I playfully knock his arm out of the way. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, Andy.”
Pub 24 is an Irish pub, and decidedlynota college hangout spot. Fresh graduates putting in ten hour days at whatever fancy firm they landed after leaving one of the many Ivies up here cometo trade office tales, desperate to one up each other with subtle brags about the deals they closed or clients they landed. Almost like a college hangout spot, but replace the fresh faced optimism that comes with not having graduated yet with the exhaustion and disenchantment of actually joining the workforce. Why Andrew thinks he’ll be able to flirt his way into going home with any of the women here is beyond me. He is persistent though, slyly making his way to every blonde he sees and quickly recovering when they turn their nose up at him.
“I think they smell the ‘college’ on him,” I joke to Grant, who is obsessively checking his phone while cradling his Guinness in his other hand. His nose crinkles in disgust as he takes another sip. “They definitely smell something on him. I still don’t get the Guinness hype,” he says without looking up.
“And yet, you keep trying,” I say, cheering his bottle with my Modelo to get his attention.
“We’re at an Irish bar, I figure why not give it another go?” He finally puts his phone on the table face down with a little more force than if he had done it carelessly.
“Calling this an Irish bar is pretty generous.” He gives ahmphin response flipping back over his phone only to see his home screen still only displaying the time.
“Grant… are you waiting for a girl to text you?” I ask feigning shock for comedic effect.
“I, uh—” his face flushes as he quickly moves his phone into his pocket. “Sort of,” he sighs, taking a long pull of his Guinness, grimacing as he sets back down his glass.
“And who is the lucky lady?” His face turns a deep shade of red as he picks up his beer and finishes it off.
“You wouldn’t know her,” he says in sort of a mumble, clearly wanting to change the subject which only spikes my curiosity more.
“C’mon man, talk to me.” I flag the waitress down. “Two Modelo’s please.” I give Grant and his Guinness a pointed look and he finally cracks a smile.
He sighs rubbing a hand over his face.
“I don’t know man, it’s complicated.” He pauses for a second, seeming to contemplate what he’s going to say. “Have you ever really liked a girl and I meanreallyliked her, like you can’t get her out of your head for even a second. Every thought ultimately leads to her and you know there's something real there. When you’re near her it’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist and you just really see her and she really sees you. Nothing else matters.” His words hit me hard and I immediately think about Olivia. I nod without realizing as he continues. “Except it does matter at the end of the day,” he sighs as the waitress brings us our new beers and he mumbles, “all of it matters.” We sit for a second in comfortable silence, both staring into our beers.
I clear my throat. “Yeah man, I know exactly how that feels.”
We stare at each other and he gives me a firm nod. “I figured,” Grant says, giving me a sad smile. He squints past me, surprise lighting his eyes and bringing us both out of the moment. “I think I see Sloane?”
“Isn’t she in San Francisco?” I peer around my shoulder and immediately spot her. Similarly to Grant, his sister towers over the group she’s with. She’s hard to miss, her strawberry blonde hair pushed back from her face, carelessly falling down to her waist. Her face is friendly and open just like Grant’s but from what I remember she’s not nearly as happy go lucky. They’re polar opposites, Grant and his fraternal twin. Where he’s athletic, she’s artsy; where he radiates predictability and sturdiness, Sloane is carefree, whimsical, and a little flakey. Even so, they have that twin telepathy, built-in best friend thing going that makes you feel left out in their presence. Last he told me, she’d just secured an insane offer curating for a majormuseum in San Francisco, with the possibility of hosting her own show at some point. From the look on Grant’s face, I can tell he’s shocked to see her and unsettled that she wouldn’t have told him she was in town.
“She’s supposed to be. She just started her new gig there.” He pushes back from the bar as Sloane, having spotted us, awkwardly approaches.
“Hi,” she says in the voice you use with your parents when you just got caught doing something you’re not supposed to.
“What are you doing back here?” With eyebrows raised and arms crossed, it’s clear that Grant is no longer concerned with the girl he was mulling about just moments before.
“I— uh. I’m not technically back,” she says, her face turning more red by the second.
I squint at her. “What do you mean ‘technically’?” I speak on behalf of Grant who is currently taking another long pull of his beer.
“Meaning—” she huffs, “I am ‘technically’ not supposed to be here, nor does anyone know that I am.” She gives me a tilt of her head, that Sloane attitude I’ve come to know shining through. It instantly reminds me of Olivia and I think about how much they would probably get along.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean Sloane?” Grant's eyes are wide with panic, familiar with Sloane’s history. I'm sure he thinks she’s bailing on one of the biggest opportunities of her career right now — and maybe she is.
She flinches slightly. “I had to get out of there, Grant.” She gives him this look that I’ve come to realize is some sort of twin telepathy thing because he quickly understands he needs to drop it. He moves forward with open arms trapping her into a giant bear hug. Her arms stay limp at her sides but she rolls her eyes and smiles until she finally wraps her arms around him, too. “Speaking of being back—” she says eyebrows raised, “I’m prettysure the last time I was here you were in some sort of witness protection program or something?” I roll my eyes and Grant gives an exaggerated “HA!”
“Close— I was mostly just avoiding you.”
She laughs and flips me the bird. “Asshole.” I grin as Andrew approaches.
“Nice find,” he says under his breath, swinging his arm over my shoulder.
“Goddammit, Andy,” I groan.
“That’s my sister, you sick fuck,” Grant says, playfully shoving Andrew.
“Whoa whoa..” he says, hands raised. “Forgive me,” he picks up Sloane's hand as if he’s going to give it a peck. “You look nothing like your brother.” He winks and Sloane promptly pulls her hand away and slaps Andrew upside the head with it.
