expect I’ll be sitting down most of the time. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“All right.” I finished toweling him dry, then got him into his undershorts and his chosen outfit. “Oh, you do look nice, Ro! Now let me finish your hair.”

He perched on the edge of the bed and tried not to flinch as I worked.

For once, his hair brushed out easily. When I was satisfied with it, I fluffed it with my fingers, lightly teasing it into waves and ringlets. Then I smoothed his beard and mustache.

He tipped his head back slightly, looking up at me with his sky-blue eyes wide open and his eyebrows raised. “Will I do?” he asked, sounding uncertain.

I sat down on his lap and put my arms around him. “You’ll more than do,” I said, and kissed him. “I know you won’t believe me when I say it, but you’re still quite a handsome man when you’ve a mind to be.”

“Och, get on with you!” he demurred, blushing.

“You make me want you without even trying. If we weren’t running short on time—”

His lips met mine and silenced me, and we lost ourselves for a few precious minutes. When he broke away, he smiled. “The fires will just have to smolder until this evening, a ghrá.”

I nodded, and nuzzled his cheek.

“You had better take your shower and get dressed now.”

“I know.” I kissed him one more time. “Love you, Ro.”

“Love you, too. Now go, will you?”

***

Emily was up to her elbows in preparations when we arrived, just ten minutes after the appointed time, and hollered a cheerful greeting from the kitchen, while Jon welcomed us at the door with a smile. He was wearing a well-splotched and dusted blue denim apron over his clothes, and I doubted that he realized there was a floury white smudge on his cheek.

“Happy Thanksgiving . Em’ll be out of the kitchen in a bit. For now, she says you should just help yourselves to appetizers and make yourselves comfortable. But she also says, don’t eat too much beforehand, ’cause dinner’s going to be fabulous and you’ll want to make sure you have room for it all. May I take your coat, Sarah?”

“Yes, Jon. Thanks.” I shrugged out of it and Jon took it and draped it over his arm.

“Are you keeping your sweater, Liam?”

Ronan nodded. “’Twas a cold walk over and I’m chilled.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling. “You look like you’re well into the spirit of things, a cara.”

Jon glanced down at his apron and chuckled. “Yeah, well, it’s a good thing I wore this. As you can see, I’m kind of a slob when I’m working with food. It’s like setting a little kid loose with a gallon of fingerpaint. I think you’ll enjoy the results, though.”

“I’m sure we will. If everything tastes as good as it smells—”

“Of course, Sarah! I’ve been sampling as we go, so I’m fit to testify. Now.” He waved his arm in the direction of the sideboard. “There’s hot cider in the crockpot. Help yourselves, and feel free to spike it with your favorite poison. Em’s put out rum and whiskey, I think.”

“Thanks,” I said quickly, so Ronan wouldn’t have to explain, yet again, that he didn’t drink. “I love cider with rum.”

Jon put my coat on the rack by the door, then turned back to us. “Oh, I almost forgot! Feel free to tuck into the appetizers. Em and I will be out to entertain you properly in another fifteen minutes or so.”

“Och, don’t be so formal, Jon. ’Tis just us after all.”

“Yes, but—” He grinned and shrugged. “Emily’s orders,” he confided, sotto voce.

When he had gone, Ronan and I walked over to the sideboard and took stock of the refreshments. There was the crockpot of cider and the liquor, a cheese-board and grapes, a bowl of pomegranate seeds, a basket of crackers, and raw vegetables and dip. Everything was artfully displayed.

“This could be a painting,” Ronan observed. “Seems almost a shame to disarrange it.”

“I know, but if we don’t disarrange it, Emily will be upset. Tell me what captures your fancy.”

He pressed close to me and studied the table. “Tell me: what are those little red things in the crystal bowl?”

“Pomegranate seeds. Haven’t you ever seen them before?”

“You’d think I might have, wouldn’t you? But no, I haven’t. What an extraordinary color! Seems as if they couldn’t possibly be edible.”

“But they are. Do you want to try some?”

“Are they good?”

“Delicious, and preparing them like this is a lot of work. The fruit itself is a big round thing. You break it open and the seeds are all packed inside. It’s a really ancient fruit. I first heard of it in Greek mythology, when I was a little girl.”

“Och!” he exclaimed. “Hades and Persephone! The six pomegranate seeds! I’d forgotten that story.”

“Yes.” I smiled, remembering how I had once imagined him a modern-day Hades, and wondered what consequences there might be for me if I ate the food he provided. “Would you like to try some?”

“If it will guarantee a lifetime with you, a ghrá, then I’ll eat the whole damn bowl.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way with ordinary human beings, Ro.”

“Be that as it may, I’ll still try some, and—d’you think that might be Stilton?”

I examined the cheeses. “Yes, I think so, and there’s a cheddar, and some Brie. What would you like?”

“A bit of each, please, and—well, just a bit of everything, and some plain cider. I’m hungrier than I thought.”

“We did skip breakfast,” I reminded him.

“True. I’d forgotten.”

“Go sit down on the couch and get comfortable, and I’ll bring a plate over.”

***

As Ronan and I engaged in eating together, I realized it was no accident that all the appetizers were finger foods. Emily meant to make the whole experience as casual as possible, in hopes of putting us all at our ease. Ronan’s manner was certainly less stiff than it had been when we first arrived, and he relaxed against the sofa pillows as I fed him, every bite forcing his lips and my fingers to connect. The pomegranate seeds, which I had saved for last, were especially tricky, tiny as they were. Ronan, eyes sparkling, teased them from my fingertips one by one, and I found this increasingly exciting each time he did it.

“So, I take it you like pomegranates, then?” I asked, as his tongue flicked the tips of my thumb and index finger.

He smiled, slowly and sweetly, my finger still resting lightly on the softness of his lower lip. “Well, now, the seeds remind me of something else I like to feel with my tongue, though admittedly the taste is rather different.”

At first I wasn’t sure what he was hinting at, though his tone of voice suggested something intimate. I must have looked puzzled, because he raised his eyebrows a bit, then let his eyes roam from my face down the length of my body, to rest on—

He laughed softly when I blushed and crossed my legs. “You must admit it’s an excellent metaphor, a chuisle.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Ah, and what words I have at my command!” He cleared his throat dramatically. “’Tis the perfect jewel lying hidden at the center of the flower, at the edge of the sacred well,” he rhapsodized.

“Good night! Don’t say things like that now, Ro! We have a social occasion to get through, and you’re getting me all—”

“Yes, I know,” he said, smugly. “And you love it, too, with its promise of things to come later.”

“Were you always such a wise-ass flirt?” I demanded, desperate to change the subject.

“Never. I was too shy, and besides, there was no one worthy—‘’til there was you,’” he crooned softly, mimicking Paul McCartney a little too well.

“When was the last time you kissed the Blarney Stone?” I countered, laughing.

“Ugh! Never, thank you very much.”

“But why? Because it’s too much of a touristy thing?”

“Well, there is that. Too many strange lips touching the damn thing on a daily basis, but beyond that, I’ve heard some nasty stories about it.”

“Such as?”

“Well, for one, it’s rumored to have been part of the castle’s septic system.”

“A medieval castle would have had such a thing?”

“Maybe, but even if not, the other story I’ve heard is more current than that. ’Tis said that the locals piss on it after hours, as a joke on the tourists.”

“Ugh! You don’t believe that, do you?”

“Dunno, but even if that rumor was false, the stone’s placed at a dizzying height, and I don’t care for that at all. It worries me more than whether the local lads spend a penny there or not.”

“Spend a penny?”

“’Tis a euphemism for takin’ a piss.”

“Ah. How quaint and charming.”

“Indeed, but anyway, it seems I come by my gift of Blarney naturally. No one’s ever ‘spent a penny’ on these lips, so give us a kiss and find out what it does for you.”

So I leaned forward and kissed him, and a few moments later heard the soft but distinct sound of Emily clearing her throat.

“Well, I know Jon told you to make yourselves comfortable, but really!”

Ronan pulled away from me abruptly, blushing to the roots of his hair.

I could feel my own face heating up.

“You look like two kids who got caught making out under the bleachers at a high school football game,” she pronounced, and laughed. She leaned down and gave me a hug and a kiss, then embraced Ronan. “Welcome, and happy Thanksgiving. I hope you guys are hungry!”

“Starved,” Ronan affirmed. “We skipped breakfast so we’d be sure to have a hearty appetite.”

“Good, because I’m going to stuff you like little piggies. Jon?”

“Everything’s laid out, Em. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

***

C.P. Warner
© 19 February 2008

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