The Longest Way Home by Andrew McCarthy

Author:Andrew McCarthy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Free Press

Everyone arrived amid a clamor of shouts and hugs. I hadn’t seen our daughter in a week and she’d grown. Whereas I had come in from New York, D and our daughter had been in Dublin, visiting her parents, which is why they were all arriving together. Unable to miss school and join us, my son was back in New York with his mother. As predicted, D’s parents had to hire a second taxi to carry their luggage.

I showed everyone the apartment. D’s mother, Margot, an Irish charmer of regal bearing, of keen observations, and with an eye for mischief, insisted that D and I take the master bedroom, although I had already settled us in the office/second bedroom. Eventually she relented and the subject of food was brought up. I presented my haul.

“Oh. Well . . . ,” Margot said, her voice rising an octave upon seeing the eggs and white bread laid bare on the kitchen table. “Maybe we’ll just go out, leave you three to catch up.”

D had assured me everyone would be tired after the long trip and would not want to go out for an extended meal in a restaurant. Consequently, I hadn’t scouted for any during the day. I was more or less relaxed around D’s parents—they had welcomed me swiftly and without question into their world seven years earlier—but I had always been their guest, and the burden of hosting people who had spent a lifetime receiving and seeing to the needs of others was already proving too much for me. I froze.

“Come on now, Andrew,” Colm hollered, “you must have seen some restaurants on your travels today.” D’s father was a Kerry man, from the west of Ireland. He had run hotels for most of his life; he knew people and food. “Where should we go for a nice bite to eat in this neighborhood?” he shouted—he was also hard of hearing.

“Um, I think I saw a little café that was open, just down the street to the left, on our side.”

“Perfect,” Margot said, and they set out.

I snuggled with our daughter, who was feeling under the weather, and then D and I put her to bed. We sat down with a cup of tea.

No matter what was happening in our relationship, seeing each other after a time apart always gave us a fresh start—one that was often needed. This time was no exception. We had been struggling with our usual power play, not as bad as it once was, but bad enough that her trip back to Dublin had come at a good time.

The following day was D’s birthday and the original reason for our trip. D was born and spent the first six months of her life in Vienna, when her father was managing one of the city’s biggest hotels. She had never been back and had dreamed of one day returning to her birthplace. Her wish gave me an idea that I presented to a magazine: to discover Vienna from a “local” angle.

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