Seamus couldn’t stop staring at Connie. There were 30 other people at the party but he only had eyes for her.
“You like her, don’t you?” said Eileen.
“What?” Seamus hadn’t seen his cousin beside him. That’s because he’d been too preoccupied by her best friend. “Should I ask her if she’s interested in you?”
“No!” said Seamus, horrified. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on! It’s been obvious since the moment you arrived from Ireland and saw her waiting with me at the airport. But you’ve not said more than three words to her!”
It was true. Seamus had always been too timid to talk to girls, a consequence of growing up in an isolated part of Ireland and going to an all-boys school. And Connie was incredibly intimidating, with her long blonde hair and American accent. She looked like a Hollywood star – not someone who’d be interested in him.
“She’s a nice girl,” said Eileen, as if hearing his thoughts. “Just go talk to her.”
“Okay, I will,” said Seamus, with apparent conviction. “But I’ll go get a drink first.”
“Good idea. Some Dutch courage, eh?!”
“More like Irish courage!”
Seamus had never had an alcoholic drink in his life. He’d grown up watching his father succumb to alcoholism, and lost him as a consequence at a young age.
He didn’t want to be like his father, but he wanted a drink. He needed a drink. He needed the courage that it apparently gave people so that he could talk to Connie. He didn’t think there was more than a chance in a million that she’d like him, but it was a chance he needed to take.
He went to the fridge and opened the door. Inside was every beverage imaginable: beer, wine, spirits… He didn’t want spirits. That’s what his father always drank. He wanted something that wasn’t very strong – just strong enough to give him that Irish courage he needed.
He got a bottle of beer from a six-pack and opened it. He didn’t like it very much. But it was the medicine he needed. He drank the entire bottle and got another.
Then he went over to Connie and waited for her to see him. It didn’t take long.
“Seamus! Hi, how are you? How do you like New York? Are you having a good time?”
“I am now,” thought Seamus, who was ecstatic that Connie remembered his name. “I just, ah, well, wanted to say ‘hi’. Oh, we’re drinking the same thing,” he said, seeing the bottle in her hand. “Sláinte! That’s how we say ‘cheers’ in Ireland.”
Connie laughed. “And I thought I was the only one who liked this stuff. I don’t normally drink. I don’t think anyone should need alcohol to have a good time.”
“Oh, ah, me too,” he said, regretting the beer in his hand. But if he hadn’t drunk it, he wouldn’t have had the courage to talk to her. Maybe he did need alcohol to have a good time.
“You want to go for a walk?”
“Sure!” Was this really happening? All because he drank two bottles of beer? He didn’t want to like alcohol this much but...
“Just wait one minute.”
Connie returned with a six-pack of the beer they were both drinking. Seamus was surprised, considering what she’d said. But he thought he would need a third – and maybe a fourth – beer if he was going to be alone with her.
They sat on a beach together, drinking the beer and talking. Now he could really feel the effect of the alcohol. He was giddy with excitement. He couldn’t stop wondering if Connie was drunk too, if that was the only reason she was with him, but he was too drunk to care.
The next morning, he woke up feeling great. He’d expected to have a hangover. He wanted to have a hangover. He wanted to have a reason to hate alcohol. He wondered again about the role it had had in his evening with Connie. Was it the only reason she was with him? Did she regret it now?
He didn’t have much time to think about it. Eileen had organised a family reunion, so the house was full of his American relatives – six adults and four children.
After lunch, Eileen got a carton of ice cream and a six-pack of the beer Seamus and Connie had been drinking from the fridge. She put a scoop of ice cream into four glasses, added the beer, and to Seamus’s horror, gave one glass to each of the children.
“Are you insane"? he cried. “Giving beer to children?” Was everyone in his family an alcoholic – even the children?!
“What?” Eileen looked perplexed. “Seamus! It’s root beer.”
“I know what it is. I can read, you know.”
“Root beer! It’s a soda, you moron! It’s non-
alcoholic.”
“Oh. Oh. OH!” He thought a million things at the same time. The courage he’d felt at the party had been no more than a placebo effect. He didn’t need alcohol to have a good time. And neither did Connie. They weren’t drunk. She really did like him. And he wasn’t an alcoholic. Just an idiot. An Irish idiot who’d never heard of the American soda root beer. He was the happiest idiot in the world.
