A/N: Happy Christmas Eve to all who celebrate. If you do not, I hope you got a day off from work/school/life in general. I did not, so I'm using company time to post this for you :)

This takes place a year after Don't You Mind? ends. My other DYM? drabbles fit into this same universe and while it's not essential that you read those, it would probably help. This is part one of what I originally planned to be a 2-part series but in the middle of writing Part I I was already at 18,000+ words and realized it might be best to split this up. It's likely it will be four parts total, but we will see. I'm currently dealing with holiday/birthday madness as well as planning for my cross-country move so I can't say when I'll have the next part up but I'll do my best. I also plan on having the next chapter of Crash Into Me up shortly - fingers crossed!

Any and all mistakes are mine. I apologize in advance.

Enjoy! x


"...And you discover that home is not a person or a place
But a feeling you can't get back."
Noah Gundersen, The First Defeat


Not too long ago Sybil had told Tom that if he ever wrote his mother she wished Mrs. Branson would write him back. Sybil wasn't granted this luxury and now it had been a full four years since she'd last spoken to her family. Helen didn't write, of course. Tom went months without a response. He'd send a letter every week, some short and others quite detailed. He talked about his life, about Sybil, and about the job he was working so hard to succeed in. He did not, however, mention Isla.

"Please tell me this is a joke, Tom…"

He sipped at his coffee, doing so rather casually while Isla slept soundly against his chest. She'd been asleep since before they left for the airport and remained in that state through security and at the gate. The child was so silent, Sybil and Tom did not receive the glares they once had when boarding a similar flight headed West instead of East.

"Tom…" Sybil tried once more, her voice warning. Despite the tragedy both had endured, somehow the two were still in a state of bliss around one another. They were able to forgive more easily and in this case Sybil found Tom's dimpled smirk to be more adorable than irritating.

"It doesn't matter, Syb. My mum loves babies and she's not going to put us out of the street just because we show up with a child."

"A child?" Sybil repeated incredulously. "Our child, Tom. A very happy accident. I'm not ashamed of her and I would think—"

"You are not even going there," he dismissed. "Can you just trust me, please?"

"I do trust you. I mean, of course I do, but I don't want—"

"My mum loves babies, Syb. Believe me when I say that Isla's presence will be the easiest thing we deal with this week."

Sybil leaned her head back with fingers tightly gripping the edges of each armrest. This was the second time she'd made this voyage back to Ireland but the first where Tom sat safely by her side. The last time the two took a plane ride together, their relationship was an unspoken one and their futures contained nothing but uncertainty. Tom did not have a job then and Sybil had not yet begun classes. Now, Tom did have a job and was working to move upward in the very near future. Sybil had a full year of medical school under her belt and come Summer, the two planned to move into a flat in Brooklyn. The two of them, practically children then, had matured and changed more than they ever thought was possible. Returning to Ireland was not just an act of reconciliation with Tom's family but also a chance for Sybil and Tom to put to rest the people they once were.

~!~

When Sybil was here last she had paid an unfortunate amount of money to travel from the airport to where she met Tom outside of Mountjoy Prison. Greeting the midday sun, she cradled a now lively Isla on her hip. The child dropped her head against her mother's shoulder, her fingers in her mouth while she watched from behind wide eyes the way Dublin was just beginning to come alive. Sybil and Tom knew Isla couldn't possibly remember her time here and they relished in this fact because it meant she also had no recollection of the time in her life when her father was not present.

Sybil held their carry-on while Tom very easily gripped the handle of both their suitcases. Just as simply, Tom helped Sybil and Isla onto the bus and as Sybil realized how calm Tom felt amongst strangers in a place he once called home, she began to retreat into her role as an outsider.

"Syb?"

She looked up, realizing Tom was standing now. His hand was outstretched and his foot pointed toward the aisle of the bus, signaling the direction in which he wished to go. "This is our stop, love," he said, showing Sybil that it was possible he had been trying to get her attention for quite some time. She stood and followed him off the bus. Everything around them was so quiet, so normal, but she was instantly thrust back into an unsure mental state. The prospect of seeing Mrs. Branson after all this time terrified her more than anything in this tiny neighborhood ever had.

Off the bus, Sybil repositioned the strap of Isla's diaper bag. The child mewed at the redistribution of weight but was quickly made silent once more, almost as if she knew such a thing was needed when her parents seemed so uneasy.

"It all looks the same," Sybil commented.

Tom looked back to her. The bags he carried temporarily kept the couple at a distance. "We haven't been gone for that long," he reminded. "What were you expecting?"

"I don't...I don't know," she shrugged. "So much has changed in our lives, I just kind of thought Dublin would follow suit."

"Well, not quite. Same struggle. Same violence. They paved some of our roads," Tom quipped, earning him the exact smile he predicted Sybil would give. With it, he was given permission to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her close. Isla must have noticed because she looked up to her father while he and Sybil shared a soft kiss. It was only when they pulled away that they were not as alone as they once had thought — here in the present or all those months ago.

The weekend market was setting up along the East end of the Liffey and mothers brought their children out of their homes and toward the city-centre. Tom and Sybil moved contrary to the population, slipping into a back alley Sybil remembered brought them toward the rear of Tom's childhood home.

"Why do you think your mum never moved?"

Turning over his shoulder to smirk at her, Tom took a moment before replying. "Me." Sybil paused, her eyes narrowing. Before she could speak, Tom let out a soft chuckle and continued to move, knowing she'd follow. "She may not have come to see me much, but I know she stayed here because it meant she was close to me. And during that time, Katie Grace fell in love and so she's stayed for that too."

"And when we go back and Katie Grace has moved out of the house with her husband?"

They were at the door to Tom's home now. Losing himself in Sybil's question, he shrugged, meant to distract himself from the nerves he felt building in his chest. Sybil noticed but she made no mention of the behavior. "Maybe she'll stay or maybe she'll go back to the country. I don't really know if she knows yet. When I was supposed to go North it made sense for her to leave. She was ashamed and she didn't want a part in the role I was playing. But now I'm safe and Katie is safe and she feels close to my Dad here." A pause. "I think, really, that's why she really stays. This is where she met my Dad. This is where they fell in love and created their life together. I think in a way she feels that by leaving it, she's letting go of him and I don't know if she's ready to do that just yet."

Without further word, Tom turned the knob of the giant wooden door and pushed inside. The once drab hallway was painted a fresh white and when the light came in from the window above the door, it distracted each visitor from the somewhat stale scent that existed in the stairway separating the apartments on the first floor from those on the second.

Upward they climbed, with Tom making a sassy apology for their lack of an elevator. This was a comment on their current living situation in New York and how such a task as simple as ascending a flight of stairs was normally done with help from a porter. Standing just outside the Branson's home, Sybil paused. She nodded toward the door, waiting for Tom to move. "Aren't you going to knock?"

"I know it's unlocked. I'm deciding whether a knock is even appropriate."

"Well you don't live here anymore, so yes, I'd say it is. Also, you've apparently not told your mother that Isla exists so I think it unfair of us to invite ourselves into her home when she only knows half of the truth."

"I can't wait for you to see how insignificant this will be for her…"

"Our arrival or Isla?"

Before Tom had the chance to respond, the door opened. On the other side stood Katie Grace, her dirty-blonde hair loosely plaited and her eyes wide as ever. She was not shocked, but amusement pushed her cheeks upward and caused the corners of her mouth to pull in the same way. "Mam!" she called. "Tom is here. And he's got with him a baby."

"Katie Grace!" Tom shushed. "Dún do bheal!"

The youngest Branson did not turn back to her brother. Instead, she walked them further into the kitchen where her mother was currently preparing a roast for that night's supper. Helen Branson looked up. Her expression lacked any and all amusement, and as she approached the couple, Katie took her place behind the counter to sip at her tea.

"You come into my home after all this time and the first thing you do is yell at your sister?"

"Mam…"

"Well you look good. How was the flight?"

"Ma—"

"Tom, you're approaching this situation as if you're expecting a fight. I told you it was more than fine that you come visit. If I didn't want you here, I wouldn't have offered." She paused. "Trust me."

Their bags were set down and Sybil rocked Isla now, both of them staring as this continued to unfold. "Hello, Sybil dear," Helen finally said, her voice soft and sweet like a song.

"Hi, ma'am," she tried. Though she wished to smile, Sybil felt small in her mother-in-law's presence and she couldn't help but to glance to the floor.

"Helen," Mrs. Branson corrected. "And who is this beauty?" she asked, reaching outward for the child Sybil held in her arms.

Her action had Sybil coming to life. Suddenly her posture was corrected and she immediately looked to Isla to gauge the child's reaction. Already the little girl was smiling at the woman she had yet to officially meet. Before Sybil could change this fact, Helen had grabbed for Isla and very happily accepted the child's weight upon her own hip. In absence of her daughter, Sybil moved to stand directly beside Tom, her side flush with his own. Feeling her close, Tom wished to have her closer and asked that she comply with a gentle hand to her hip. Sybil obliged, the two of them standing as a single unit while Isla and her grandmother shared a moment.

"Isla Grace," Sybil gave. "Branson, of course. Isla Grace Branson."

Tom looked to her, wishing his smile could rid her of the anxiety she was currently feeling. Meanwhile Helen paid them little attention, turning all of her energy toward the baby in her arms and the way Isla now smiled up at her.

"Tommy, she's got your coloring," she stated, still not removing her eyes from the child.

"Aye…"

"And thankfully Sybil's everything else," she offered up once more, this time more dryly. "She's beautiful."

The comment had Tom poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek, biting back a smart comment of his own. All the while Sybil was concentrating on her breathing, remembering the last time she'd stood in this kitchen with Mrs. Branson and how the older woman had said the very same thing. The child was once again back in her arms and for a moment Sybil blinked, wondering if any of what she had just seen had actually happened.

Helen returned to her task near the stove. The apron she had on was barely touched, signaling to Tom that his mother planned to spend the rest of her afternoon performing similar functions. "Are you going to stand there all day, or…?"

Sybil looked to Tom. He shared her glance before returning his attention to his mother. "We, I…"

"Have you eaten?"

Sybil shook her head. "We were going to grab something once we got in," Tom explained for them.

"Isla needs her nap so—"

Mrs. Branson smiled sweetly at Sybil. "Tom, put your things in your old room. Sybil, darling, there are leftovers in the fridge. Far better than anything you two could ever waste your money on downtown."

Tom sighed out. "Thanks, mam," he gave before placing a kiss to Sybil's cheek and disappearing down the hall with their things.

Without her boyfriend, Sybil stood still for what she was sure was far too many minutes. She hadn't noticed but Katie Grace was still in the kitchen and now approached Sybil and Isla wearing a different kind of smile. "My mam's right," she began. "She is beautiful…"

Sybil willingly gave her daughter away once more. "Oh, thank you."

"Here, why don't you make yourself something to eat and I'll watch her for a bit. I love babies," she commented.

Helen looked up. "I am in no hurry to be a grandmother, Katie," she reminded. Sybil, who stood hunched over the open refrigerator, did her best to ignore the comment. Such a wish was fruitless. As Helen turned to address her own declaration, Tom appeared again, this time without his jumper or his shoes. He had only been home mere minutes at this point and already he were claiming the space as his own.

"How old is Isla, Tom?" Helen asked. Sybil and Tom shared a glance. It was difficult if not impossible to read whether or not Helen Branson was playing a game.

When Tom did not speak up, Sybil did. "She turned one last week."

"Ahh, so you were pregnant that morning in church when you stood before the Lord and said your prayers?"

Tom sighed. "Well when you put it that way, Ma…"

"I'm not complaining," Helen shrugged. "I suppose I'd prefer a grandbaby than a dead son." Another glance was shared by Tom and Sybil. "Is that why you were leaving then? Should I thank Sybil?"

"Ma'am, err...Helen," Sybil corrected. "Tom made his own decisions against going North. It had nothing to do with–"

"Syb…"

"He didn't know. Well, we didn't know. We were going to leave because we wanted to. I had to get out of here and Tom had given up on going North—"

"We don't talk about war in this home, Sybil," Helen stated matter of factly. Her eyes only barely narrowed, showing her vow to remain strong despite the pain she was feeling and would always feel.

"Mam, she—"

"It's just important to me that you know that Tom had made up his mind without me," Sybil stated.

"Is it so bad to think that a woman changes a man, Sybil?" Helen propositioned.

No, Sybil thought. In a way, she knew that was exactly what had happened — what she had done. Tom acknowledged this everyday, usually with a kiss placed to her collarbone in appreciation. She rejected the thought. Tom was merely able to be himself around her, and she demanded that type of truth from the moment they'd met in the bookshop.

"Sybil…" Katie Grace said, standing up. "Isla's…"

The response instead came from Tom. "I've set out her crib already," he explained, referring to the old wooden structure his mother kept in a back closet for when they had company. "Her blanket's on my bed. Just cover her up…" Tom's voice trailed off when he saw the way his sister looked at him with bright eyes. "Here, I can just do it—"

"No, I got her," Katie assured, bringing herself back to reality. What Tom missed was the way Katie was amazed at her brother's knowledge. Not once did either Branson woman ever expect Tom to have a child, much less one where he'd be actively involved in the child's life and very in love with her mother as well.

Katie was gone and once again Helen was moving around the kitchen to begin the task of boiling potatoes.

"Do you need help?" Sybil asked. " I'd be more than happy to—"

"I don't see any wedding rings," Helen commented casually.

Tom sighed. "No, you don't. Brilliant observation, Ma…"

"I know for a fact that is not you being bold, Tommy," she reprimanded.

"With all due respect, Mrs. Branson—"

"Helen," she corrected, hopefully for the last time.

Sybil forced a tight-lipped smile before forging on. "Sorry, Helen," she repeated. "We'll get married, of course—"

"Of course? Well if it were that simple, it would have happened by now, no?"

"We just thought that it was a bit silly to rush such a thing—"

"Well you certainly rushed having a family!"

Sybil blinked her eyes shut for several moments. "I'm going to marry your son. When it happens, we want you to be there but I'm not going to plan a ceremony just to settle everyone else's consciences. I know I love him and I have never doubted he feels the same way about me. If a ring or a document is what convinces others that we love one another and are happy with the family we've created, I'm not sure I have time for those people in my life."

Tom had already reached for a bottle of stout from the fridge. The black bottle brought a smile to his lips for more than one reason, the strongest being that he knew the beverage was purchased specifically in preparation for his arrival. He laughed before taking a swig of the liquid, the sound declaring that Sybil had absolutely won that round against his mother.

Helen must have agreed because her eyes did not scold him. "Tá géim sa chailleach fós!" she gave instead.

Tom smiled, pulled his oblivious girlfriend in for a kiss to her cheek, then went to the sink to help his mother. Though Sybil was never happy to be left out of a conversation, she was proud that Tom's secondary tongue was just as sharp as it once was. Occasionally, he'd say things to Isla, things Sybil imagined he could only convey in gaeilge because this was how they were delivered to him. For every sentiment Isla received, Sybil learned their meaning. All she knew now was that they'd come too far for Tom to allow his mother to say something insensitive. She made a mental note to ask Tom for a more exact translation later, settling on the idea that her words must have been kind to prompt Tom's help.

"I set sheets out on the sofa for you, Tommy. I'm sorry we don't have another room but—"

"Mam, you're kidding, right?"

"I most certainly am not!"

"You got a new mattress for my room," he pointed with his paring knife. In his room, where the too-small bed he and Sybil once made love on used to sit, now existed a queen-sized mattress.

"For guests," Helen explained. "That's not your room anymore. Besides, you are not married. You know the rules…"

"Well I hate to disappoint you, but Sybil and I share a bed back in New York…"

"I'm sure you do. But we're not in New York. This is my home, Tommy. If your father were here, he'd say the same thing."

"So I'm supposed to allow Sybil and Isla to stay in a room without me? That hardly seems fair."

"Will you be paying for me to board you?" Helen quipped. "No? Then I'd say it's quite fair. Besides, that sofa in the front room is new as well. I think you'll find it quite comfortable…"

Tom sighed. He turned back to Sybil and mouthed a simple apology. The skinless potato he held in his hand was tossed into the nearby pot of water, causing the liquid to splash out and sizzle into steam atop the hot stove.

~!~

It was rare for Sybil and Tom to be afforded a minute alone. Somehow in a situation that was new to them, Isla remained sound asleep for her afternoon nap allowing them time to read on the sofa in the front room. This was the piece of furniture that replaced the couch Sybil and Tom spent their first night together on. It was just as comfortable, but only Tom would be able to test the bed that was folded beneath. That is, of course, if Sybil was planning on following the rules, to which Tom was still unsure whether or not that was the case. Night, he imagined, would follow soon and bring with it a more clear answer.

Tom wore his glasses. In one hand he held the spine of the novel he was currently reading, while the other hand rested on Sybil's feet while they laid in his lap. With her back against the arm of the couch, Sybil also read. Together they looked rather domestic, hiding the way Sybil bit her lip behind the pages of her book, while the heel of her foot dug into the tender skin of Tom's thigh.

Feeling her ministrations, Tom dropped his book to his lap and looked to her. "Syb…"

"What?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"Stop, love…"

Sybil quirked an eyebrow. "Really?"

Tom sighed out too. "That's a guilty smile if I've ever seen one."

Sybil tossed her book to the nearby coffee table. "I literally have no idea what you're talking about."

Without warning Tom lunged toward Sybil, his hands tickling at her sides causing her to giggle while she thrashed beneath him. She did her best to ward off his advances, while also giving in to everything he was doing. It had been hours since he'd touched her and it was weird to be back in Dublin and to exist with a sense of modesty separating them.

Tom was laughing now too, with his knees straddling Sybil while his hands and lips assaulted her skin. Her body was on fire with him on top of her and when he unpinned her hands from her sides he felt her instantly reaching for his face to bring him down to kiss her.

"Mmmm," she moaned through it. "We've been here several hours and that's the first kiss you've given me," she commented honestly.

Tom's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry…"

Sybil let out a cackle. "It's fine. It's just different, you know? Last time I was here I was so nervous...now we have a baby."

Tom smirked. "We do have a baby," he drawled, all before leaning in to taste her once more.

"Hey," Sybil tried, stilling him if only for a moment. He must have felt how moved she was by all of this because his breath hitched while he waited for her words. "I love you."

Tom smiled, unable to hide how her words, old news by now, still made him feel so electric. "I love you too, Syb."

They kissed again, once and then several times until it seemed as if they never fully detached. Traveling to Dublin was not meant to be a true vacation, but neither were complaining that it was currently giving them time to feel young again. It had been months since the two were allowed to just enjoy one another like this. Usually, to accommodate work and school and Isla, sex was rushed. It was exciting only because both often instigated in places that were not their bedroom. Symbolically, all of their intimate moments together had been rushed, and it was nice, although odd, to be able to finally slow down and experience intimacy with clothing separating their skin.

Tom teased this line with a hand that traveled under Sybil's shirt where his fingertips stroked the taut muscle near her rib cage. He remembered falling asleep that night so many years ago with his hand pressed to this very spot. Even then he did not know the strength Sybil carried in her small frame.

Feeling breathless, Sybil was forced to detach but allowed her forehead to rest against Tom's. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled. "Your mum isn't too fond of me."

"I don't know about that. She said you were feisty," he recounted, giving Sybil the translation she craved earlier.

"Maybe, but I know she thinks I'm some dumb, loose English girl...she feels bad for me as if I didn't have a choice in loving you and really, that's so offensive to who you are. You're her son."

Tom kissed Sybil, wishing to banish all of the hurtful things she was uncovering. His relationship with his mother since his father's passing was certainly a sensitive one and it seemed all the more so when falling from Sybil's swollen lips.

"I'm sorry," she revealed finally with a hand pushing back at the frizzy curls around her face. "We don't have to talk about it…I just want her to like me."

"I do like you, Sybil, and I'd like you even more if you weren't allowing my son to take advantage of you on my sofa." At the sound of her voice, Sybil and Tom looked to Helen. She stood underneath the arch that separated this room from the hallway. Only Tom knew his mother's words were carefully chosen, meant to further emphasize that she did not believe his relationship with Sybil was one of equals.

The two did not disconnect in the way they would have had it been Martha or Anna or anyone else who could have found them in a similar state. With them, and Sybil and Tom knew this from firsthand experience, such a reaction happened quickly and with an edge of comedy. Here, it was slow, and Tom made deliberate action to remove his hand slowly from Sybil's shirt so as to not expose her further. Together they sat up and when they did, Helen smiled before walking away.

Shortly thereafter Isla cried out, causing each parent to now move with purpose and temporarily forget how the place they once called home was feeling more and more foreign with each passing moment.

~!~

The roast Mrs. Branson was making was for a dinner that would feed far more than the four occupants of the house. With Isla in bed for the night, Sybil and Tom helped to finish the meal and then set the table.

"You need two more place settings," Katie commented while she moved through the dining room.

At hearing this, Tom raised his head. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah," she paused. "Nula's coming…"

"And?" He waited for it.

"Dylan," she stated, finally revealing her boyfriend's name. This was not the same boy she had dated when Tom was in prison, but a friend she had made working at the floral shop near the docks. His family had moved to Dublin from County Mayo after his father received a position with the Dublin Gardai. That was all Tom knew of him, and honestly all he hoped to ever know.

With Katie Grace gone again, Sybil gauged Tom's disposition. She sighed out before approaching the situation delicately. "Don't give her a hard time, alright? She's a smart girl. She had enough sense to get rid of the last one when he spoke poorly of you. Besides, my grandmother put you through the ringer and how did that make you feel?"

"Proud, honestly. She loves you as much as I love you and I had no problem proving myself to her."

Sybil put her hands to her hips in quiet admonishment. "It didn't hurt your feelings?"

"She insisted I sleep in the same bed with you, love. My feelings were hardly hurt," he quipped, earning him a swat to the shoulder before Sybil returned to the kitchen to begin plating the food.

When the doorbell rang, it was Tom who answered — or at least he attempted to. Katie beat him to the foyer but was disappointed to see Nula at the door. To her, the woman was a friend, but she felt distanced from her after her father's passing. Katie had always had somewhat of a crush on Aidan and after his murder, she only felt further disconnect with his mother. There was also possibility of jealousy on Katie's part, a feeling Helen experienced as well; Nula and Tom were always close, and made all the more so when Tom was in prison. Though Nula and Helen were best friends there were certainly things left unsaid between the women.

Sybil remained in the dining room while Nula and Tom stood at the door. It was better this way, especially as the two slipped into their native tongue. Even so, Sybil would have been happy to overhear a conversation she couldn't quite understand; she knew what Nula meant to Tom and would forever revere the woman for visiting Tom in prison when she could not.

"Syb!" Tom called out. The doorbell rang once more and Katie Grace flew past the pair to greet Dylan. "Love, this is Nula. Nula, this is—"

"Sybil, hello," Fionnula greeted, extending her hand to shake Sybil's.

Sybil smiled too. It was all she felt she was good at here. She found that when she opened her mouth, her thoughts and opinions were met with quiet disapproval. "Hi. I've...hello," she settled with a small laugh.

Before the two could exchange any more pleasantries, Helen entered, carrying with her a plate of greens. "Did he tell you about the babe?"

Nula paused. "Ah, yes!" she practically clapped, dismissing the answer the rest of the home was clearly expecting. "Where is Miss Isla?"

She hugged her son's best friend in official congratulations and when the two separated she did all she could to force a small smile in Sybil's direction. Her expression was returned but only momentarily. Sybil excused herself to grab the rest of the food, not wanting to inconvenience anyone anymore than she already felt she had. Helen followed, silently declaring that for the first and possibly last time in their lives, both women were on the same team.

When Sybil returned the table was nearly set and Dylan and Tom were in the middle of their introduction. As they sat down for supper, Sybil felt the way Tom couldn't stop from staring at the younger boy, and made no task of hiding that fact.

"Tom," she finally whispered. "Enough."

"He's been here five minutes and he hasn't thanked my mother for the invitation. He's barely acknowledged you or Nula—"

"Well maybe he's nervous. None of you make it easy to be an outsider in this home."

Tom wished to but he stopped himself from responding. Napkins were folded into laps and Helen made quick work of beginning to say grace. As they now did at home, Sybil too made the sign of the cross before clasping her hands in prayer. It was now her who received confused glares and she thought only of their parish back in New York and how everyone, lacking the knowledge of the religion Sybil was so weakly raised on, was so welcoming there.

"Sybil, I didn't know you were religious," Helen commented with a smile.

Sybil went to speak but was stopped by Tom's response. "And if she weren't, what was she supposed to do, Ma? Not say grace?"

"Well I don't know," Helen stated, showing that for as wise as the woman was, she was still so clearly marked by the Irish Catholic world she lived in. "So are you saying she's not?"

"I'm not speaking for her. She can do that on her own just fine."

"I'm Catholic, ma'am," Sybil said sweetly. Then, in a way that only she was capable of, she gave a more accurate depiction of the truth. "Well, I am now. I was raised—"

"Welp, lovey, doesn't really matter what you were raised, just so long as you believe what you believe now!" Nula drawled, causing even Sybil to smirk. Meanwhile, Katie Grace noticed the tension brewing between her mother and the rest of the dinner guests. In an attempt to avoid this, she nudged at Dylan's shoulder. "Why don't you tell everyone how you've been accepted into St. Andrews?"

Sybil's eyes widened. "Like the Scottish university? Or the academy in Cambridge?"

Tom looked to Sybil, his mouth dropped open but for a different reason. "There's two?"

"The Scottish school, ma'am," Dylan said, echoing Sybil's manners from earlier.

"It's a really great school," Sybil commented. "I hope you're considering accepting!"

Tom sat forward. "And what will you do when you're in Scotland and Katie's here?"

"I imagine the same thing you and Sybil did when you two were apart."

Tom's eyes glared at Katie, reprimanding her for sharing a story he hadn't even properly disclosed . "So you will stay here then?"

Katie shrugged. "For a bit, I suppose. But I'd go eventually."

"Eventually?" Tom asked. "You're not married—"

"And you are?" Katie spat back.

Tom nodded - a truce. "What will you do there?"

"Go to school, I hope."

"At St. Andrews?" Helen asked. Tonight was one of changing alliances, with Helen now standing firmly next to her son while he interrogated his baby sister. These were questions she was all too tired to ask.

"Well, yeah," Katie shrugged. She had just finished putting another serving of fish on her plate before she sat back once more. "Why is this such a big deal?"

"Because there are great schools here."

"Here in Dublin or here in Ireland?" she asked with a raised, slightly shrill voice.

Tom paused. "Dad would want you to go to UCD."

"Dad would want me to do a lot of things, Tom. He'd want a lot of things from you too, you know…"

Sybil reached forward to still Tom's tapping fingers. He was angry and her touch often did wonders to bring him back down to her. "Tom—"

"What would he want from me, Katie? Say it!"

"I think you've given him a lot of what he'd want, Tom," Nula responded calmly. "I don't think it's beneficial for either of you to waste this time together bickering. I will say that's one thing your father would not want," she emphasized. "Besides, we've only just said grace. Save the immature behavior for after our plates have been cleared, yeah?"

Helen, previously miffed at her friend, reached across the table to rub at Nula's hand. Sybil watched in the way it was taken graciously, patted on by Nula in acknowledgement of their strong relationship. Helen had detached for awhile after her husband died, and continued to do so even now with her children fully grown. Nula, was not granted his luxury and her presence in Tom and Katie Grace's lives was a welcomed one. Helen reminded herself of this when she thought back to their interaction at the door earlier where Nula bounced Isla on her hip, ignorant to everything Tom disclosed from his mother and so willingly gave to her.

"Well," Dylan breathed out. "I support Katie in whatever she wants to do. And I didn't mean anything by my comment earlier. I only meant to say that strong people manage to spend time apart without it breaking them."

Helen nodded. She was coming around to Dylan, liking the boy more every time he came into her home. He had this luxury, one Sybil was not afforded. Because of this, she doubted she could make it into the matriarch's good graces before their departure next week.

"What would you study?" Sybil tried.

"History, I think. World history."

"Syb's in medical school," Tom explained before sipping at his pint. "Top of her class." Sybil blushed and looked down. Long ago Tom told her that he'd never tire of discussing her accomplishments and in hearing him do that very thing in front of his family, she finally believed him. "It's a big commitment but I'm sure you'd be able to make it work."

"Well, an undergraduate degree is much different than medical school."

"It is," Tom smirked. "You're right. And she does it all while being a mum too. So I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"Tom, I hear you're writing?"

"Aye," he nodded, directing his attention back to Nula. They had discussed all of this in their letters, correspondence Sybil and Helen had yet to learn about. Even so, she found it a more amenable topic of conversation. "Not as much as I'd like to, but it'll do for now."

"And you're living where?"

"In a fancy flat high above Central Park," Katie Grace taunted.

Tom looked to her. "Yeah, I do. I didn't have a choice in the matter. I had to leave, Katie. People in this town thought I killed my best friend..." Sybil immediately looked to Tom. This was a fact she had not learned before now.

"Well how hard your life must be—"

"It is hard, Katie! I was in prison for fuck's sake!"

"Tom!" Helen admonished.

"I know. You were in prison and then you left! So you were gone for a year and now you've been gone for almost two because you decided to leave. That was a choice you made," Katie emphasized. "I didn't have a choice! We stayed here." She paused. "We stayed and you left."

Tom sighed, doing so with so much force that he nearly fell back in his chair. "Is that what this is? You're angry that I left?"

"Yeah, I am."

Dylan and Sybil watched carefully on, waiting for the next move, wondering if it would be one of attempted ceasefire or escalation.

"Well I was angry that you and Mum didn't come to see me. I was angry that I sent you letters too and you didn't respond to them. I've been angry since Dad died and I guess I'm still angry. Okay?" The table was silent. Everyone sat still, waiting for Katie to respond. She didn't. Instead she wore eyes that glazed over, cast on the beams of light her glass of water cast on the tablecloth below. "Okay?" Tom demanded. His voice was loud, booming. Isla cooed against her mother, knowing her father utilized a similar volume when he was making her laugh.

Katie did not look up. "Okay," she shrugged.

The meal carried on, but not at first. When it drifted back into motion, conversation only existed between Helen, Nula, Sybil, and Dylan. The four of them were an unlikely pair, but they actually managed to find easy talking points. Nula, Sybil found, had a quick tongue and often made everyone laugh. Helen worked well off her best friend's energy and became more open by the time she finished her meal. The younger pair then discussed their culinary affinity and discovered that Dylan's older brother had married one of Mr O'Connor's nieces and the two had just had a child together.

Though Sybil worried about Tom and spent most of her time at the table with her hand upon his knee, she knew that in carrying the conversation, she was helping them out. Despite Tom's prior superiority he now felt relentlessly vulnerable and was surprised to find that what he imagined would be his greatest weakness in Dublin - his love for Sybil and the child they created - was what was currently allowing him to sit wordless, a stranger in the same home that raised him.

~!~

After dinner, Helen got up immediately to put on the kettle for tea. Nula moved as if she had a role to play as well, collecting plates and utensils to inevitably leave nothing but crumbs atop the table. Dylan offered to help with dishes but was soon pulled away by Katie, the blonde tossing a soft "thanks" over her shoulder. A similar sign of gratitude followed, but Dylan gave his more apologetically. He was playing the same game Sybil was, waging what was preferred: supporting the person he loved or working to impress that same person's family. Both were somewhat speechless upon discovering those ideas were mutually exclusive.

When the front door slammed shut, Sybil stood. A newly awake and very hungry Isla was on her hip and the child played with her mother's cross necklace, trying to put the gold chain into her mouth.

"Sybil, dear, stay for tea won't you?"

Sybil smiled. "I have to feed Isla and try to put her down again and then I'd love to," she accepted sweetly.

Tom was already gone, disappearing without word or production, leaving Sybil to follow with a heavy sigh.

Inside their room, Sybil made quick work of undressing Isla. The child giggled up at her mother while Sybil effortlessly changed her nappy and put her into another onesie. It was nearing winter but like Tom, Isla was always so warm. She wondered if she'd allow Isla to sleep in bed beside her with her father banished to the front room. Such a thought brought a chill to Sybil, awakening her skin with goosepimples as she realized tonight would be the first night she'd sleep away from Tom since their reunion.

"Are you going to ask?" Tom's voice brought Sybil out of her reverie.

The brunette stood and cradled her daughter in her arms. "Are you allowed to be in here while she eats?" Sybil asked quite seriously, causing Tom to smirk. That was not what he was coaxing from her, but the change in topic was definitely a deliberate one.

Tom played along. "Do you want a blanket, would that make you feel better?"

"No. I want to go back to New York, Tom. Honestly. That's what would make me feel better."

Tom's mouth turned in sadness. He sat down beside Sybil, his large hands pressed gently to her thighs while Isla began to suck at her skin. Sybil kept her eyes on their daughter and forced a smile. "I'm looking forward to getting her on formula," she admitted. "This is so draining…"

Tom reached out for her again, moving his hands from her thighs up to where she held Isla firmly against her. "I'm sorry, Syb…"

"I shouldn't have said that. I don't want to go back to New York, I—"

"Why?" Tom asked, sitting up once more. "I do. I'm not angry at you for saying that."

"Well you should be. This is your home and these people are your family and I came here wanting nothing more than to love it. To love them. I only ever saw a small corner of your world before your world became my world...our world. Regardless of what you say, this part of you matters too."

"And if I never meet your parents? Will that matter? Will I be missing out on some part of you if I never meet your mum and dad or your sisters? Will that be okay?"

Sybil shrugged and turned her attention back to Isla. "I guess it will have to be."

Tom stood and moved to his suitcase to rummage through his things. Behind him he could hear Sybil rustling, no doubt shifting Isla to burp the child before placing her in her crib. "It was only a few letters," he sighed out.

Hearing him, Sybil looked up. Isla was in her crib now and Sybil finally felt she could give Tom her full attention. "I figured…"

"Why don't you care?"

"I do care! I mean, of course I do, Tom! I wish you had told me you were writing Nula but it is what it is. I can't change it now. Besides, I'd say your mother is much more offended than I am."

Tom bit his lip. "You think?"

Sybil smiled, always so attracted to his unexpected oblivion. "Yes, love. Very much so." She inhaled sharply, ready to admit to her own faults. "Anyway, I can't be mad. If I were mad at you, that'd be hypocritical...I sent your mum money, Tom."

He stepped back. "What?"

"I was worried and we hadn't heard from them so I called Mr. O'Connor and the reception was shoddy and we only spoke for a minute or two but he didn't do much to settle my fears so I sent money."

"How much?"

"A couple grand."

"Syb!"

"My grandmother wanted to! And I wanted to too! If you weren't so damn stubborn you'd agree it was a good idea!"

"Well I am stubborn, alright? That wasn't your place!"

"Oh yeah? And what's my place, Tom?"

In hearing his unfortunate choice of wording, Tom sighed and took a step back. "I'm sorry…"

"I am too," Sybil agreed, now holding her arms tightly crossed over her body. "I was just trying to help…"

"I know," he nodded, all before pulling her in and placing a kiss to the crown of her head. "I shouldn't have written to Nula…"

"I don't mind that you did, honestly," she shrugged, causing the two to separate but also allowing them to get a better view of one another. "I just don't think she likes me very much."

"Well my mum seems to be coming around. Maybe Nula will follow."

"Your mother is hardly coming around, Tom. You'll still be sleeping out in the parlor tonight and I'll be in here. Alone."

"With Isla," he reminded.

"Did you ever talk about me?"

Tom paused. His brow furrowed and he took a step into her once more. "What?"

"When you wrote Nula. Did you ever talk about me?"

"Of course I did. That was a lot of our conversation. You and Isla."

"She's angry with you. You didn't marry an Irish girl. I mean, that's it, right?"

"It's not…" Tom sighed out, running a frustrated hand through his already unruly hair. "It's not that you're not Irish, Syb. It's just that—"

"I'm English?"

Tom shrugged. "Well, yeah…"

"Does she know? I mean, does she know I was the girl who started the argument that got her son killed?"

With tight lips, Tom nodded. "Yeah, love, she does." Then: "Everyone does, really. It was in the papers. Varying accounts of the murder."

"They all hate me…"

"Anyone who hates you doesn't realize what kind of a world we live in. You didn't get Aidan killed nor did you start the argument. They approached you, Syb. They picked that fight and knew how they wanted to end it before you ever talked back. If they hate anyone it's me. They're mad because I ran away. I thought my mum and Katie Grace would be happy I was able to get out of here, but apparently I messed that up too."

"They can dislike me. But I need them to be on your side, Tom. I can't be the reason you and your family disagree."

"They are on my side, Syb. And you're not the reason we disagree."

"You're a good man, Tom Branson. I love the person you are and the father you are to Isla. But you're a shite liar," she quipped, causing both of them to his hands now intertwined with hers, Sybil had a newfound energy. "I'll say it again, Tom. They can dislike me but I need them to be on your side. That's important to me. It's everything..."

"Love, they can think what they want, alright? And yeah, you are a big part of why I left and if anything, they should be happy. Beyond how happy you make me, I'm alive because of you. I've made something of myself. I am who I am because you've loved me."

"Tom…"

"At the end of the day, they can't dislike you and still love me. It doesn't work like that anymore, Syb. We're a team. If they're going to be on my side, they have no choice but to be on your side too."

~!~

Something about being back here, in his hometown, had Tom craving a cigarette. He had picked up the unfortunate habit when he was fourteen, just a year after his father's death when his anger toward the world was still so raw. When he arrived to New York, it was something he easily let go of. In having Sybil in his life and in wanting nothing but the best for their daughter, Tom quit.

Sybil was still here but she was taking a shower now and Isla had been asleep in her bassinet for several hours. When the two were meant to be having tea with Helen and Nula, they instead fell asleep and when they awoke, the kettle was empty and Helen had gone out to the front room to knit. Nearby the local news sounded softly, flickering light on and off into the parlor with every changing story.

"Sorry, Ma…" Tom let out. "Sybil and I haven't slept in almost twenty-four hours and—"

Helen looked up to her son. She wore thick rimmed glasses and a tight, but wide, smile. "It's fine, Tom."

He sighed out. "It wasn't intentional."

"I haven't seen Nula in awhile. It gave us time to catch up. Besides, your sister practically marched out before. You accidentally falling asleep pales in comparison to how inappropriate her behavior was."

"Where do you think she went?"

Mrs. Branson returned her attention to her stitchwork. "Dylan has an apartment."

"In Dublin?"

"No, in County Cork," she sassed.

"He can afford that?"

"Well, no, but his parents can."

Tom took a step back. "Do we like this kid?"

"He's hardly a kid, Tom. And yes, I think I do. I know your father would and that's what I keep reminding myself of. He always wanted you and Katie to live comfortable lives. You know how hard he worked. If he could have done more, he would. But he couldn't...not until his death, anyway. But that money has certainly dwindled by now and since you left, I haven't been working. Am I happy that Katie is being taken care of by a boy that seems to truly have feelings for her? Yes. Very happy. I can't watch after her forever."

"And me?"

"Your father passed and you decided you didn't need me anymore. You didn't need anyone." She paused. Her next words were so simple but they carried with them immeasurable weight. "Then Sybil came along and that seemed to have changed."

"I may have acted like I didn't need anyone but—"

"You made some poor decisions, Tom. I tried time and time again to get through to you but you wouldn't let me in. Aside from Aidan and the boys, Katie Grace was the only one you talked to and even then it was all about her wellbeing. After awhile I had no choice but to stop pushing."

"You can push now," he said, almost joking. "I'm better now."

"Right," Helen gave before pursing her lips. "Because of Sybil."

"You know, Ma, I don't know what you want me to say. I can't apologize for the way I feel. I know I was a shite son and I'm sorry I hurt you so many times—"

"I don't want an apology, Tommy. This is just something that is going to take time. I thought I'd have it figured out by now but that girl is sleeping in my home and I still don't know how I feel about it."

Tom forced a smile. For a moment he thought of taking a seat next to his mother but he soon calculated that situation would be much more difficult to escape than his current one. Without word he went to the door and left. When he stepped outside he was surprised to find Nula sitting on his stoop. She looked up to him and smiled, extending her pack of fags his way. He smirked back and tapped at his back pocket before retrieving his own. He tapped the box into his palm and then quickly lit one. As he sat back and let out his first drag, Tom felt oddly confident (and somehow slightly disturbed) at how natural the task seemed. It helped that nicotine now pulsed into his lungs, giving him courage and a slight buzz.

"Does Sybil know you're out here?"

"Are you asking if she knows I'm out here or if she knows I smoke?"

"Well I know she doesn't know you smoke. She doesn't peg me as the type of girl to allow that sort of thing."

"I still smoked when I first met her," Tom tried to explain.

Nula grinned. "She changed you, Tommy. It's okay."

His eyes narrowed. "Is it?"

"Well isn't it?" she shot back just as easily.

"I'm a better person now," he assured. "I'm a person I think my Dad would actually be proud of."

"Oh stop," she urged, pushing at his knee. "Your father would be proud of you even if you were still in prison. You used guns, he used words...there's something to be said for both."

"He hated violence."

"Yeah, but he believed in standing up for what you believed in. And he was motivated by his love for his family and friends. Your intentions were the same. If you had gone, I'd be saying that in present tense."

"If I had gone, I'd be dead," Tom corrected.

Nula looked to him, studying him for a moment. "Do you really think so?"

"I know so. Even if I did come back...no one survives that." Nula looked ahead. Tom knew she didn't have a response but he felt his mind following her to the next destination. "I think about him everyday, you know," he stated simply. "I miss him a lot."

She nodded, still unable to look at him but now for different reasons. Tom felt it too, the prick of warm tears surrounding his eyes. "Me too…"

"Everyone has a lot of opinions, you know? When he was here, Aidan had more opinions than anyone I knew. A lot of them were ridiculous and he made me laugh and we got into a lot of arguments but I still liked hearing them. And I wonder what he'd think now."

"Of you?"

"Well, yeah. Of me and Sybil...Isla," he added.

"That's what I meant. They're you now, Tom…"

"You don't…" Tom stopped himself. All those times Nula visited him in prison and he was never able to discuss this with her. Now, the two sharing cigarettes like teenagers, it seemed simple. "You know Aidan and Sybil weren't—"

Nula snorted out a laugh. "Of course I know. Sybil seems to be too smart of a girl to go for Aidan. She's too kind. She can love a man like you, Tommy, but she couldn't love Aidan."

"But he knew her. I mean, they weren't friends. It's...it's complicated. He didn't understand it then. But he knew that I loved her and he was doing his best to support that. And when those UVFs approached him, I know he was protecting Sybil. And I know it doesn't sound right but that means a lot to me. My best friend was protecting a girl he barely knew and didn't like and he was doing it because he knew what she meant to me. You know, people can say what they want about him but he's one of the best people I've ever know. And Sybil knows that and she makes sure I talk about him. She talks about him too...and she's really sorry."

"I tried to understand it myself," Nula admitted, sounding as if even she was surprised by her words. "I was angry at you and I hated Sybil. I didn't know her. I didn't know her story and I really didn't believe that she loved you. How could I after all they've done? But slowly it came together. Katie Grace helped a bit. When the boys came back, a few of the things they said made me think. And then one day it all made sense. I made up my mind...I couldn't hate Sybil. Aidan wouldn't have stood up for her if he didn't believe she was special to you. He's my son and I miss him every single day," she revealed, now choking up. "But I know why he did it. Like you said, he was always better than everyone thought and for whatever reason, he let Sybil see that. He loved you, Tom. And he wouldn't want me to be mad at you so that's why I started visiting you in Mountjoy. And that's why I can't hate Sybil now. I don't think he'd want that."

"She's...I know you two will never be friends. I don't expect that and I never have but—"

"You're in love?" she asked, letting out a slight laugh that was created mostly to erase her sadness. "I know that."

"Please don't say it like that…"

"Like what?" she defended.

"Like you're sorry for me."

"I'm not sorry for you, Tommy. You have a sweet little family. You've gotten out of here. You're doing okay."

"I am doing okay, Nu! I have a job doing something I like and I'm really good at. I have someone who loves and appreciates me and we have the most beautiful little girl. I'm more than okay. I can't apologize for that."

"Did I ask you to?"

"You want to," he reasoned. "You can say you've come to terms with Aidan's passing and I think I believe you. I want to believe you because I think you want that to be your truth. Fine! I get it! But you're not okay with me being in America and you're certainly not okay with me being with an English girl."

"Are you then? Honestly, Tommy? Have you thought about it? You're quite literally sleeping with the enemy…"

"Girls like Sybil are not the enemy."

"She's far prettier than Thatcher," Nula retorted. "I'll give you that." Even amidst their tension the two shared a laugh.

"She doesn't believe all of that, you know. She believes what we believe, just without all the violence. And she made me see that it's all such bullshit anyway. She showed me that I have options."

"Exactly. There are hundreds of girls in this city that would love to be with you, Tom…"

"And hundreds of girls I have no interest in. Sybil's different, she's—"

"English! That's my point!"

Tom shook his head. "If she was Irish, you'd love her. Everyone does. It's impossible not too. She's unbelievably kind, Nu. She's thoughtful and caring and she doesn't judge. She listens and she's supportive and she's the best mum."

"She's certainly turned you soft."

"Maybe," Tom shrugged, dismissing what was most likely a jab. "Do you know I actually like myself? They don't teach us that. They only teach us to hate them."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I do! I hated myself. I didn't care if I went to Belfast and died. I didn't care if someone killed me before then. I didn't have much to live for, Nula. I'm sorry, but it's the truth and then she came along and things changed. I didn't ask for it and if you asked me if I ever thought I'd fall for a British girl, I'd tell you you're crazy but I have...I did. She changed me and I'm thankful for that. I wish everyone else would be so appreciative…"

"I'm trying…"

"Well can you try harder? I'm sorry that this all seems so crazy but it's not going to change. I love her more than I ever thought was possible. I like our life and I plan on being with her until the day I die. It's simple, really."

Nula nodded. She took one last drag of her fag before pushing the moist paper stick down on to the concrete below. "Alright then," she resolved. She pushed off her knees to bring herself to her feet.

"Alright?" Tom asked, now looking up to her. He'd been here many times before, previously with Aidan by his side and with Nula's finger wagging, punishing her son and his best friend for their mischief.

"I'll try," she revealed simply. "Do I have any other choice? I love you, Tommy and you mean a lot to me because you meant the world to Aidan. He's not here so I have to watch out for you. That's how this works. It's a promise I make to him every time I go to the cemetery."

"Thank...thank you," he mumbled. "Just give her a chance, alright?"

"I already am giving her a chance. Who do you think got your mother to write you back? It certainly wasn't Katie Grace…"

Fionnula turned the door knob and immediately headed inside. Tom followed, the pair ascending the steps, carrying with them the faint smell of smoke. "What?"

"I made your mother write you. My boy isn't here and it's not fair that she ignore hers."

Silence filled the hallway and remained even after Nula and Tom reentered the flat. It occurred because Tom had nothing to say and stayed when Nula joined his mother in the nearby kitchen, both women now watching Tom as he moved toward his bedroom. Their judging eyes finally brought so many words to Tom's tongue, but he bit them back.

"Tom, I've turned off the telly, dear. The front room is all yours…"

Nula looked to her best friend then sipped at her tea to cover the smirk she wore. Not too long ago these women were young girls, Sybil's age and full of their own energy. Such things were lost as years progressed, leaving behind what could sometimes be considered subtly bitter comments.

"Can I get my things? Say goodnight to Sybil?"

"Give the girl a moment to get out of the shower, yeah?" Helen suggested.

Tom rolled his eyes, regretting the action halfway through its performance. "She's…" He stopped himself. "You know how children are made, yeah?" he mimicked.

Helen pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Nula gripped the counter, waiting for a fight. "Yes, I do," Mrs. Branson sassed sweetly. "Lots of sin, in your case."

Tom sighed out. His shoulders slumped too and he took a step back to retaliate. "That's really insensitive. That's your granddaughter, you know. I won't...that's a shite thing to say," he commented simply. He disappeared, thinking now of what Nula said and how he finally had several responses that would have been appropriate.

Inside his childhood bedroom, Sybil rolled her hair in a towel, doing her best to dry each curl without frizzing it. At seeing him she smiled but continued to look to the mirror. The pajamas she wore were much more modest than he was used to - flannel pants and a loose cotton t-shirt. Tom immediately stepped into the space behind Sybil, wrapping his arms around her midsection to cross over her tummy. In the shadow of the room, Isla slept soundly. Her presence had Tom whispering into Sybil's ear.

"Let's go," he mumbled into her neck before kissing the space below her ear. "Back to New York."

Sybil giggled. "That bad?"

"I don't know what she wants…"

Sybil threw her towel aside and tossed her hair up. The movement pushed Tom away but soon she turned back to him, wrapping her arms lazily around his neck. There she played with the hairs at his nape. "Your mother or Nula?"

"Well, both, really."

"I'm sorry…"

Tom's eyes narrowed in confusion. He was a bit hurt as well. "For what?"

"I'm not really making this trip easy, am I?"

"No," he dismissed quickly. "They're not. My mam knew what she was getting into when she extended the invitation…" His voice trailed off. "You know, she didn't want me to go to Belfast so I didn't go and now she's disappointed. She always wanted me to find a good girl and settle down and I've more than done that. She wanted grandchildren and I've given her that as well. It's never good enough."

"She just worries about you, Tom…"

"Are you on her side?"

Sybil paused. "I'm not even going to answer that because it's a ridiculous question."

He sighed. "You're right…"

"I can make myself scarce this weekend. I want to stop at O'Connors and I don't mind wasting time downtown if you want to spend some time with them."

"Now who's being ridiculous?"

"I told you, Tom, it's important to me that you have them in your life. If it's easier for them to spend time with you and Isla without me, then that's completely fine. That doesn't bother me."

Tom quirked an eyebrow. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Not much," Sybil shrugged. "I want Isla to know her grandmother and your culture is far more important than mine. Really, she's Irish more than anything else. She needs to feel a connection to this place…even if her parents don't."

"But I do," Tom admitted honestly.

Sybil nodded and looked to the floor. "Me too. And I don't want to."

"Why?"

She looked back to him, her eyes so wide Tom was nearly brought to tears by their size. "I almost lost you here."

Tom smirked. "No you didn't."

"I did. You could have been killed. And then you weren't and I still thought that maybe you wanted to leave."

"We were going to leave," he reminded.

"No," she negated. "Leave to go North. Without me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I put you in danger. Because me being with you did the same thing it's doing now."

"My mother and Nula are hardly UVF officers."

"They're just as scary," Sybil stated genuinely causing Tom to chuckle.

"Syb, love, just be you, okay? They're going to come around."

"And if they don't?"

Tom thought for a moment. "Then they don't. Then we don't ever have to come back here."

"You mean that?"

"If you want. Or we can come back and just stay somewhere else. You'll be a big doctor by then and you can pay for us to stay at one of those fancy new hotels downtown."

Sybil smirked. "Oh can I?" They laughed. Their mirth disappeared only when Sybil demanded a kiss from Tom. Both breathed in sharply, with noses squished in want while the two slowly detached. "I guess it's not going to help our case if you sneak in here tonight, huh?"

"Trust me, love, I've thought about it."

"I know," Sybil sighed out. "It's just the first night I'll be away from you and—"

"And I'm only in the front room. It's only a few hours. When I get up, we can make breakfast sandwiches, yeah?"

Sybil scrunched her nose upward in amusement. "You spoil me, Tom Branson."

"Hey," he countered, "it worked last time, didn't it?"

~!~

Sybil couldn't sleep and she spent the first hour alone in Tom's old room thinking about the last time they were here. Things had changed since then, and all for the better, but she still felt the way his hands explored her skin and how somehow through his own pain he managed to comfort her and keep her warm. She supposed it was silly to think the two would be given a second chance on their first night back.

The moments that followed, Sybil found herself carefully watching the clock on the wall. Each second passed and she wondered if Isla would wake. For a moment she wished for this to happen; she felt alone and wouldn't mind bringing Isla into bed with her. On the other hand, it was usually Tom who padded out of bed to grab their daughter, and he wasn't allowed to be here now to perform that task.

Eventually she sat up, not even sure she had done so at first. With her feet on the floor, she slowly stood. She did not plan to go out to Tom, but instead to grab a glass of water from the tap in the kitchen. If that happened to wake Tom, she wouldn't complain. If he kissed her tired eyelids and held her for awhile, she'd welcome those advances as well. How it was the two made it a full year apart, she was unsure.

She saw it in her head, how she'd tiptoe out of the room and immediately collide into Tom. She imagined he was missing her too and was unable to hold out any longer. Unfortunately she was only greeted with the hallway light and a house essentially void of noise.

This was not the case though. At the kitchen table, Helen sat reading a book. The light above was dimmed and a warm cup of tea sat idly by. Like Tom, she wore glasses and they fell to the bridge of her nose making Sybil believe that it was likely she'd been out here for quite some time. The sight of her had Sybil's body frozen, especially when the matriarch did not acknowledge her presence.

Finally: "There's tea," Helen managed. "I don't know if it'll keep you up but I've made plenty."

"Thank you," Sybil nodded softly. She poured herself a cup and then returned to the spot she previously stood. "Can't sleep?"

"I don't sleep much," Helen admitted.

Sybil let out a small laugh and looked away. "Maybe it's a mum thing. I used to love to sleep and I was so good at it but then I had Isla and I do it so infrequently I think I've convinced myself I don't enjoy it anymore."

"Tom loves to sleep."

"He does," Sybil giggled. "I'm jealous of him. He and Isla can just sleep and sleep."

"And we women just worry and worry…"

The air was still. Sybil pursed her lips. "We do," she agreed, all before sipping at her tea.

Helen took off her glasses and folded her hands over the spine of her book. She leaned forward, practically inviting Sybil to sit. When she did, she only continued to stare. Her eyes caught on the cross-necklace Sybil wore and the way the baby hairs around Sybil's face had begun to frizz the more they dried. She was, as she'd always said, really quite stunning. A lot of what her son did made no sense to Helen, but she understood his attraction.

"How did you and Tom meet, Sybil?"

"The bookshop. Mr. O'Connors," she added. "I worked there and Tom used to come in every week." When Helen did not speak, she forced a smile and continued. "I see a love of reading runs in the family. My family—"

"Where are they? Where are you from?"

It was clear to Sybil now that the things Tom told his mother about her were things that existed in the present. He did not speak of her past and he most likely did this to avoid discussion of his own. "London. Well, that's where I was raised. We have a home in the country too. That's where my Dad grew up." Helen smirked a looked away. "I know it seems silly but I'm not going to lie to you and act like my life before wasn't lavish and comfortable. That's where I come from but I don't feel connected to that world."

"And you left why?"

"I felt suffocated," she admitted earnestly. "I couldn't be who they wanted me to be."

"Are you happy here?"

"Here?"

"Well in New York. I guess you weren't happy here because you left…"

"I was happy here. I liked my life here. I love Dublin. This was just a halfway point for me."

"So you convinced Tom to leave?"

"No," she dismissed, slightly offended. "I told him I was leaving and he said he wanted to join me. Err…" Her voice trailed off. "Really, he asked me to come with him."

"And you thought you would? You knew him, what, a few weeks before you left?"

"Does it matter?"

Helen scoffed. "To me it does. I knew Tom's father for six years before we were married."

"Is our relationship not as valid because we fell in love more quickly?"

"It's valid, sure, but it lacks stability. Tom was in prison, Sybil. You've given up a very comfortable life to be with a man who can't give you those same things."

"That's your son…"

"And I love him and I always will. But—"

"But nothing," Sybil called out. "He's my best friend and we have a child together. I know for a fact you're not trying to convince me that I'm better than he is. That's rude and it completely discredits just how wonderful Tom is."

Helen sighed. "He's damaged, Sybil. For as much as he had to grow up, he's still very much the little boy I once brought to Belfast. Parts of him didn't come home with me that day. There are parts of him I haven't been able to get back."

"I...I'm sorry to say this, but I see those parts of him. I make him confront all of that and we work through it together. That's how a relationship works. I don't think that's anything against you and the home you provided for him, but maybe he did need to get away."

"Get away with you or go north?"

"You know, what did you want from him? What could he do to make you happy? Because it seems he can't win no matter what he does. Stop blaming him! He's hurting too!"

"I don't blame him, Sybil. I just doubt his ability to provide for you and Isla. I don't know how long he'll be able to do this. I wanted him to be a husband and father but I had given up on that a long time ago."

"Well he is," Sybil stated confidently. "He's the best boyfriend and he couldn't possibly be a better father. Again, I apologize if he hasn't showed you that but you haven't exactly been the most welcoming. How is he supposed to prove this to you if he feels like he can't even be himself?"

There was a beat of silence. "That's hard for a mother to hear."

"Yeah, well it's hard for me too. Tom means the world to me. I don't like watching him struggle. I didn't enjoy it here and it kills me that he's agonizing back in New York. He was so excited for this trip and he's done nothing but apologize to me the entire time, which, maybe I should be doing to him. I mean, I have. It's me, right? I'm the problem."

"Sybil, you're lovely, really…"

"Am I? Because I think if you truly believed that, you'd be happy for Tom. Really though, as a mother...and I can say this now because I am one, I can't imagine thinking someone who makes my child happy is not worthy. That's all I want for Isla. I want her safety and her health and her happiness. She has all of those things and she has them because her Daddy is selfless and hardworking. You've done a really great job with Tom. He's a good man. I'm sorry the life he has isn't the life you wanted for him but maybe it's time to step back and realize it's still a really good life."

Helen had no other option but to nod. She did so until the silence drowned out the tears Sybil wished to cry and the way the younger girl looked away to wipe at her tired eyes.

"Syb?"

Tom's voice appeared over Sybil's shoulder and almost had her crying harder. "Ma, what did you—"

"Nothing," Sybil dismissed as she brought herself to stand. "Thanks for the tea," she tried, smiling weakly.

Helen forced a smile too. She was ashamed and angry at herself for feeling this way. It was disheartening to realize that you were loving someone incorrectly - as if that were actually a concept anyone was capable of.

In Sybil's absence, Tom took a step in toward his mother. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything, Tommy. We just shared a cuppa—"

"God Ma, you have to stop this. This all could be so easy if you let it."

"It doesn't feel easy, Tom! Since your father passed, nothing has felt easy."

"And who's fault is that?" He looked away in disgust. Or maybe it was frustration. "You always talk about how God is going to figure it all out, well maybe he has. I've turned my life around. You've never had to worry about Katie Grace so what's the issue?"

"I'm alone," she admitted simply. In the time it took to hear his mother she had shrugged into a wave of uncontrollable sobs. He went to her but took his time in embracing her. His mother was always so stoic and he struggled to remember when it was she had last been this broken. It was during his father's funeral, and now it was clear to Tom that she'd never stopped grieving.

"You're right, Tom. You and Katie have moved on and I haven't. I'm more angry at them than I thought I was and Sybil's just a reminder of that."

"If you look at her like she's one of them, you're no better than they are. Syb's just like Dad, Ma. She somehow believes things can change without all of the violence and on some days I actually believe her."

Helen laughed, pushing out a few more tears that she wiped with the tips of her fingers. "I'm trying. I know you don't believe that, but I am. This is all just going to take some time. I love you, Tommy."

Tom nodded. "I know you do. I...I love you too."

"Is that hard for you to say? Have I made that difficult?"

"No," he admitted. "I just can't remember the last time you said it."


Thanks for reading! Happy Holidays!

x. Elle