Soft as Clover

Chapter 1: The Apartment

Summary:

Maeve lives in an apartment.
Her long-term boyfriend and old flame, Declan, has recently been engaged to her sister, whom she's slowly suspected of finagling her way into their relationship when she was with him.
Maeve, usually a slim girl, had gained weight, then lost it due to stress. But that was when Declan loved her most. It was shortly after that Siobhán muscled her way in.
Presently, with her dating prospects slim, the annual family St. Patrick's Day family gathering has arrived, and Maeve must attend, but so will, she knows, Declan and her older sister--Siobhán.
But a few days before, Maeve gets high and a plan forms.
She devises a way to fatten up her sister in an effort to win back the heart of the man she still loves, but Maeve runs into a flaw with unanticipated consequences and she must look deep within herself if she wants Declan back.


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Maeve shouldered the apartment building's front door open with her hip, because her hands were full. She ascended the stairs, feeling sweat prickle under her arms and at the small of her back and neck as she took the ten flights of stairs (the elevator was broken-again!) and, to make matters worse, had to hold her breath until she saw little white dots appear behind her eyes, as she passed Mrs. Number 1022's apartment door, which always smelled like overcooked onions and strong BO.

"Jesus fucking Christ on a cross!" she muttered as she jangled her keys out of her coat pocket, nearly dropping them. She groaned as she quickly exhaled and inhaled, the smell from the neighbors' apartment was even worse this week.
'God, what is she cooking in there, dead ferrets?' Maeve thought as she jammed the key home.

She grunted as the doorknob tried to thwart her. It was sticky in that way cheap paint gets sticky when it's been applied too many times over too many decades, even though it was made of metal. She wrestled the grocery bag against her ribs as she kicked the door open and tried to untether her keys from the lock, which seemed to want to hold onto them for spite.

"You...fucking...bastard!" she growled until it finally decided to release them. She held up the keys to the bad interior lighting and noticed that the key was bent pretty bad. She closed her eyes and stood for a moment, then thrust them into her pocket. The last thing she needed was the damn thing to break off. And lord help her if it did, because the superintendent of the building was a right old piece of shit and cutting a new key could only be done by him and that wouldn't come cheap. She'd learned that the last time.

Of course, he could just replace the lock for them, but oh no. That would be too much trouble. Fucker.

Just in time to distract her, Maeve's phone vibrated in her opposite coat pocket. Once. Twice. Then that rapid, needy stutter that meant a group chat had decided to become a living thing. She was just glad it wasn't work calling (she had a special ringtone for that) for some bullshit reason. The long weekend was vast approaching. She'd already made plans and, even though she could use the money, it would be near suicide if she was absent from this one-a family gathering.

Maeve stepped inside, shoulders tight in the small foyer, and kicked the door shut behind her with the heel of her boot. The grocery bag crinkled as she toed out of her footwear, her phone still pinged and vibrated annoyingly. The modest apartment greeted her with the stale warmth of windows that wouldn't open, except the one in the bathroom (thankfully!) and the faint smell of takeout food masked with Fabreeze. She didn't love the smell, but didn't hate it either. There were definitely worse smells in the world.

Just ask Mrs. Number 1022.

Maeve took the few steps into the kitchen and set down the groceries on the narrow kitchen counter beneath the too-bright overhead light. Somewhere behind the couch the radiator tinkled, and the kitchen sink dripped its usual tattoo against the basin. She was home.

Her phone still buzzed in her pocket, and she extracted it as she shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on the hook by the door. The peg next to it was vacant.

'Max must be out doing whatever he does to pay rent.' She mused as she slipped two fingers into her coat pocket and extracted her still-buzzing phone.

She huffed out a laugh through her nose as she unlocked her phone as message after message continued to pour in. There were only so many people in the world who could summon that particular kind of vibration: Irish relatives with whiskey plans and nothing better to do than type with their thumbs.

"Now, let's see what I've missed." Maeve said as she opened the thread, labelled 'O'CONNELL ST. PADDY'S WEEKEND 🍀' and scrolled up to her last posted message.

AUNT PAT: WHO'S BRINGING THE SODA BREAD? AIDAN? DON'T TELL ME STORE BOUGHT AGAIN.

COUSIN AIDAN: Fine. I'll go to the local to buy one. Aunt Pat, you banned me from baking after The Incident. P.S. You've got caps on.

UNCLE SEAMUS: I LIKE THE STORE BOUGHT ONE.

COUSIN AIDAN: Thanks Uncle. Caps for you too, guv.

COUSIN BRIDGET: 'The Incident' LOLZ Aiden, you almost burnt the house down.

COUSIN AIDAN: I was distracted and the house didn't nearly burn down.

AUNT PAT: YES IT DID, AIDAN LUV!

COUSIN AIDAN: Caps, Auntie. And yous lot got in the way of my drinking. I had the whole thing perfectly timed out.

MOM: Please no kitchen fires this year.

DAD: Kitchen fires are part of the tradition.

MOM: You're not helping dear.

COUSIN AIDAN: My burnt baking is still better than Aunt Pat's mashed potatoes. How the hell do you screw up potatoes?

COUSIN BRIDGET: LOLZ!!!

AUNT PAT: HOW DARE YOU! THE LOT OF YE!!!

UNCLE SEAMUS: HA! YOU TELL HER LAD!

COUSIN AIDAN: :P

AUNT PAT: NOT HELPING, SEAMUS!

MOM: Pat's cooking is fine. It's just unique...

COUSIN AIDAN: barf!

AUNT PAT: THANKS LUV.

AUNT PAT: HEY!

COUSIN BRIDGET: Whose doing the corned beef this year?

AUNT PAT: AND THE ONLY FIRE'LL WE'LL SEE THIS YEAR IS BOB'S IF HE MAKES THE CORNED BEEF.

DAD: I make an excellent corned beef, Pat.

MOM: You put whiskey in it.

DAD: It's called marinating, Mary.

COUSIN AIDAN: I'll monitor him on the whiskey, Aunt Mary.

MOM: Aidan, you will not. You're only 18.

COUSIN AIDAN: That's proper drinkin' age in Ireland.

MOM: We're in America sweetie.

COUSIN AIDAN: Tell that to my Fake ID...

AUNT PAT: AIDAN!

COUSIN BRIDGET: LOLZ! Can I get one?

AUNT PAT: BRIDGET!!!

COUSIN BRIDGET: Oops-that was supposed to be a private to Aidan ;)

Maeve's mouth twitched, then she let out a laugh, a genuine one as she put her phone down and began putting the groceries into the fridge. Even though it was just her and her barely-there roommate, the fridge was well stocked. Mostly with beer and takeaway containers that were in varying stages of completion.

She extracted a hair tie from her wrist and pulled up her long bright copper hair into a high pony tale and tied it loosely and set to work putting away the food as her phone continued to ping on the countertop. She took occasional glances, scanning.

This was a long weekend for her, an O'Connell family tradition where everyone in her family gathered at her parent's place for the St. Patrick's Day celebration. Her family held it in high tradition the way that some families hold to Thanksgiving or Christmas. To Maeve, it was just a great excuse to get drunk and eat with cousins she only saw in person once a year and she loved it and the people there. Well, most of the people.

Ping.
Ping.
Ping.

More messages.

COUSIN LIAM: Who's picking up the cousins from the train?

COUSIN BRIDGET: I can get them Friday

AUNT PAT: FRIDAY? THEY'LL STARVE.

COUSIN LIAM: It's a two-hour train ride, Aunt Pat. Not a voyage to America.

AUNT PAT: DON'T GET SMART WITH ME. YOUR GREAT GRANDMOTHER CAME OVER WITH A POTATO AND A PRAYER.

DAD: We'll manage with the potatoes we have.

AUNT PAT: DON'T START WITH ME, BOB.

COUSIN AIDAN: Uncle Bob, don't let Aunt Pat touch the potatoes this year.

DAD: I'm staying out of this one.

MOM: Aidan, quit pot-stirring.

Maeve smirked as she put the final bit of celery in the crisper and shut the fridge door and read the final few messages, thumb flicking faster down the screen. She loved her family and the verbal jousting they sent one another. Aunt Pat was an easy mark, and it was all in good fun. Someone would, however, have to show her the caps thing though. But then again, she did have a loud voice, Maeve mused.

Then, a message window popped up at the top of her phone screen, separate from the family chat. She'd hoped it was Cousin Aidan, the underaged rogue of the family, a cheeky bugger who was the funniest out of the lot. Or, maybe Uncle Seamus, her favorite uncle.

But it was neither of them. In fact, it was the family member she'd hoped to hear from the least during this upcoming family gathering.

It was a direct message from Siobhán.
Her sister.

Maeve's mouth flattened into the thinnest of lines. Her thumb hovered over the unread message. Not because she was scared, far from it. But because she knew what it felt like when a bruise got touched on purpose.

She tapped and read.

SIOBHÁN: Just so you know, Declan will be there this weekend.

SIOBHÁN: I'm not doing this again, Maeve.

SIOBHÁN: No weirdness. No "accidents." No drama.

SIOBHÁN: It's a family thing. Act like it.

'Straight to the point, then.' Maeve mused as she reread the messages.

Her jaw tightened for the briefest of moments as her eyes unfocused on the words of the screen. She had a moment of madness where she wanted to fling her phone across the room, but instead she took a breath and set her phone down on the countertop.

She busied herself by making a simple sandwich. She needed something to control for the moment. Two slices of bread, the thinnest of lines of peanut butter and grape jelly and the crusts cut off. She had just cut the sandwich on the diagonal and was plating it when her phone buzzed again.

She hesitated, her fingers gripping the knife in her hand so hard that her knuckles turned white.

It buzzed again and again.

'The family.' She thought, her mind and grip on the knife both easing. She approached the phone and took a bite of her sandwich, which tasted just good enough, and read:

COUSIN AIDAN: Also important: who is bringing the Jameson?

AUNT PAT: BETTER NOT BE YOU, YOU UNDERAGED HEATHEN!

UNCLE SEAMUS: ME. ALWAYS ME. WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM, A QUAKER?

AUNT PAT: NO, BUT YOU ARE A CHEAPSKATE. BETTER BRING THE BIG BOTTLE.

UNCLE SEAMUS: I'm not made of money, me luv!

COUSIN BRIDGET: I can bring some, too.

MOM: Thanks Seamus.

UNCLE SEAMUS: The good stuff I bring for meself. The cheap stuff will be for the lot of ye.

COUSIN AIDAN: Drunk is still drunk, no matter the cost.

MOM: Aidan!

DAD: haha

Maeve's eyes crinkled into a smile, her family certainly lived up to many Irish stereotypes. She took another bite of her sandwich as another private message suddenly appeared from Siobhán.

Maeve swallowed and put her sandwich down, leaning her hip against the counter.

"Merrow."

She looked down to see the apartment cat, Dilly, rubbing up against her ankles. She made a 'tsk, tsk' noise and he jumped up on the countertop, careful not to walk all over her sandwich.

"Hey buddy." She cooed, tucking him under the chin with her fingertips. He purred contentedly. She refused to use his given name on purpose when her roommate chose to name him after the Bud Light commercial, featuring the Bud Light Knight and King, whose catchphrase was 'dilly, dilly'.

Siobhán was typing again and Maeve just wanted to get it over with and see what else her sister needed to get off that big ample chest of hers.

SIOBHÁN: I'm serious, Maeve.

SIOBHÁN: I don't know what you think you're proving by being nasty.

SIOBHÁN: Declan and I are engaged. He's coming.

SIOBHÁN: Don't make it uncomfortable.

Maeve's mouth quirked, not quite a smile. 'How am I even being nasty? I haven't even replied to any of your stupid messages, brat.' She thought. She lifted her gaze automatically-as if Siobhán might be in the room, as if she might be standing there in Maeve's kitchen in one of her perfectly fitted sweaters, wearing that expression she saved for strangers who mispronounced her name.

'It's SHI-VAUGHN, not see-oh-bahn.' She'd say.

Then Maeve reread the messages.

Engaged.

She hadn't been prepared for that one, even when it was first announced six months ago. Still, seeing the words there on her screen didn't make her feel any better.

Maeve let the word sit in her throat for a second like a shot she didn't want to swallow. Hell, she wished she had a shot right now.

Ping, Ping, Ping.

The family thread had apparently resumed. Maeve switched over.

AUNT PAT: I WANT EVERYONE IN GREEN.

COUSIN BRIDGET: Obvs.

COUSIN AIDAN: Even Declan?

UNCLE SEAMUS: Declan is Irish. He'll wear green or suffer the consequences.

MOM: Please don't start fights in this thread, Seamus.

COUSIN BRIDGET: Ooooh - what consequences?!?

COUSIN AIDAN: Ditto!

UNCLE SEAMUS: We'll expose him to Pat's cooking!

AUNT PAT: SEAMUS!

COUSIN BRIDGET: LOL

COUSIN AIDAN:rotfl
LOL
AHAHAHA

MOM: He's just joking Pat.

UNCLE SEAMUS: I'm not.

DAD: lol

COUSIN LIAM: Hey gang, just catching up on the messages. Did everyone decide on dessert?

COUSIN BRIDGET: I'm bringing green cupcakes

AUNT PAT: NO YOU'RE NOT.

COUSIN BRIDGET: Aunt Pat why do you hate joy?

AUNT PAT: BECAUSE YOUR CUPCAKES ARE ALWAYS DRY.

COUSIN BRIDGET: they are not!

COUSIN LIAM: What about the kids?

MOM: The kids can have cupcakes.

DAD: The kids can have a sip of Guinness. Builds character.

MOM: Absolutely not.

DAD: Fine. Half a sip.

Another private message from Siobhán:

SIOBHÁN: Going to ignore me?

SIOBHÁN: ???

Maeve exhaled once through her nose, sharp.

"Fine." She said through tight lips as her thumb flew across her screen. She typed like she was laying down cards on a table.

MAEVE: You're worried about me causing drama?

MAEVE: I'm not the one who stole someone else's boyfriend from right under her nose, but let's not go there-again.

MAEVE: I'm willing to behave if YOU'RE willing to behave. I'm done fighting with you. I'd skip this long weekend altogether if
weren't sure I'd be excommunicated from the family. See you BOTH in a few days and we'll ALL be on our best behavior.

She hit send before she could soften it. There was a clean, bright satisfaction in the little whoosh of the message leaving.

Then she set the phone down on the counter, face-up, as if daring it to keep talking.

Dilly the cat purred beside her, his noise punctuating the air like he'd been waiting for her human to finish whatever the heck humans did when they weren't petting cats.

Maeve tickled under his chin again and picked up her partially eaten sandwich. Dilly looked up at Maeve with the placid indifference of someone who had never had a sister.

The phone vibrated again.

Siobhán.

"Fuck. Now I really want a drink." She said to the empty apartment.

She reached for the cabinet above the sink and pulled down a glass and a bottle. She set them both down on the counter. She spun the bottle around by the neck, as if deciding whether the shot she was about to take was going to be rewarding or punishing.

Hell, maybe it would be both.

With her thumb, she flicked off the corked lid of the Jameson and poured out a healthy measure into the two-ounce shot glass. The amber liquid was nearly to the rim and caught the overhead light of the kitchen.

She picked up the glass and tilted her head back, feeling the harsh liquid hit the back of her throat. She swallowed.

Her phone kept vibrating, the buzz skittering across the counter like an insect that refused to die.

Maeve refilled the glass.

Dilly's eyes tracked it with mild interest as she swallowed her second double-shot.

Then Maeve reached for her phone.

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