In Boston St Valentine's Day Is an Irish Holiday
Chapter 7
Mary Kate and I moved to a table away from Mike and the other listeners before sitting down.
I looked across the table at Mary Kate and asked, “What did you want to discuss with me?”
Mary Kate, a woman of few words, said, “Jack, I can’t continue going on joint calls with you. I’m sorry.”
Being the brilliant conversationalist that I am, I said, “Huh? Why can’t you continue accompanying me on these appointments? You are fantastic at making the introductions.”
“Jack, this has nothing to do with business. It’s about us,” Mary Kate said, her voice tight with frustration. “I’ve sent you every subtle signal I know how, and you’ve ignored every one of them. Father thinks you’re still in love with Eira, that you’re not over her. How am I supposed to compete with Eira? He also said you told him you were attracted to me. But is it really me you see, or am I just a reminder of her? From the first moment I looked into your eyes, I thought there was something between us. I see now I was wrong.”
Before I could say anything, Mary Kate got up and walked over to the table where Mike sat, grabbed her heavy cardigan and wool knit cap, putting them on as she walked towards the door and out the door.
I sat there flabbergasted. I had no idea she felt that way about me, other than what Mike had mentioned earlier when she was in the restroom. Still stunned by Mary Kate’s admission, I remained at the table, trying to digest what she had just said. I was also grappling with an internal conflict I needed to resolve: did I still have feelings for Eira, and was I letting them keep me from seeing what Mary Kate had to offer?
In the meantime, Mike had gotten up, gone to the bar, and paid our tab. He picked up my jacket and walked over to where I was still sitting at the table, trying to comprehend what Mary Kate had said to me.
He tossed my jacket to me to put on, for the middle of February it was nasty out. Mike said,” Come on me boy’o. Get a move on before Mary Kate gets her Irish temper more worked up and drives off leaving us stranded.”
I stood up, put my jacket on, and followed Mike out the door. The weather was what you would expect for this time of year; after all, it was February—cold, windy, and brisk. It was the middle of the month, the 14th to be exact. Now I understood why Mary Kate chose this time to dump her frustrations on me. It was Valentine’s Day, and I did not return the feelings she had for me. If I didn’t act, she would move on, and it would be no one’s fault but my own.
I followed Mike out to the car. Mary Kate was behind rhe wheel and all the way to Dungloe no one spoke a word. The car pulled up in front of Sweeney’s woolen goods shop and Mike and I got out. As soon as I got our, Mary Kate put the car in gear and took off that would have made a rally driver proud. She accelerated all the way, you could hear her accelerating and changing gears all the way through town.
“Congratulations, Jack. Mary Kate is really fearg ar dhuine. It’s a good thing the IRA is inactive; otherwise, you’d have a bomb under your bed or be shot outright. Irishmen are really protective of their womenfolk, especially when a foreigner plays footloose and fancy-free with their affection,” Mike said, laughing.
“Mary Kate is what?” I asked, confused.
“Pissed—actually, super pissed. I’ve only been here a couple of days, and I saw right away that girl was doing everything short of putting up billboards trying to tell you how she feels about you. According to Michael Sweeney, it was grá ón gcéad radharc for both of you when you first met. He told me what you confessed when you met her.”
“Speak American, Mike. I don’t know the local lingo,” I said. “Pennsylvania Dutch, remember? You lose me every time with the Irish sayings.”
“Love at first sight, Jack. You all but admitted your attraction to Mary Kate to Sweeney. You told him you thought Mary Kate’s resemblance to Eira was the reason for your attraction. Mary Kate has feelings for you, too and is hurt thinking your attraction to her is based on your earlier relationship with Eira.”
“Mike, I do have feelings for Mary Kate, but I’m afraid to get close. I don’t have a good track record with women. Every time I think I’ve found the one, I realize I’m just the sub, filling in until the varsity comes back into the game. I’d rather not play at all than be the substitute.”
“Come on, let’s go over to the pub and get something to eat and a pint,” Mike said. “We need to talk business, and then you need to work things out with Mary Kate.”
Mike and I ate a quick meal of a stew whose main ingredient was cabbage, served with Irish soda bread and accompanied by a stout ale. The meal was warm, filling, and warded off the dampness outside.
Mike and I decided to add the woolen mill we visited to our product line. I couldn’t believe how quickly these small businesses signed up with us to market their products in the USA. The woolen products were immensely popular in New England, around the Great Lakes region, and the Pacific Northwest.
Mike was happy, and I was as well. It had taken a lot of hard work and successful business alliances to pull this off.
After lunch, I planned to track down Mary Kate and work to improve a personal alliance between her and me.
When Mike and I finished, he decided to stay at the pub and visit with the pub’s regulars while I went on the look for Mary Kate.
I walked down the street, hoping she was at her father’s shop. I was sure he wouldn’t mind if I borrowed Mary Kate for a moment or two. I was in luck; I walked in and was warmly greeted by Mick Sweeney. When I asked where she was, I was told she was in back taking care of paperwork. I asked if I could talk privately with her for a moment, promising I wouldn’t keep her from her work and that it was important. Mick smiled and motioned for me to go on back.
Mary Kate looked up as I walked in and stopped in front of her desk, where she had been absorbed in her work. The surface was crowded with scattered bills, invoices, and receipts, some neatly stacked, others loose and overlapping. She had been carefully entering figures into a worn ledger book, her attention fixed on the columns of numbers until my arrival interrupted her.
I gathered up my courage and asked Mary Kate, “Can we take a walk? You and I need to talk about us.”
Mary Kate thought for a moment, then stood and walked over to where her cardigan hung from a hook mounted on the wall. She slipped it on and waited for me to lead the way.
We passed the counter and her father, who was folding sweaters and sorting them into various bins by size. As we were leaving, she said to him, “Father, Jack and I are going for a walk. We won’t be long.”
Her dad looked up as we passed, smiled, and gave me a thumbs-up. I would need it.
We walked down the street for maybe a hundred yards when Mary Kate turned toward me and said, “OK, Now what do you want to tell me, Jack?”
I stopped and took a deep breath, trying to collect my thoughts. “Mary Kate, you and I need to talk about how we feel about each other. There are some things I need to tell you. Do you remember the first time I walked into your father’s shop and we passed each other, our eyes meeting? I felt something then, an immediate pull I couldn’t explain. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”
“Yes, I remember. It was the first time I had ever experienced that feeling,” she said. “It was warm and comforting, and at the same time, frightening.”
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