picked up her sandwich. “You know, I couldn’t get through life without you, Marco.”
“Never going to have to. Eat.”
She ate. Maybe she didn’t have any appetite, but she could feel herself settling with the food.
“I want to quit my job.”
The minute she said it, she dropped her cheesesteak, slapped a hand over her mouth. “Where did that come from?” she demanded.
“Could be it comes from you never wanting to be a teacher in the first place.” He continued to eat placidly, but he had that tiny smile going.
“Well, I can want to quit, but it’s crazy and stupid. Yes, I’ve fallen into a lot of money out of nowhere, and it can last me a long time, even grow if I’m careful. Quitting a steady job, one I studied for, paid for—or will shortly pay for—isn’t the way to handle this.”
“You wanted to be a vet.”
“I wanted to be a vet. I wanted to be a ballerina. I wanted to be a rock star, and I wanted to be J. K. Rowling. I’m none of those things, and won’t be.”
“You’re a really good writer, girl.”
She shook her head, went back to eating. “That’s an old dream. I have to think of now, and next.”
“Quit your job.”
“Marco—”
“You hate it. You never wanted to be a teacher. That’s what your mother wanted you to be, that’s what she convinced you you had to be. Like it was your only option. Pay off the debt, quit your job, and give yourself some time to figure out what you want to do, want to be.”
“I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can. It came out of your mouth because it’s what’s in your heart and your mind. Now’s your chance, Breen.”
“But I don’t know how to do anything else.”
“Because you never had the chance. Take some time to find out. You could write, I’m telling you. Or if that ain’t the thing, you could start a business.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Damn it, Breen, you’re smart and organized.” Scowling, he poured the wine now that she’d eaten a little. “You could do design work, and don’t say ‘me’ in that dumbass tone. I didn’t put this place together alone, and it looks damn good. We did it. You’ve got a voice, and play the piano. You could do that.
“You let her put you in a box,” he continued, revved up now, “and now the top’s flown off. Don’t you dare slam it shut again.”
“I . . . Just go in Monday and tell the principal I won’t be back in the fall. Just like that?”
“Yeah, like that. You take the summer to figure out what you want to do, or try to do.”
“That’s pretty terrifying.”
“I’d say liberating. Name one thing—the big thing—you really want to do now that you can. You have time, some money. What do you want to do most? Don’t think, don’t try to figure out what makes the best sense. Just say it, like you said you wanted to quit. Let it come.”
“I want to go to Ireland. Oh Jesus, oh God, that’s what I want. I want to go see where my father came from, see what pulled him back there and away from me. I want, if I can, to find him, to ask him why. Why he left, why he sent money. Just why.”
“Do it. That’s a great one thing. Spend the summer in Ireland, let yourself have that time, that place to figure the rest out.”
“The summer?”
“Why the hell not? When’s the last time you had any sort of vacation?”
“When we graduated from college and took a bus to the Jersey Shore for a week.”
“We had a great time,” he remembered. “And that was a time ago, Breen. Long time ago.”
She picked up her wine, drank deep. “Go with me.”
“To Ireland?”
“I’d never do it alone. Go with me. You’re right, you’re right.” She pushed away from the table, whirled around the room. “Why the hell not? It’s what I want. The one thing I really want. We’ll fly first class this time, and stay in a castle. At least one night in a castle. We’ll rent a car and drive on the wrong side of the road. We could—we could rent a cottage. An Irish cottage with a thatched roof.”
“You maybe had too much wine.”
“I haven’t.” She laughed now, eyes dancing. “Go with me, Marco, and share my one thing.”
“I can’t go off for the whole summer. Sally and Derrick, they’d be cool with it, but I’ve got a day job I