Liminal

There was a knock at the front door.

“I’ll get it!” Moire called from down the hall.

Just as well, Declan thought. He had been preparing to open the door leading into the garage. Or had he just been coming back in? For a moment, he couldn’t remember, then realized he was carrying a full garbage bag in the other hand. He had been going out then, he realized, and turned the knob.

Florescent lights flickered to life over his workshop littered with the detritus and debris of half a dozen unfinished projects. His eyes wandered over them, his mind rifling through mental images of things he had been intending to repair or build. He walked across the garage, squeezing between the workbench and the parked family car. Lifted the lid on the bin, tossed in the bag, and let the lid fall back into place. Turned and crab-walked back towards the door.

Absent-mindedly, he slipped his right hand into the front pocket of his vest, dry paper crinkling against his skin. He bent a finger around the edge of the envelope, running it along the still-sealed seam. Pausing between the door and the front bumper of the car, he took the envelope out of his pocket and looked mutely at the folded paper. It was thin, containing only a page or two at most. It was strange, he thought, that such an innocent object could contain such powerful duality.

He heard laughter and merry voices filtering through the doorway. No doubt more family members had arrived - the grandparents, perhaps, or more cousins. Folding the paper again and slipping it back into his pocket, Declan opened the door and went in.

Saoirse and Ben had been making noises about getting engaged. Declan caught a glimpse of tell-tale sparkling on her hand as she wrapped Moire in a warm embrace.

“Well, it’s about time, old boy,” Declan said, joining the fray, and giving Ben a firm congratulatory handshake. “I always knew you two were the real deal.”

“Thanks, Mr. Gallagher,” Ben said, smiling proudly. “Or should I start calling you Dad?”

Declan froze for a moment, caught off-guard by a pang of heartache. But he recovered quickly, nodding. “Of course, son, welcome to the family.”

Finally, the women parted with tears of joy and wordless exclamations. Declan hugged Saoirse as fiercely as he dared and made the appropriate noises about the ring. In truth, he hardly saw the stone, but studied her face as if to commit to memory. The joy in her eyes was evident, and his heart was warm with joy for her. Of all the wayward children they had fostered, she had secretly been his favorite, and the one who returned to them most often as an adult.

“Hey, what do you have there, Dad?” Saoirse asked.

He hadn’t realized he had his hand in his vest pocket again, fiddling with the envelope.

“Oh nothing to worry about, dear,” he said, removing the offending hand and using it instead to wave off the question. “Just a silly letter. Hey, let’s go through, shall we?”

The living room was a good size for the house, which itself was comfortably middle-class and well-suited to the neighborhood but it was bursting at the seams with so many people coming around to visit for the holidays.

Declan found himself standing awkwardly by the back door, watching the engagement announcements and excited reactions playing out again, this time with Moire’s mother, Aoife, joining in on the fun alongside a cousin of unknown origins named Jon, who was pleasant, if hard to remember.

He contemplated going out the back door into the garden beyond for a moment of quiet and fresh air but stilled himself, remembering that this might be one of the last times he would see the family together like this. The envelope crinkled against his dry skin again.

Mugs of mulled wine were soon passed around, the aroma filling and warming the air amid inquiries into health, promotions, and graduations. Minutes passed by marked only by Declan’s thumb tracing the patterns worked into the mug he held. He sipped slowly and soaked in the presence of loved ones, absorbing every drop carefully, examining each one and placing it tenderly in his heart.

“Here, take my seat, love,” Moire said to him. “I’d better take the ham out of the oven and check on the potatoes.”

“I’ll come help you, Mom,” Saoirse said, rising from her perch on the ottoman, a hand on Ben’s shoulder to leave him in place.

Moire passed by close to him and Declan caressed her shoulder as she went by. She smiled at him gently and kissed him on the cheek. He dutifully went over and sat on the settee, a little closer to the others than he would normally have liked. It had always been his habit to watch over and observe the action from a safe distance. Yet now he found the closeness and warmth of the position on the couch warm and reassuring.

He looked at Ben, knowing he should say something. Ben returned the look, and nodded, grinning politely.

“Congratulations, again, Ben,” Declan said. “We’re all really quite happy, you know.”

“Oh, sure, thanks,” Ben said. “You know, I was going to ask for your blessing, only, Saoirse… well, you know how she is.”

“Ach, well, of course,” Declan said. “She’s a free spirit, that one, always has been. No need in any case.”

Ben nodded, smiling again and looking away. Declan sipped his mulled wine again. He thought back all those years ago when he had gotten engaged to Moire.

He could hardly remember now - had he asked for her father’s blessing? He supposed he must have, it was practically a legal requirement back then. Not that he would have paid much mind, he supposed, if he had been refused. There wasn’t much that could keep him and Moire apart in those days. He vaguely remembered her father offering some words of wisdom when it had happened, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember them now.

“You know…” Declan began, trying to come up with some wise tidbit of his own, if nothing else. “You never recognize the good times when they’re happening. We all live worried about tomorrow, or sad about yesterday, or both. But ultimately - these are the good days. Hold on to that. Live in the moment. Tomorrow comes fast enough.”

He paused, surprised in a way that he had thought of something halfway profound after all, and yet also feeling somehow like he couldn’t quite impress the point on the young man sitting across from him.

Ben’s eyebrows furrowed - in concentration or confusion, he couldn’t tell. Background noise and conversations buzzed all around them, probably drowning out half of what he said. Declan flushed, trying to hide it behind his mulled wine. There he was again, going all melancholy. He felt the paper in his pocket stab him through his shirt as he adjusted in his seat.

“I’m just saying, you know… enjoy what you have,” he finished, lamely.

“I understand, sir,” Ben nodded. “We’ll do our best.”

“I know you will, son,” Declan said, and meant it. He really did like the boy, even if nobody would have been good enough for Saoirse. Ben came close.

A moment later, Saoirse reappeared at the entry to the kitchen. “It’s ready, everyone! Come through to the dining room, it’s all on the table.”

Declan waited until the others had begun to file out and then stood slowly. He paused by the fireplace, fingering the envelope in his pocket again. He took it out slowly, and stared at it for a moment. Then he felt eyes on him and caught Saoirse looking at him through the hallway, concern crinkling the corners of her eyes.

Shaking his head, he returned the envelope to its hiding and followed the others. Whatever the test results said, he knew he didn’t have a moment to lose.