Returning with the empty platter, Pam passed the table with a smile and wave. Larissa ducked back behind the shed just in time. Jim and Tom returned both of Pam's gestures, while Pete took another drink.

Hearing the door close, Larissa poked her head back out and mentally calculated the trajectory.

"So… Pam." Pete leered as he set down number six.

Jim steeled himself, vowing that he wouldn't let Pete get to him. Not today. Not in front of Pam.

With both arms, Larissa took careful aim just above Jim's head as Pete turned to Tom. "Ní raibh sí an soith?" [Wasn't she the bitch?] Larissa's eyes widened into saucers. She ducked back behind the shed to eavesdrop, sinking down on her haunches.

"Feisigh leat," Jim retorted. [Fuck you.] Shortly after his return from Stamford, he had let his brothers take him out drinking. After a few too many Jack and cokes, he'd spilled his guts about the reason he'd left Scranton, and why he'd only grudgingly returned for the merger. He had regretted it the morning after, even moreso now. He was minimally grateful that they weren't having this conversation in a language Pam would understand, if she happened to overhear.

Laughing rudely, Pete replied, "Your accent sucks, gaige." [dude]

Jim rolled his eyes. It was no secret that he'd never kept up on his Irish.

Hesitantly, Tom glanced at Jim. "Shíl mé bhris sí do chroí?" [I thought she broke your heart?]

"That's in the past," he replied firmly. "Tá sí mo chailín now." [She's my girlfriend now.]

"Claddagh álainn." Pete said mockingly. "Opal?" [Beautiful claddagh. Opal?]

He'd told himself he wouldn't let Pete get to him, but his oldest brother had always been a surgeon when it came to finding his weak spots. "Stad labhairt," he hissed, flushing angrily. [Stop talking.]

"Nuair is é an bainise?" Pete replied innocently. [When's the wedding?]

Ominously, Jim retorted, "Dún. É." [Shut. It.]

Pete snickered. "Or what?"

Larissa shook her head furiously. She was going to murder Pete. Why did he have to fucking ruin everything? Jim had been miserable for fucking ever.

In an icy tone, Jim threatened him. "Beidh mé bhuail tú. Is tusa óltach, bod." [I'm gonna hit you. You're intoxicated, prick.]

I'll hold his arms, she cheered him on silently.

Just then, fortunately, the back door opened. Betsy came out first with an enormous smile, carrying a large plate of raw hamburger patties. Laughing, Pam followed her with a bowl of breaded chicken. Jim observed the exchange, admiration replacing the anger coursing coldly through his veins.

In a friendly tone, hoping to smooth things over between his brothers, Tom called to Betsy, "Dia duit, mom. Nuair a bheidh lón a bheith réidh?" [Hey mom. When will lunch be ready?]

Pam stopped in her tracks, eyes like dinner plates. That wasn't English. It wasn't like any language she'd ever heard in her life.

Pete added, "Yeah, tá mé an-ocras." [Yeah, I'm starving.]

"Béarla, mhac," Betsy chided them. [English, sons.] She said over her shoulder to Pam, "I told them to speak English."

Jim's family can speak not-English? she thought wildly. Does Jim? Mouth open in the shape of an O, her eyes flitted to him. He swallowed nervously, giving her an apologetic smile. He guessed he probably should have mentioned that. Honestly, though, he hadn't expected anyone to speak Irish today. Particularly not in front of her, he thought, frustrated. His family didn't do that.

Betsy turned back to the table. "Lunch'll be ready in half an hour or so. How's it going?"

The cat's out of the bag now. Might as well go with it.  Jim inclined his head at Pete, keeping his voice level with effort. "Pete's ar meisce." [Pete's drunk.]

Pam gawked at him, wonder in her eyes. He does!

"Béarla," Betsy said sternly.

Jim narrowed his eyes at her. "Mom." She knew he never spoke Irish unless he absolutely had to. He stood up and walked over to Pam. Her gaze followed him, dazed with fascination. "First he called mo chailín 'soith.' Agus sé gáire a…" He struggled for the word. He couldn't call it a claddagh without alerting Pam that they were talking about her. And 'opal' was a cognate. What's the word for jewelry? He racked his brain. "…a seodra." [First he called my girlfriend ‘bitch.' And he laughed at her jewelry.]

Betsy's eyes narrowed. She glanced back and forth between Jim and Pete.

"Bréagadóir!" Pete accused him. "Tom, insint di. Jim atá lán de cac." He slammed his fist on the table, knocking over two of the empty bottles. [Liar! Tom, tell her. Jim's full of shit.]

Pam jumped nervously. Even in another language, he was obviously angry and slurring his words. Sternly, Betsy said, "Pete! Féin a iompar." [Behave yourself.]

Tom said nothing, casting his eyes down.

Around the corner of the shed, Larissa smiled grimly, continuing to wait for the perfect moment. Honestly, though, Tom's silence was damning enough in its own right. He never failed to defend his older brother.

Pam tugged shyly on Jim's shirt sleeve. "Um, what language are you speaking?" She left her next question unspoken… And what are you talking about? If they'd wanted to include her, they'd be speaking English, she knew. That they didn't left her feeling unsure of herself.

Betsy turned around with a gracious smile. "It's Irish, sweetie." Her expression cooled slightly as she shifted her gaze to Jim. Sardonically, she said, "Ní raibh a fhios aici." [She didn't know.] It wasn't a question. He flushed uncomfortably, wilting under her glare.

People speak Irish outside of Ireland? she wondered. Promptly, she felt like a terrible person. Obviously. Open your eyes, dork. Your boyfriend speaks Irish! Holy moly. "You speak freakin' Irish?" she whispered to him, looking impressed.

"Just a little," he demurred.

Betsy raised her eyebrows at him before looking back at Pam. "I'm so sorry, we're being terribly rude right now. We don't normally speak it in front of guests. Just a little… sibling rivalry to sort out," she fibbed smoothly. Jim shot her a grateful look.

Relieved, Pam appreciated the reassurance that they weren't talking about her. Anytime she overheard someone speaking in a foreign language, that was always the first thing that came to mind. Stop being silly, she chided herself.

Betsy returned her gaze to Jim, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Sé riamh… came up," he tried to explain. "Ní raibh sé… relevant. Tuigim Gaeilge. But ní dhéanaim labhairt dea." [It never came up. It wasn't relevant. I understand Irish. But I don't speak it well.]

Feeling starstruck, Pam watched his mouth as he spoke, unable to believe the sounds coming out of it. It was so not like English. He'd mentioned his family was "very Irish" when he'd invited her to the barbecue. But she'd had no idea. I mean, okay, she thought. He's kinda speaking… whatever you call the Irish version of Spanglish. Irenglish? Englirish? She bit her lip and smiled, feeling practically giddy. But clearly he can understand what everyone else is saying to him. Wow!

Tilting her head, Betsy replied gently. "Tá a fhios agam, mo leanbh. Thug tú di claddagh. D'fhéadfá a bheith dúirt sé léi ansin." [I know, my son. You gave her a claddagh, though. You could have told her then.]

He shrugged helplessly. He glanced at Pam. Guilt weighed heavily on his chest when he saw the adoring look in her eyes, the admiring smile on her face. He couldn't believe they were having this conversation in front of her while she was none the wiser. "Ní raibh a fhios Tom and Pete a labhairt Gaeilge… or that Pete would be ar na stoic stártha." [I didn't know Tom and Pete would be speaking Irish… or that Pete would be absolutely wasted.]

"Gabh suas ort fhéin," Pete snarled. [Go fuck yourself.]

"Póg mo thóin!" Jim retorted. [Kiss my ass!]

"Pete! Dún é!" Betsy snapped. [Pete! Shut it!] She turned to face Jim and Pam and spoke quietly. "Tóg go bog é. Ní thuigeann sí. Tá sí ag spraoi. Is é do chailín iontach." [Take it easy. She doesn't understand. She's still having fun. Your girlfriend is wonderful.]

"Iontach?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

She leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Wonderful."

With a lopsided smile, he replied, "Tá sí. Go raibh maith agat, mom." [She is. Thanks, mom.]

Smiling back fondly, she suggested, "Now, why don't you two take the meat to your father?"

He nodded, taking the plate of hamburger. "We'd be happy to," Pam said breathlessly, eyes glued to him. Side-by-side, they rounded the corner of the house, whispering feverishly back and forth.

Betsy turned to face the table. "Ceard ata ag tarlu? Is tusa ag caint faoi ár aoi?" [What's going on? Are you talking about our guest?]

"Ní tá mé ag caint faoi ár n-aoi," Tom replied, looking uncomfortable.† [I'm not talking about our guest.]

Shaking his head with an incredulous smile, Pete replied, "Mom... Cad? Níl a fhios agam cad atá sé ag caint faoi. Labhraíonn sé Gaeilge go dona, ní raibh sé a thuiscint." [Mom, what? I don't know what he's talking about. His Irish sucks, he misunderstood.]

Tom glanced over, but said nothing. He might be unwilling to directly implicate Pete, but he wasn't lying to cover his ass. Not for this. As far as he could tell, Pam seemed really nice. Not that a grown man didn't deserve to get blasted every once in awhile, but Pete was pretty shitfaced. Even for him.

Momentarily, Jim and Pam returned to the patio. Betsy eyed the pair appraisingly as they approached. She was talking with her hands, an animated look on her face. He smiled down at her, resembling nothing so much as a lovesick puppy. It was a stark contrast to the darkness he'd seemed to struggle with over the past year, she reflected with maternal pride.

On the heels of Pete's lie, Larissa sensed her moment had finally arrived. Slipping the ersatz weapon into the back of her waistband, she stalked out from around the corner of the shed. "Jim é ag insint na fírinne, mom." [Jim is telling the truth, mom.]

"'Riss!" Jim said enthusiastically, jogging over. "Dia duit, deirfiúr." [Hi, sister.] He hugged her warmly, then turned to Pam and translated what he'd said. She thanked him, eyes shining with delight.

Larissa looked at Pam, then back at him. She cleared her throat expectantly. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Jim had just opened his mouth when Pam walked over and held out her hand. "Hi Larissa," she said. "I'm Pam. It's nice to meet you."

Careful not to turn her back to Pete, Larissa grabbed Pam's hand and pulled her into a hug. Seeing the nerf gun tucked into the back of her shorts, Jim coughed to cover a shout of laughter. He shielded his mouth with a hand, hiding his smile. "Pam! I wish I could say I've heard so many awesome things about you, but Jim hasn't picked up his phone since Christmas." She was willowy and dark-haired. Like her mother, she moved quickly. "Call me 'Riss, by the way. All of Jim's girlfriends do." She smirked, rolling her eyes at him.

He returned the gesture. "Don't listen to a word she says," he warned Pam with a smile. "How long have you been hiding there, 'Riss?"

"Long enough." She glared daggers at Pete. "Chuala mé gach rud. En garde, muc!" [I heard everything. En garde, pig!] She whipped the gun out from behind her back and gave him everything she had.

It had been ages, but her aim was as good as ever. Pete held his hands up to cover his head. "'Riss! Póg mo thóin! Stad, stad!" [Kiss my ass! Stop, stop!]

Pam took an involuntary step back, fingers automatically clutching her necklace. Everyone was laughing, even Betsy. But she couldn't understand what they were saying. She felt, frankly, invisible. Hesitantly, she looked over her shoulder, yearning for the relative safety of the kitchen. Notwithstanding the fact that they were merely nerf darts, she couldn't help but think that Larissa was bound to set Pete off. Simply put, she'd never felt comfortable around angry drunks. Particularly since Roy had gotten violent that night at Poor Richard's. Anxiously, she squeezed the opal of her necklace, worrying it between her fingers. Soundlessly, she mouthed, "Love. Loyalty. Friendship. Love. Loyalty. Friendship. Love…"

Betsy stepped over and nimbly took the gun, just as her daughter started reloading. Larissa reached for it, opening her mouth to object, when she saw Pam. She whispered something into her mom's ear. Betsy whispered something back. Larissa casually walked over and put her arm around Pam's shoulder. Only then did Jim notice something was amiss. His eyebrows knit with concern. She only fidgeted with her jewelry when she was upset. And what on earth was she saying?

"My brothers are animals," Larissa said, rolling her eyes. Letting go of her necklace with a start, Pam smiled at her tentatively. "We don't need to be here while they work this out. Is there anything I can help you with in the kitchen?"

"Yeah," Pam replied gratefully. "Umm… I was gonna make the veggie tray. You wanna slice the watermelon?" She gave Jim a small wave as they turned to walk into the house. Forcing a casualness he didn't feel, he smiled back at her with a strong pang of guilt. It was humbling that 'Riss had done something to help before he'd even realized there was a problem. Resolutely, he vowed to pay more attention.