SEPTEMBER 21ST 2002 AOIFE
I DIDN’T WANT to be here tonight, much less on display like a prettified porcelain doll, but that’s exactly what I found myself doing on Saturday night, as I sat opposite the Rice family at Spizzico’s, one of the more uppity restaurants in Ballylaggin.
“Just bear with me for another hour,” Paul coaxed, giving my hand a squeeze under the table, as Paul’s father, Garda superintendent Jerry Rice, drawled on about his upcoming golf tournament in Kerry. “I promise, we can do something you pick after this, okay?”
I slapped on a smile for his mother’s benefit, when I was screaming on the inside.
I tried.
I really had.
When we decided to try again, I promised myself that I would put to bed any notions of my father’s apprentice and concentrate on making it work with the boy who actually wanted to be with me.
And to be fair, that’s exactly what I had done for months.
I kept it friendly and jovial with Joey in class, but I steered clear outside of school.
For months, I had thrown myself into our relationship, giving Paul one hundred and fifty percent of my time, attention, and effort, only to find
myself still feeling empty.
Because it didn’t seem to matter how much I avoided, distracted myself or denied it, my thoughts always returned to the place they shouldn’t.
To the person they shouldn’t.
“Please get me out of here,” I hissed through clenched teeth, still smiling like a creeper at my boyfriend. “Because if I have to listen to your father talk about his impressive handicap or pretentious golf match for another second, I’m going to scream.”
“It’s a tournament,” he corrected, fake smiling right back at me. “Not a match, babe.”
“I don’t care,” I replied, still grinning. “Please.”
“Give it a rest,” Paul bit out. “You’re getting a free meal in a restaurant your family could never afford to eat at, and all you have to do is smile and nod in exchange.”
My mouth fell open. “You did not just say that to me.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Rice asked, setting her fork down. “Aoife, dear, did you say something?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “I said that I’m—“
“Tired,” Paul cut me off and said, reaching over to pat my hand like a little child. “She just said that she’s a bit tired. Aoife started working at The Dinniman during the summer,” he continued as by way of explanation. “She’s finding it hard to adapt to work and school.”
“What?” No, I’m not.
“The Dinniman?”
Paul nodded. “It’s a restaurant across town.”
“It’s a pub that serves food,” I corrected, ignoring Paul’s warning glare. “I’m waitressing there a few evenings after school, and on weekends.”
“Well good for you.” Mrs. Rice smiled warmly. “It will be nice to have a bit of pocket money for yourself.”
I smiled back at her. “Yeah, I like it so far, and most of the locals are from my own area, so it’s grand really.”
“I’m always telling Paul that he should get himself a little Saturday job now that he’s in fourth year,” Mrs. Rice offered. “I think it’s important that a young person learns the value of a euro.”
“And I think it’s important that he concentrates on his studies,” Mr. Rice interjected. “He has all the money he needs from us, Rita. The law degree he has his heart set on will be earned by working hard at school, and not waiting tables in The Dinniman. Of course, I mean no offence, Aoife.”
Offense taken.
“It’s grand.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “Fourth year isn’t a heavy workload year,” I heard myself add. “Most people in our year have jobs by now.”
“Perhaps, but surely not in pubs?”
I shrugged. “In lots of different places.”
Mr. Rice frowned. “And you wouldn’t consider finding work elsewhere?”
“Where would you suggest?” I bit out, flustered from his interrogation. “Somewhere more appropriate for a girl of your age,” he offered with a
wave of his hand. “Maybe a little babysitting job on Saturdays.”
“I like it at The Dinniman,” I replied, feeling my cheeks burn from the effort it was taking to restrain myself. “I make more money there than any babysitting job would pay.”
“I didn’t think a waitressing job would pay that well?”
Shows what you know, you big posh prick…
“Would you look at her, Dad,” Paul interjected with a chuckle. “She’s an asset to the place.”
“Thanks, Paul.” I beamed, feeling my stomach flip from the compliment. “I appreciate that.”
“No problem, babe,” he replied, slinging an arm over the back of my chair. “Besides, one look at her with that little white shirt and short black skirt, and the owners are guaranteed to fill the bar,” Paul continued, clicking his fingers for emphasis. “Of course they’re going to pay well to keep her.”
I take it back, Paul, you big eejit.
Silently seething, I glowered at the side of his handsome side profile.
Swallowing down my discomfort, I smiled and nodded along as the conversation switched to plans of the future.
My future looked drastically different to Paul’s. There would be no University of Limerick for a degree in law on the map for me, that was for sure.
I was more than likely headed to a local further education and training college after secondary school, where I would train in hairdressing or beauty.
At least, hairdressing was the only career piquing my interest at that moment in time.
“I have to say, both of my sons have exquisite taste in the company they keep,” Mr. Rice declared then, holding his tumbler of whiskey up, and gesturing first to me and then to his oldest son Billy’s new girlfriend, Zara.
“Yeah.” I raised my water glass and resisted the urge to gag. “Here, here.”
Meanwhile, Zara smiled sweetly back at him. “Thank you, Mr. Rice.”
Poor innocent fool, I thought to myself, give it time. You’ll learn.
She was just the latest in a long line of beautiful women Billy had brought home to show off.
Paul’s older brother was nineteen and I had counted no less the seven different girlfriends accompany him to these family meals since we had started going out back in first year.
“Quick,” I whisper-hissed in Paul’s ear. “Call my phone and I’ll take it from there. I can’t take another minute of him.”
“What, no.” He balked. “Just wait it out.” “Paul.”
“Aoife.”
Making a point of looking at my watch, I quickly feign-gasped. “Oh my god, is that the time?”
Lame. Lame. Lame.
“Paul.” I turned to look at my boyfriend, all wide-eyed and full of crap. “My dad wanted me home an hour ago.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Yes,” I replied, giving him a look that said go with it or I’ll cut your dick off.
Turning back to his family, I offered them an apologetic smile, as I stood. “I am so sorry about this.” Smiling brightly, I added, “hopefully, we can do it again soon,” while knowing on the inside that I would never allow myself to get roped into another one of these my-dick-is-bigger-than-your- dick dinners.
Hell to the no.
 |
“THAT WAS BEYOND FUCKING RUDE, AOIFE,” Paul admonished, as I power- walked away from the restaurant, and he hurried to keep up with me. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that you duped me into having dinner, again, with people I have nothing in common with, again.”
“They’re not people, they’re my parents.” “Parents are people, Paul.”
“Don’t get smart with me. You know I hate it when you’re sarcastic,” he snapped, running a hand through his dark hair. “You really fucking embarrassed me back there. You’re sixteen, not six. Don’t you think it’s time that you learned how to act your age?”
“You know what, maybe we should just call it a night,” I snapped, shoving my hands into my coat pockets. “Since my personality is clearly rubbing you up the wrong way so much tonight.”
“What? No, don’t be stupid,” he growled, retracing the steps he’d taken. “I’m not stupid, Paul.”
“You know what I meant.” Slinging an arm over my shoulder, he said, “Come on, babe, it’s Saturday night. I don’t want to spend it on my own.”
And what about what I want?
“So, where do you want to go?” he asked, pulling me close to his side. “I’m thinking about just going home.”
“No, that’s boring,” he replied.
“I wasn’t aware you had been invited?”
“Your house doesn’t have internet, or a flat screen, or anything decent to watch,” he added, with a dismissive wave. “And no offence, but it’s kind of a tight squeeze when your family are all in the sitting room with us.”
“Wow.” I shook my head. “We can’t all have Gards for fathers.”
“Amy Murphy is having a house party at her place tonight,” he offered then. “I told her that both of us would swing by for a bit.”
“Amy?” I gaped at him. “She’s a sixth year.” “Yeah, so?”
“So. why did you tell her that I’d come?” I looked up at him. “I barely know the girl, Paul, and I never agreed to go.”
“Because you’re with me,” he replied, like this would somehow answer my question.
It didn’t.
“I’m not sure I like where this is going, Paul,” I said, eyeing him warily.
”Come on, babe,” he said, with a megawatt smile. “It’s just a party.” “Yeah.”
That wasn’t what I was referring to.
