“I’ll expect you to hold my hair out of the way when I’m bent over the loo retching my guts up.”

“Consider it done.”

She leaves me alone in the room, and I make sure to slip my camera into my pocket before following her out. I’m seriously going to document the hell out of this trip, since it’ll probably be my one and only vacation to the Emerald Isle. Lord knows Erin’s not planning on coming back. She acts like this place gives her hives. And I couldn’t imagine being in this country without her translating all this English for me. The accent is so thick I only catch about half of what everyone’s saying.

When I get out into the dim living room, I assess the situation. The men are on one side of the room and the women on the other. There are well-worn, darkly cushioned chairs for Dad and Uncle Miley and a low-slung flowered couch for Aunty Ger and Mum. Erin is just dropping into the space between the ladies when they see me.

“It’s a bit early for dinner, so I’ve put out some nibblies over there on the sideboard if you’re interested.” Erin’s mother gestures to a narrow table against the wall, just before the door opening that leads to the dining room.

“Oooh, good idea,” I say, wondering what it is exactly that Irish eat for snackage. I head in that direction.

“Watch out for the toad eyeballs,” Erin calls out across the room.

My hand pauses, hovering over a plate of round brown things. “Them are some mighty big toads,” I say under my breath.

“Stop it, Erin,” says her mom. “We don’t eat a toad’s eyeballs. Where’re you gettin’ that from?”

I move left, stopping in front of the next dish.

“Might want to pass on the ground goat’s udder dip,” Erin says.

Her mother’s voice goes up really high. “For Jaysus’s sake, Erin. What’s got into you? Are ye drunk?”

Uncle Miley raises his class. “Cheers, love. Get me another, would you please?”

I take a cucumber slice and turn around, biting into it with gusto and then holding up the remaining half at my friend.

She lifts an eyebrow. “Enjoy your leprechaun nipples.”

Aunty Ger smacks her leg as she gets up to refill her husband’s beer. “You’re such a tease. Just like your dad.” The stockings she’s wearing under her brown dress make a swishing sound as she moves.

I take a high-backed wooden chair, sitting just between the men and the women, my back to the fireplace. “So … who wants to tell me Erin’s most embarrassing story from her childhood?” I crunch away on my leprechaun nipple, ready to be regaled with tales from her dark past.

Erin is always such a mystery; she never wants to share stories about her family, friends, or home country. Now’s my chance to get the goods on her. Of course I plan to use every bit of it against her in the future, because that’s just the kind of friend I am. I cross my legs and grin at the family, one member at a time.

Erin closes her eyes and tips her head back to rest on the seat behind her. “Kill me now.”

Uncle Miley is the first to bite. He wiggles his ample bum to the edge of the seat and leans towards the center of the group. “Well, I suppose there was that time when she opened up a kissin’ booth on the corner, just down the road.” He gestures with his chin. “Made herself quite a tidy sum before she was shut down by the coppers. Bloody bastards.” He grimaces and takes a long pull from his fresh beer.

I grin. “It was probably great for earning gas money.”

They all laugh as Uncle Miley responds. “Oh, they don’t let six-year-olds drive in Ireland. Too many drunks on the road.”

I snort, looking at my friend. “Six? You were six? Running a kissing booth?”

She’s still leaning her head back on the couch but her eyes are open. “What can I say? I was an entrepreneur from a very young age.” Her voice is monotone, but I can tell she’s battling not to be proud of herself.

“And you can’t forget the time she swindled twenty quid out of those poor lads in the playground,” says Aunt Ger.

“At the church, no less,” adds Mum, giggling until her cheeks are pink. “We had a heck of a time convincing Father Michael that she wasn’t the devil’s spawn, didn’t we, love?”

“Aye, we did,” agrees Dad, nodding his head, appearing lost in a bittersweet memory.

Erin picks her head up. “I was providing a service for which I was paid. I take offense to the term swindled.”

I lean forward, resting my elbow on my knee and my chin in my hand. “Oh, this has got to be good. Tell me, Erin. What service did you provide?” If she says blow jobs, I’m going to piss my pants. It’s a done deal. I will. Explode my bladder. On this chair.

Her lower jaw juts out a little. “I was providing matchmaker services, if you must know. And I was very successful at it.”

“Oh, do tell,” says Aunt Ger, clearly loving this part of the story.

“No.” Her chin goes up. “It’s not important. I paid everyone back.” Her voice lowers and she mutters the rest. “Even though the bastards got what they paid for. I’m the one who was swindled if you want to know the truth.”

Uncle Miley points out into the air distractedly. “Didn’t ye set up some sort o’ kissing game?  A bit like kick the can but with a twist?” He looks at his brother. “Isn’t that right?”

Erin’s father looks up at his daughter, a very slight smile transforming his face as he joins in the fun. “I believe she called it Kissy Tag.”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” I say, pretending to be serious.

“Ah, right,” says Aunt Ger, “ye had to run around and catch a boy and then he had to kiss ye.”

“But how did she get paid?” I ask, like I’m a reporter gathering my facts. “What were the services?”

“Can I pay you all to keep your traps shut?” Erin asks the group.

They all answer together as one voice: “No!”

“Here’s where the genius part comes in,” says Uncle Miley, smacking his lips after a long pull from his beer. “See, she claimed to have supernatural powers. And if the girls slid her a few shillings, she’d use her powers to slow the boys down.” He looks at her and grins, ignoring her rolling eyeballs. “And she used half the money from the girl to pay the boy in question to run slower. On the sly, though. The girls were never the wiser.”

Aunt Ger joins in. “Aaaand she’d wave her magic wand around in the air and shout out what she called Celtic charms…”

I finish for them. “…So the boys would get caught and get a kiss and a quid, and all they had to do was run around a little.” I nod in respect. “Not bad.”

“Everybody was happy,” Erin says, pouting. “Everyone but the bloody priest. Probably just jealous he wasn’t getting any.”

Her mother smacks her leg. “Erin Ignatia Margaret O’Neill! The cheek!”

I nod, respect for my friend reaching new levels. “Well, that explains it.”

“Explains what, dear?” asks Aunty Ger.

“How she’s so successful with the pub.” I take in the attentive expressions around me. “She brought it up from nothing and turned it into a great commercial success. It’s the most popular Irish bar in the city.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Erin says, a little too loudly. It cuts off my train of thought.

“How about we talk about the match-making tradition?” says Uncle Miley. “Ye girls’ll be gettin’ to Lisdoonvarna just in time, eh? Gonna look up old Henry O’Henry, are ye?”

I frown. “Who’s Henry O’Henry?”

“He’s a matchmaker,” explains Erin, “who comes from a long line of matchmakers.”

“Seriously?” I look around at everyone, trying to figure out if I’m being mocked somehow. Maybe this is part of Erin’s past too.

“Oh, yeah,” says Aunty Ger, levering herself up off the couch to go over to the appetizers. “You can look it up on The Google if ye like.” She pops one of those round balls in her mouth.

I stare in fascination as she chews. Is it crunching? Is that a crunch I hear? Do eyeballs crunch?