Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

3. Good Friday Agreement

April 10, 1998

Parliament Building

Belfast, Northern Ireland

Once we were out in the hallway, I embraced Ireland.

"How are you feeling?" I asked excitedly.

"Fine, I guess..." She tiredly squeezed my shoulder before pulling back. "As usual, he gets what he bleedin' wants."

My smile faded, and an awkward beat of silence went by.

The Good Friday Agreement between the Republic of Ireland and the UK was arbitrated by the US. Though it put an official end to the violence, it felt tenuous. Northern Ireland remained in British hands—a separation not nearly as dramatic as North and South Korea, not quite as dramatic as East and West Germany, but dramatic nonetheless.

"A bhean uasail?"

An aide approached us hesitantly, clipboard in hand. Ireland shot me an annoyed look as she turned to face him. "Excuse me, a bhean uasail," he said. "A call for you from Brussels."

She softly clicked her tongue. "Never a moment's peace, Meiriceá."

I wasn't a bit envious of her EU duties. As she marched down the hall, I called after her, "I'm buying your drinks tonight!"

I received a thumbs-up above her messy bun of red hair.

My smile didn't quite reach my eyes. The Troubles had pushed her farther away from me than anything else in our history. Deep down, I knew that our friendship would never be the same.

When the auditorium door cracked open behind me, I groaned at the thought of the room filling with conversational diplomats. I turned to find England's head poking through, glancing up and down the hall.

I crossed my arms. "You can't keep avoiding her."

He seemed to already know I was there. After slipping out the door, he approached me while straightening his cuff links. "'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,'" he quoted.

I gave him a deadpan look.

"Trust me, it's for the best," he said. "We've fought countless times, over countless troubles, across countless ages that are quite frankly beyond your comprehension."

I stared at him blankly throughout this little speech. "Come out with us tonight."

He scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm only in Belfast one night."

"Then come to London."

My stubborn silence drew his eyes back to my face. "Only if you come out with us tonight."

"America...," he said in a disappointed tone. "I've not seen you all year."

I secretly delighted in his misery. "England, you see me every January in New York."

"For business, not pleasure," he murmured.

"And whose fault is that?"

His eyes scanned the hallway before he stepped closer. He trailed his fingertips across my collarbone and up the side of my neck. I held my arms tighter, stubbornly fighting off a shiver. For a long moment, he held my cheek and gazed deeply into my eyes, as if one romantic gesture could make up for years of neglect.

When I didn't reciprocate, he dropped his hand and sighed tightly. "I'll come out tonight."

I lifted my chin in triumph.

Ignoring this, he gestured down the hall. "Do you have any plans on the continent?"

I deflated slightly as I fell into step with him. "No," I admitted. "France...hasn't been answering my emails."

"Oh, really?" he said with barely contained glee. "What did you do?"

My eyes grew distant as I thought of my increasing tension with France. It felt like nothing I ever did was good enough. "Nothing," I murmured.

"Don't dwell on it," he said reassuringly. "The EU has been his sole aim lately. He's obsessed."

I gave him a sideways glance. "So are you."

He scoffed. "That's not true," he denied ardently.

I responded with incredulous silence.

"That's not true," he repeated, softer.

~

A/N: Is England obsessed or just being smart?

A bhean uasail | Madam.