Zoey leaned her head against Marissa, and her eyes closed.
“Hey, Zoe?” I looked at her and then at Marissa. “I think we should get a cab or something. I don’t think she’ll make it home if we walk.”
“Rough night, aye?” the bartender asked, collecting empty bottles littered around the pub.
Marissa tightened her lips, looking at Zoey. “You could say that. Do you know where we can get a cab or taxi?”
His warm eyes moved to Zoey and back to Marissa. “I have a car. I can drive you.”
Marissa’s face lit up, and she leaned toward me. “He can drive us.”
Alarm bells rang in my ears, alerting me to stranger danger. “I don’t know.” I played with the empty beer bottle left in the middle of our table to distract my mind from moving toward a worst-case scenario. My watch read one-forty-five, and a sudden wave of mental and physical fatigue washed over me. We couldn’t sleep at the pub, could we?
“That’s okay,” I interrupted, “Do you have the number for a taxi?”
He handed me a bent, sticky card from behind the bar, and I struggled to read the numbers.
“Can I use your phone? Sorry,” I mumbled.
He passed me the phone and continued to wipe down the pub tables.
“How do I do this?” I felt like an idiot. I knew how to make an international call but hadn’t dialed another person in Ireland before.
Irritation crossed his face and he took the card and dialed for me.
“Hello?” a sleepy, deep voice answered.
“Hi, yes, sorry to bother you. Are you a taxi service?”
“Aye. I’m a hackney service.”
I scrunched my eyebrows together. “What’s that?”
“Like a taxi.”
“Oh, my roommates and I need a ride from the Pub on the Quay to Bealtaine. Can you pick us up?”
“Aye. Be there in ten. Pick you up near the Spanish Arch.”
I hung up the phone and retrieved my roommates. “Thank you, again, but we got a ride,” I said to the bartender. I turned to Marissa, whose giant eyes moved around the pub, while Zoey slept on her shoulder. “Taxi will be here in ten.”
We waited at the edge of the pedestrian street near the Spanish Arch, the place where Spanish ships had docked during Medieval times. Unsure what our taxi looked like, I stayed on high alert while Marissa and Zoey plopped against the stone wall. The traditional music seeping out of the pubs had died down, and only a few tourists and college kids stumbled down the road.
As predicted, a black car from the 1950s zoomed around the corner and screeched to a halt. “You need a ride?” he called out his window. A yellow sign with lit numbers decorated the roof of the car. “Bealtaine, right?”
He flew up and down the streets of Galway, tires squealing as he took turns too wide. Zoey and Marissa ooh’d and ahh’d like they were riding a roller coaster while I gripped the handrail like this was my last ride on earth. He zipped down our street and slammed on the brakes in front of the main entrance.
Shoving money at him, I jumped out of the car and retrieved my roommates.
It was quiet and dark when we reached our apartment. I couldn’t help but wonder how Jaime’s night went, and fell asleep wishing I had gone with him back to Owen’s.
A blazing headache greeted me in the morning, not from the alcohol, but from the stress of taking care of my drunk roommates. My calendar dictated a trip to Blarney Castle today, but I didn’t have it in me. The constant pressure to hit all my weekend excursions took the fun out of traveling, so I remained in bed, staring at the wall.
Jaime’s messy bed, with crumpled blankets on the floor and a balled-up sheet in the corner, hadn’t been slept in. Thinking about where he slept the night before, I rolled over and covered my head with my pillow. Thoughts of Jaime and the blonde flashed at me.
So much had changed within the past few weeks, I almost didn’t recognize myself. The apartment remained quiet, and I questioned whether Marissa and Zoey had left. When dishes rattled in the kitchen, I finally removed myself from my blanket cocoon and ventured out of hibernation.
“Morning,” Marissa said. “Or, good afternoon.” She sat at the counter eating a bowl of cereal. “Weren’t you traveling today?”
