Prologue - Fifteen Years Ago
ZacharyBennett’skneerestsalongside mine under the table.
Not by accident. Or coincidence.
I make a conscious decision not to move away. Sure, I could pretend it means nothing, but my choice to stay put settles agreeably inside my bones.
He’s shooting his shot. Or, I’m shooting mine.
Finally.
Doesn’t matter if it’s the last Thursday we’ll all be together. On a night where every laugh lands a little sharper because we’re about to scatter to different destinations. Tonight’s about living our best law school life one last time before we go.
It’s bittersweet. I’m going to miss my friends. At the same time, I’ve longed for this moment for years.
Duffy’s, an old New Haven, Irish pub, is packed wall to wall with law students burning off unbearable pressure. Most of us wear the same uniform of hoodies layered under worn jackets. Denim rubbed pale at the knees. Scuffed boots crunching peanuts on a floor sticky with beer.
The jukebox plays classic rock songs everyone half-knows. Laughter ricochets off wood-paneled walls darkened by decades of handprints. Duffy’s smells like hops and fryer oil, and is characteristically loud and insistent.
This place refuses to let us leave quietly.
Julian Hart sprawls on the bench, long legs fully stretched, one arm slung along the back. His blond hair sticks up in defiant directions. He’s always been large in every sense of the word. Big man. Boisterous laugh. Ginormous opinions. Huge presence.
He pulls people into orbit without trying.
Across from him, his girlfriend, Marisol Vega rests on her forearms. Black jeans hug her long legs, a battered leather jacket is crumpled beside her. Her startling blue eyes miss nothing. Marisol arrived at Yale with intention to kick ass and never pretended otherwise.
Irving Brooks sits to my left, compact and composed, nursing his beer with thoughtful patience. Irv listens more than he speaks. He always has. He sees patterns before anyone else names them, then waits to see whether the rest of us catch up. Usually with great aplomb.
Zach’s to my right, wearing his usual dark sweater, worn jeans and sneakers scuffed at the toes. His black hair falls forward, andhe constantly pushes it back with two fingers without thinking. He’s always calm. Even now, surrounded by noise and endings. The man carries himself like someone who understands how the world works without even trying.
As for me, I’m always trying to fit in with my cool friends. Intense and a tad neurotic, I try to disguise this fact by cultivating a polished, refined demeanor. Unfortunately, I’m rarely successful. Mostly because I have a hard time containing my expressions if I’m annoyed.
In any case, we all became best friends by accident.
First semester, first week, five of us ended up trapped in the same 1L study group by a scheduling mishap and mutual exhaustion. Torts on Monday mornings. Contracts on Tuesdays. Civ Pro looming Wednesday afternoon.
Julian filled the silence with bravado. Marisol challenged every assumption. Irving spoke once everyone else ran out of air. Zach listened. I asked questions nobody wanted to ask out loud.
Somehow, we clicked and our friendship has been the best thing about law school, at least for me.
Together the five of us have survived oral arguments and panic attacks during legal writing deadlines, We’ve passed course outlines back and forth with coffee rings stamped along the margins. One night during second year, the power went out in the library during a storm and we defiantly finished studying by phone light, laughing harder than the situation deserved.
Above all, we’ve consistently chosen each other over the grind.
These four people are my best friends for life and I love them dearly, despite their flaws.
Julian’s hyper attention to detail drives me nuts. Marisol us ultra snarky when a deadline looms. Irving frustratingly disappears into thought for thirty minutes then returns with brilliant clarity to leave us all in the dust. Zach's tedioussteadiness, no matter how stressful the situation, is hard to live up to.
No matter what, they’re my de facto family.
I look around at all of them while my knee stays molded to Zach’s.
I don’t move. He doesn’t either.
Julian lifts his glass first. “Last Thursday. After this, we’re doomed to a life of full-time adulting.”
“Pretendingto be adults.” Marisol clinks her glass to his with deliberate ceremony.
