The conversation

The conversation

It took us three days to have the conversation, but here’s what I now know.

So Auntie Monica has never lied to me. She always told me that when I had questions I could ask her. I just never felt the need I guess. I’ve always known I was brought to her when I was almost 6 years old, after my mother died. We’d talked about my dad in the past. She didn’t know him that well, but I knew that he wasn’t from Ireland. I knew he was American and that I was born there and brought to Ireland just after my mother passed away. Auntie Monica was made my legal guardian and I was raised here. Irish passport – the lot. Obviously no hint of an American accent, despite actually being born in the States.

So his name is Sullivan Green and my surname is Green. That’s new! He used to do something with books but the last Auntie Monica had heard, he had fallen on hard times. A deal that had gone wrong. The only really new thing we know now is that he died homeless. But also that he’d left provisions for me in his will. I always wished he was watching after me. I guess he was in a way.

We sat up until three, drinking Camomile and crying over pictures of mum. I don’t think we look alike, except perhaps in the eyes.


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