than necessary. It helped steady her and pulled her back to the present. She snorted in frustration as the elastic snapped and threw the broken black band into the little bowl on the dresser.
Running a hand through her hair, she whispered, "Screw it," and slipped her feet into the slippers under the dresser. They were embroidered moccasins her grandfather had bought her several Christmases ago. Lined with lamb's wool, they were soft and comfortable and kept her feet warm on those cold, wet days. Taking another deep breath, Aiofe pulled open the door to her room and stomped down the stairs.
Her grandmother was in the kitchen, humming a tune Aiofe didn't recognize as she fiddled with the pots and pans on the stove. The table was already set, a sign that her grandmother was trying to make peace. Aiofe's tense posture relaxed a little, despite her best efforts to hold onto her anger.
When her grandmother truly felt sorry, she would never say it in words. She would say it with little gestures, like setting the table when it was typically Aiofe's job or bringing Aiofe a cup of tea as she studied in the library. Aiofe wanted to say thank you, to tell her grandmother it was all okay, but the words tangled into a ball in her chest. Instead, she pulled out her chair and sat down heavily.
Her grandmother turned at the scraping of the wooden legs on the tile floor. "Oh, good evening darling." Her face held a smile, but her voice carried that plaintive questioning tone that asked if everything would be okay between the two of them.
Aiofe forced a smile onto her own face. It felt weird using those muscles. She felt like she hadn't smiled in months. "Hi, gran. What's for dinner?"
"Corned beef and cabbage. Your favorite." Her eyes held a hopeful look as she beamed at Aiofe.
The young woman's fake smile softened, feeling more natural on her face. "Thanks, gran. It smells delicious."
Appeased, her grandmother turned back to the stove, humming once more as she picked up a large, two-tined fork.
"Where is grandad?" Aiofe felt her shoulders tense back up as she mentioned the old man.
Maureen stabbed the fork into the large black pot on the stove and pulled out a huge hunk of boiled corned beef. "He's in the shop," she said as she plunked it down onto a platter, splattering juices onto the counter. "He should be in soon."
Aiofe nodded, slipping into silence while she watched her grandmother spoon cabbage, carrots, and potatoes out of the pot to surround the corned beef. What wouldn't fit on the platter went into a ceramic bowl covered in blue paisley. It was her grandmother's favorite dish. Rumor had it that the bowl was Maureen's great grandmother's great great grandmother's. Aiofe couldn't even begin to guess how many generations that was without getting confused.
The slamming of the door stopped her attempt to figure it out. She dropped her hands into her lap and lowered her eyes to the table, finding the swirled yellow pattern of the table cloth more interesting than her grandfather's entrance. She heard him pause at the door and closed her eyes. He was looking at her, she knew it, she felt it. Aiofe willed herself to open her eyes and look up at him, but by the time she did, he had turned his attention away from her and was walking over to his wife.
"That smells delicious," he said, kissing the old woman on the cheek. "My sweetheart, the best cook in the country."
She giggled and blushed. "Oh, you." She swatted him with the kitchen towel she had picked up to wipe off the drips on the counter, but Aiofe knew she appreciated the comment by the pink tinge on her ears.
The young woman had always admired her grandparents. They were destined to be together from the start. Her grandfather always told Aiofe that he fell in love with her grandmother the very first moment he laid his eyes on her. Though they had been together for fifty years, Aiofe never once doubted their love. They were always kind and gentle with one another, even when
Running a hand through her hair, she whispered, "Screw it," and slipped her feet into the slippers under the dresser. They were embroidered moccasins her grandfather had bought her several Christmases ago. Lined with lamb's wool, they were soft and comfortable and kept her feet warm on those cold, wet days. Taking another deep breath, Aiofe pulled open the door to her room and stomped down the stairs.
Her grandmother was in the kitchen, humming a tune Aiofe didn't recognize as she fiddled with the pots and pans on the stove. The table was already set, a sign that her grandmother was trying to make peace. Aiofe's tense posture relaxed a little, despite her best efforts to hold onto her anger.
When her grandmother truly felt sorry, she would never say it in words. She would say it with little gestures, like setting the table when it was typically Aiofe's job or bringing Aiofe a cup of tea as she studied in the library. Aiofe wanted to say thank you, to tell her grandmother it was all okay, but the words tangled into a ball in her chest. Instead, she pulled out her chair and sat down heavily.
Her grandmother turned at the scraping of the wooden legs on the tile floor. "Oh, good evening darling." Her face held a smile, but her voice carried that plaintive questioning tone that asked if everything would be okay between the two of them.
Aiofe forced a smile onto her own face. It felt weird using those muscles. She felt like she hadn't smiled in months. "Hi, gran. What's for dinner?"
"Corned beef and cabbage. Your favorite." Her eyes held a hopeful look as she beamed at Aiofe.
The young woman's fake smile softened, feeling more natural on her face. "Thanks, gran. It smells delicious."
Appeased, her grandmother turned back to the stove, humming once more as she picked up a large, two-tined fork.
"Where is grandad?" Aiofe felt her shoulders tense back up as she mentioned the old man.
Maureen stabbed the fork into the large black pot on the stove and pulled out a huge hunk of boiled corned beef. "He's in the shop," she said as she plunked it down onto a platter, splattering juices onto the counter. "He should be in soon."
Aiofe nodded, slipping into silence while she watched her grandmother spoon cabbage, carrots, and potatoes out of the pot to surround the corned beef. What wouldn't fit on the platter went into a ceramic bowl covered in blue paisley. It was her grandmother's favorite dish. Rumor had it that the bowl was Maureen's great grandmother's great great grandmother's. Aiofe couldn't even begin to guess how many generations that was without getting confused.
The slamming of the door stopped her attempt to figure it out. She dropped her hands into her lap and lowered her eyes to the table, finding the swirled yellow pattern of the table cloth more interesting than her grandfather's entrance. She heard him pause at the door and closed her eyes. He was looking at her, she knew it, she felt it. Aiofe willed herself to open her eyes and look up at him, but by the time she did, he had turned his attention away from her and was walking over to his wife.
"That smells delicious," he said, kissing the old woman on the cheek. "My sweetheart, the best cook in the country."
She giggled and blushed. "Oh, you." She swatted him with the kitchen towel she had picked up to wipe off the drips on the counter, but Aiofe knew she appreciated the comment by the pink tinge on her ears.
The young woman had always admired her grandparents. They were destined to be together from the start. Her grandfather always told Aiofe that he fell in love with her grandmother the very first moment he laid his eyes on her. Though they had been together for fifty years, Aiofe never once doubted their love. They were always kind and gentle with one another, even when
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