Some of Saoirse’s Story

Finishing writing a book leaves you with such a strange mix of emotions. The elation of completing a project. The sadness that you are leaving your characters because you’ll miss them. The joy of moving to the next step and letting other people read it. The curiosity of what the next project will be.

The biggest feeling for me this month has been missing my characters and wanting to go back and hang out with them. Lacey’s story is definitely done, but can’t we still grab lunch? I actually found a great opportunity, though. I was asked to write a short story for an anthology (a group book) that will be released in the spring, so I took it as a chance to hang out with Lacey and Saoirse (pronounced SEER-sha) again!

Saoirse has an interesting past, and she’s done a lot of work to heal from her struggles. She grew up without her dad, and her mom traveled a lot for work, so she spent much of her childhood with her cousin Lacey’s family (Saoirse’s mom and Lacey’s dad are brother and sister), who welcomed her with open arms.

But what about her dad’s side of the family?

I decided to start the story with Saoirse receiving a box of invitations for her wedding and coming upon the dilemma of whether she wants to invite her relatives on her dad’s side of the family to the wedding. She doesn’t know them, and there is strain there. As always, I want my work to include some fun, healing, and an ending with hope. Enjoy the excerpt from the story that I wrote this week, which kicks us off! It’s below.

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From Saoirse’s story:

When I pull up in front of my cute little bungalow, I spot the box I’ve been waiting for. Hurriedly, I grab it off the porch and jam my key in the door, jiggling it a little because it always sticks. I burst into the kitchen and can’t help but grin because I know what’s inside.

I totally sang that last part in my head.

As I open the box, I can’t help the tears in my eyes because the most beautiful wedding invitations ever are staring back at me. Butter yellow dahlias, grapey lupines, and dramatic fuchsia daylilies twine around the border with rich emerald leaves. And there in the middle in a gorgeous script font—one called “Alice” that I used on a healer’s website years ago and fell in love with—are our names.

It’s real. It’s really real. It’s really happening. “Oh my God.” I blink a tear down my cheek and wipe it with the back of my hand before it lands on the invitations. Then I bite my lip as I trace our names with my index finger. Saoirse and Anthony.

“Fancy!” Lacey calls over my shoulder.

I gasp and sniff the tears away. “You almost gave me a stroke.”

“I have that effect on people.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You said I was welcome here anytime I like.” Lacey grins, and I give her a quick squeeze. “I decided to take my cousin privilege and bring pizza with me.”

I take one look at the box on the counter, which I hadn’t noticed because I was so focused on my own box, and deadpan, “You can stay.”

“Yay!” Lacey grabs plates from the cupboard, and I slip the invitation back in the box. “So the invites look good. How soon do you need to get those out?”

“Soon.” I grab a slice from the box and slowly pull it out, watching the little cheese tendrils snap and retreat on either end. “We’re about nine weeks out, and about eight is standard.”

Lacey hums in response around a mouthful of joy, and for a few minutes, we enjoy the pizza in silence. “Ok, weird question.”

“I expect nothing less from you.”

“Dude.” Lacey swats at me playfully, but then she looks very serious. “Are you inviting anyone from your dad’s side?”

That was not at all what I was expecting. Lacey is usually pretty playful, totally quirky, and great to have those deep conversations with, but we never talk about my dad’s side of the family. It’s just … ah, it’s hard.

“All that’s left is my Aunt Joyce and cousin Harrison. Dad died, my grandparents died, and Joyce is divorced. That’s all I know of.”

“Did you ever meet them?”

“Joyce didn’t want to meet me. I don’t know what Harrison thinks. They have my contact info, but he never reached out.”

“I can’t imagine why they did that. Wouldn’t you want to get to know your family?” Lacey frowns and pulls another piece of pizza from the box.

“It’s definitely complicated… ” I think back over the little pieces that I know. Mom and Dad were only together a couple years when I was little. They fought a lot and decided it would be best to split up. Dad was the drummer for Arctic Something, which is how they met. Mom was traveling with them, handling the lights, but she quit when I was born. She missed traveling, and he wanted to stay put and be with me, but he also didn’t want to quit his career. From what Mom said, it really tore him up, which was probably part of the problem. That was likely a stressful internal battle.

While he was on tour, an aneurism in his brain ruptured, and he was gone. So I didn’t really know him. I don’t have any memories, just a couple pictures. I don’t know that I ever met his parents or his sister’s family. They just didn’t want anything to do with us.

Finally, I let out the breath that I had been holding. “I think Joyce blames Mom and me for his death.”

“He had a really stressful lifestyle.”

“They think I was stress too. Like the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“They really missed out… ” Lacey gives me a sympathetic look.

“At least I got to meet my grandmother before she died. She seemed… remorseful. Definitely sad.”

Lacey stares thoughtfully at her plate for a moment. “I’m glad she chose to mend that bridge. It’s a shame the others aren’t ready.”

“It is what it is.” What else can I really say? “You guys more than made up for it.” Lacey and her four older sisters were stellar. I felt like I was one of them when I stayed at their house, which I did a lot because Mom started touring with bands again when I was in elementary school. The Sturm house was wild and welcoming!

Lacey raises her eyebrows. “Still… they need to grow up.” She takes her plate to the dishwasher as we enjoy some thoughtful silence. “So are you going to invite Joyce and the cousin?”

As I join her in the kitchen, I stare off into that fuzzy distant past where I wondered what it would be like to know them. I don’t wonder it much anymore. I was angry for a long time. I hated them for abandoning me. Then I stopped caring. Now we’re at this weird crossroads… “Do I need to decide tonight? I have extra invitations, so I can if I want. I’ll think about it.”

“I’m not forcing you to make a decision. I was just curious.”

I nod in understanding. Then I gesture at the box. “Want to help me knock some of these out tonight?”

Lacey deflates. “Oh. I’m just here for the pizza.”

The cackle that escapes my throat sounds like a banshee, and Lacey actually looks startled. I put on my best boss face and let her know, “It’s a maid-of-honor duty.”

She rolls her eyes, but she does sit down at the kitchen table and start pulling everything out of the box.

When Lacey leaves later in the evening, I sit back down in front of the stack of mail-ready invitations. We made good progress! Anthony can take a stab at the pile tomorrow since he doesn’t need to perform at Riff’s, a piano bar nearby.

I find myself thinking about what Lacey said though. Should I send Joyce an invitation? Does she deserve that? Will she want to come? What will she think of me for sending it?

I can do this rationally, right? First of all, it’s not my job to make the decision for her. It’s her job to decide if she wants to come. I just need to decide if I want her there.

Do I?

I think back on my visit with my grandma, the other Saoirse, where I got my name because I wanted a connection with that side of the family. Mom was a little put off at first, but she understood. When you name something, you claim it, and I was claiming my connection to them. After Dad died, Mom had our last names legally changed to “Sturm,” her maiden name, so some part of me still wanted that ownership, that belonging. Roots.

I pick up an invitation and trace the letters again. Will Mom be upset if I invite Joyce and Harrison? Do we all deserve a chance to fix this?

I grab my pen and write the address on an envelope, slip an invitation inside, and place it on the pile with the others. We will see what happens…