I didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t just that I was curious about him. Those mundane details of a regular day felt so grounding to me right now, another reminder that whatever timeline I was in had shape and dimension to it. But also, I was desperately curious. I wanted him to tell me about his garage and his dog and his life.
“What about you?” he asked. “Typical Monday.”
It was tempting to hit him back with a one-sentence answer to rival his own, but I wanted to answer this question almost like a test for myself.She forgets all about the prince.I didn’t exactly have a prince waiting for me back in my real life, but I still didn’t want to forget anything, was already a little panicked about how real all ofthiswas seeming as compared to the life I’d been living before today.
“Well, I start by hitting the snooze button on my alarm about three times,” I said. “Which I know, I know, is a terrible habit. Somehow in the moment that extra fifteen minutes feels so crucial, to finish out a dream or just give myself time before I have to open my eyes. Then I’m always rushing around to get ready. I have about eight outfits I keep in rotation, including this dress, although I tend not to wear this one as much because it feels alittlefancy for work.”
At my side, I could feel his attention on me, could feel the way he looked down at my dress, but it was probably for the best that I couldn’t see any expression on his face. I’d already gotten his brother’s feedback, and I really didn’t need any more.
“What’s your job?” Eamonn asked.
“I’m a receptionist,” I said, “at a law firm. I answer the phones and make copies and stuff like that. I’m kind of a law firm nepo baby.”
From next to me, I thought I heard him snort, but when I glanced over, his face was straight.
“My parents are both lawyers,” I explained. “Not at the place where I work, but—I’ve just been around it my whole life, I guess. They’re better people than I am, because they’ve devoted their entire careers to public defense, civil rights law, that kind of thing. Long hours and not as much money as you might think. Whereas I just needed a job, and found one at a place that it turns out is more likely to represent the bank doing the foreclosing, the home developers not wanting to pay their contractors, whatever. I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I’m just the person who answers the phones. But it doesn’t feel like I’maddinganything to the world.”
I hadn’t known that bothered me as much as it did until I said it out loud. It was a job. It paid my bills. And when someone called the office in a panic after receiving a letter threatening a lawsuit, or being served with a complaint, I could be the calm, comforting voice they first reached. That wasn’t nothing.
“Is housing that bad over there, then? It’s terrible here. Rents are high and there aren’t enough homes to go around.”
“It’s definitely getting worse,” I said.
“I don’t think you caused that by answering the phones,” he said. “But I do understand it probably doesn’t feel good, having to deal with that every day. You never thought about being a lawyer?”
I smiled, thinking about how much my parents would’ve loved that. My parents were still busy—even in their late seventies, they were actively practicing law—so I didn’t get to see them as much as I would like. But I missed them.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think I’m too…”
How to finish that sentence. I knew it wasn’t a matter of not being able to cut it in law school. I’d always liked school, and while I wasn’t necessarily the kind of person who could do well on a test without studying, I’d never minded studying. I could say I was too jaded about the career path. I’d seen how much it had consumed my parents, who’d had me as an accidental pregnancy in their forties and had barely skipped a beat. But I also saw how much purpose my parents’ jobs gave them, how they seemed like they’d been put on this earth to do one thing, and it wasn’t to travel or paint pictures or even, frankly, to raise me. It was their law practice, and they were doing it.
We’d stopped in the middle of the street, and now I realized that we were the ones people were having to go around. Eamonn was looking down at me, clearly waiting for me to complete my thought.
“…daydreamy,” I said, giving a little laugh. “Here I am, too daydreamy to evenwalk, so imagine me trying to write an appellate brief.”
He knocked my elbow gently with his, his hands still in hispockets, and I couldn’t tell if he’d done it on purpose or if it was just the crush of people surrounding us that had made him bump into me. “If we keep going, we’ll get to somewhere a bit more open.”
We walked by more shops, a flower stand bright with bouquets that made me slow down for a second, just to take them all in. A skinny guy leaning against a pole said something to Eamonn as we passed by, and Eamonn retrieved a coin from his pocket and handed it to him without even breaking stride. Somewhere ahead of us, another busker was also playing a cover of “Riptide,” apparently the most popular song on Grafton Street.
“So that’s work sorted,” Eamonn said finally. “What about after? Do you go out, stay in, what’s your typical night?”
“On a Monday? I’m definitely staying in.” Most nights, really. But I didn’t want to sound bland and unadventurous, even if he was the one who made it seem like his days were a boring cycle of sleep and work, rinse and repeat. If I flipped the question back on him, he’d just say he stayed in, too, and provide no additional information, so I had to think of a different tack. “When you go out, what kinds of things do you do?”
“Nothing much,” he said, predictably. “Sometimes the pub if there’s a match on. What about you?”
“I love to see a movie,” I said. “There’s nothing like that feeling of being in a dark theater, anticipating the moment the lights turn down, settling in to complete immersion for the next two hours. There are some decent art museums in my area, some botanical gardens, although there are only a few months out of the year when the weather’s not too miserable.My friend Mari and I used to go dancing sometimes—I miss that.”
“Why don’t you anymore?”
I shrugged. “Just got away from it. Or it passed me by. I’m not sure. It can be hard to sync up our schedules.”
“Do you need someone to dance with?”
There was an odd undertone to his voice, and I glanced over at him, trying to figure out how he meant the question. It could be a way of fishing around my relationship status, asking if I didn’t have a steady partner who could fulfill that role for me. Taken another way, it almost sounded like…an offer. Like he was saying he was available, if I needed someone.
He rubbed at the back of his neck. “You could go it alone,” he clarified. “If you love dancing so much.”
Of course. That made more sense. “True,” I said. “Maybe I’ll take myself out tonight, if I can find a place. I’m pretty good at doing things alone, actually. Like I’ll bring a book to a restaurant and read, no problem.”
