Taffy Ryan surveyed her table with misgivings. The green paper plates and napkins with their shamrocks and leprechauns were festive. The corned beef and cabbage bubbled away in the crockpot. Fresh soda bread was cooling on the counter and the refrigerator was stocked with Guinness. Everything was perfect. So why did she feel so depressed?

She glanced at a robin stalking worms on the newly green lawn. Spring had arrived, though it was still chilly. They had made it through another Midwestern winter and it was time to celebrate. Well, most of them had lived to see the end of winter. 500, 000 of them had not.

It had been a year ago to the day that Taffy and her brothers had gathered for what had amounted to their Last Supper. It was the final meal they ate together without worrying about masks or hand sanitizers. The last time their whole extended family was on speaking terms, back before the 2020 election led to social media spats. It was the last time that they talked about mundane things that had nothing to do with Covid, lockdowns, mandates, Qanon, or BLM protests.

And, she thought with a deep sense of sadness, it was the last time that she’d hugged a brother without wondering if one of them was a silent carrier. The bond that she and Jeff and Jim and Andy shared had been forged during their abusive childhood and would survive social distancing, but she looked forward to the day when they could all hug again.  It was something she needed, as badly as she needed air and water.  Without it, she had been lost and isolated.

Her brother Andy arrived first. He curated the fossil collection at the local museum, but thanks to Covid he had been laid off. He was surviving on unemployment and had managed to do some freelance writing for a children’s science magazine, but he pined for his tiny niche in the basement of the museum. She couldn’t help it –she ran to meet him on the sidewalk and gave him a hug.

“Hey…I thought we weren’t supposed to hug.”

“I know.” Taffy took a step away. “I was just thinking about our last St. Paddy’s Day. About everything that’s changed since then.”

“Yeah. It’s been a long year.”

“That is for sure.” Jeff Ryan sauntered up behind the two. He was their older, journalist brother, who had spent his life facing adversity with a snide remark and a pen in his hand. He’d been busy chronicling Covid’s reign of terror, as he called it in his blog. Taffy was surprised he was able to make their annual St. Paddy’s Day feast, but family tradition was important to all of them.  “Murder hornets, the plague, the lunatic fringe running amok in D.C, Chernobyl on fire, protests morphing into mob rule ---am I forgetting anything?”

“No toilet paper!” Jim Ryan joined both the group and the conversation. He was the oldest of the siblings –pushing 60 -- and the most easy-going. He had raised Andy and Taffy after their father was incarcerated for killing their mother. He had also tried his best to keep Jeff out of trouble, but Jeff had been a teenager when their family fell apart and had made it his mission in life to avoid all social agencies and all ersatz father figures.  “That was the unkindest cut of all.”

Taffy laughed and tempted fate again by hugging Jim.

“Hey!” Jeff yelled in mock protest. “What’s wrong with me?”                    

“You’ve got cooties.” Taffy joked as she was pulled into Jeff’s arms.

“We all do.” Andy glanced uncertainly at his siblings. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jim gestured towards Taffy’s house. “I can smell the corned beef out here. You wouldn’t let something as insignificant as a once-in-a-century virus interfere with St. Paddy’s Day, would you?”

Andy looked like he would, but he nodded his approval anyway. “They say it won’t be too long before we’re all eligible for the vaccine. Then we can take off our masks and hug whenever we want.”

“I’ve already had it.” Jeff shrugged. “Journalists got bumped to the head of the list. We have to be out there in the thick of the things, keeping the nation informed.”

“Then what’s with the mask?”

“I didn’t want you lowly folks at the end of the line to get jealous.” Jeff pocketed his mask. “But now that that information is in the public domain, I don’t have to be humble anymore.”

“Humble, you?” Jim scoffed as they headed inside. “That’ll be the day.”

Taffy felt her spirits lifting as her brothers invaded her kitchen, taste-testing the contents of the crockpot and rifling through her refrigerator for drinks. Jeff flipped on the TV, claiming he needed to watch a special report on PBS. Jim was on his cell with his daughter, who was in some kind of spat with one of her brothers. Andy was trying to show her his article on modern-day tribalism, which had just been posted on an anthropology site.  It was chaos, pure and simple. She loved it.

Taffy hummed “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” as she set out their meal.  It was time to celebrate surviving the last year. Only Fate knew if they’d all be together at this time next year. She and her brothers had learned on That Night long ago, that the future wasn’t guaranteed to them and that the past was shuttered away from them, so they could only enjoy the present.

Taffy tucked her mask into her jeans pocket and sat down to enjoy the evening with her loved ones in its entirety. She’d go back to being afraid of her shadow in the morning.

EJ McFall is the author of The Grumpy Muse, Interview with the Ax-Murderer, Redrock Days, and The Eternal Cafe. She can be reached at ejm53818@yahoo.com.