Phone calls from Deano

Kian

Dean and the group have been gone for about a week.

I practically lived with that eejit when he was here, always crashing at his or mine, making shite food at 2 a.m. and pretending FIFA was a sport. But now he was off with the rest of them—Conor, AJ, Luke, all of them—down at the Kavanagh summer house, living it up by the beach. Sand, bonfires, and probably way too many cans.

And me?

I was here. Still in Cork. Still bouncing between two worlds.

Mal was heavily pregnant, so I wasn't going anywhere far, not when our little girl could decide to make her entrance any day. No way I was missing that.

And then there was Emi.

She was home now. Properly. The social workers signed off and said it was okay, with a few check-ins and visits. And even though I should've been buzzing, there was still that tension in my gut whenever I had to leave her alone with Dad. He was sober—at least, mostly—but that didn't mean I trusted him. Not after everything.

So I split my time.

Mornings with Emi, helping her with her summer workbook or making pancakes with chocolate chips she insisted on counting one by one. Afternoons with Mal, curled up on the couch or waddling around town for the sake of "fresh air," which was really just an excuse for her to moan about needing ice cream and sit on benches.

Sometimes I brought Emi over to Mal's. Aoife loved it. Said she missed having a little girl to fuss over and spoil. Emi adored her too—called her "Mrs. Mal's Mam" for the first few visits until she got used to the name. And she'd follow Mallory around like a little duckling, asking questions about the baby, if she could hold her when she came out, if she could be her big cousin "even though we're not real cousins."

Mal always said yes, always patient, even when Emi poked her bump and asked if the baby was going to "come out her belly button."

I looked at them—my girlfriend with her soft laugh and swollen ankles, my sister with her wild curls and bright eyes—and sometimes I felt like I was dreaming. Like I'd somehow stepped into a life that wasn't meant to be mine, one I didn't deserve but wanted more than anything.

Dean would've slagged me to death for how soft I'd gone.

But he wasn't here.

So I just let myself be soft. Let myself love the quiet. The slowness. The fact that for once, my little sister was safe. My girl was happy. And soon—so soon—I'd be a dad.

It scared the hell out of me.

But I'd never wanted anything more.

_________

I was halfway through cleaning up the mess Emi and I made baking brownies—her idea, obviously—when my phone buzzed on the countertop.

Big D

The stupid eejit.

I rolled my eyes and smiled before I even picked up.

"Alright, stranger," I said, wedging the phone between my shoulder and ear while I wiped chocolate off the tiles.

"Alright yourself, ya sap," Dean's voice crackled through the speaker, the sound of wind and waves behind him. "What, too famous for your mates now?"

I snorted. "You're the one off living your best life by the beach while I'm here cleaning up after an eight-year-old dictator."

"Oi," Emi called from the table, licking brownie batter off a spoon, "I heard that!"

Dean laughed. "Tell her I said she's my favourite Holland anyway."

"She just flipped you off with the spoon."

"Atta girl."

I shook my head, grinning. "How's the summer house?"

"Dead without you," he said, and I could hear him flopping down onto something—probably a deck chair. "AJ's trying to outscore Luke in keepy-uppies, Luke's walking around like he's God's gift..cause he is, Conor's brother's all goo goo eyes for his mates sister, and Serena hasn't shut up about Zach Feely all week."

I raised an eyebrow, wiping my hands dry. "Feely? Still?"

"Oh, it's tragic, mate. Conor's fuming, though he's pretending he's not. Think he keeps hoping she'll suddenly fancy him instead."

"Poor guy."

"Poor all of us," Dean muttered. "We need you here. It's too normal without you saying inappropriate things and making me look well-behaved."

"I'm retired from chaos," I said, settling on the stool next to Emi. "Hanging up the boots."

Dean was quiet for a second. "You alright though? Really?"

I nodded, even though he couldn't see it. "Yeah. Emi's good. Mal's... glowing, tired, moany—but good. We're ready. Just waiting."

There was another pause, and then Dean said, softer, "I'm proud of you, man. Seriously."

My throat tightened a bit. I cleared it. "Don't be soft."

He snorted. "Someone's gotta say it. Alright, I'll let you go. Just wanted to check in. Let Emi know her brownies better be waiting for me when I get back."

"You'll have to fight Aoife for them."

"Worth it."

"Later, eejit."

"Later, Dad-to-be."

He hung up, and I sat there for a second, staring at the screen before setting the phone down.

"You good?" Emi asked, looking up from her bowl.

I smiled and reached over to wipe a bit of chocolate from her cheek. "Yeah, kid. I really am."