Irving lifts his beer in a small salute. “Speak for yourself.”
Zach and I hold our beers up as well. The familiar laughter of my best friends knocks something in my chest. This moment between this exact constellation of people will never exist again.
“One more round.” Julian thumps the table, rattling our drinks. “We need a toast to whatever comes next.”
The bartender knows us well and passes us fresh pints of Guinness without asking. Foam settles. Condensation runs down the glass. I take a sip and let the bitter taste coat my tongue.
Conversation drifts easily, as it always does with us. Tonight, mostly focused on the dread of bar exam prep. Apartments. New jobs. The quiet terror of being set loose in the world without a syllabus.
Julian and Marisol speak about New York with confidence, certain they’ll thrive there as a couple. Zach will be there too, even if he hasn’t fully committed yet. Irving’s future points west, tech deals and startups in San Francisco and Silicon Valley. Seattle waits for me, quieter and farther away, chosen on purpose.
Zach’s knee angles a fraction harder against mine.
“You’re quiet,” he says, low enough for only me.
“Taking it in.”
“Smart.”
I smile. “Habit.”
His gaze lingers, not heated or hungry. Present. Steady. Giving nothing away. Attention generous enough to blur lines without crossing any.
Admittedly, even if I can’t relate, his demeanor is one of the things I adore most about him. How careful he is. Deliberate.
It’s also maddening. I’m never quite sure where I stand.
I think of growing up in my parents’ house, filled with drama and voices sharpened like scythes during the constant fights. Money made everything louder. Eventually, lawyers turned love into leverage and promises broke under scrutiny. During their divorce, I learned early how easily permanence fractures.
I’m returning home to Seattle because I want to do things differently. After the bar, I’ll start at Finney Cooper, a prestigious law firm with a great client base. I plan to prove family law doesn’t have to mean scorched earth or victories tallied in damage. It can mean protecting children and keeping something beautiful intact when possible.
Ultimately, I want to be the kind of lawyer who lowers voices instead of escalating them. Who treats families as if they’re worth preserving, even when they’re breaking apart.
Julian slaps the table again. “We’re never going to be together as students again.” His grin falters for half a beat before he recovers. “We should do something memorable.”
“Define memorable.” Marisol arches a brow.
Irving shakes his head. “Nothing good will come of this.”
“Smoke break.” Julian ignores him.
Marisol squints. “None of us smoke.”
“Metaphorical.”
And so we all spill onto the sidewalk, breath fogging. Julian and Marisol gallop down the block, hand-in-hand, already bickering about cabs and neighborhood bars we’re about toconquer. Irving lingers long enough to meet my eyes, a quiet smile passing between me then Zach before he turns and follows them without further comment.
The door to Duffy’s swings shut behind us, muting the noise. The quiet is strangely jarring.
“I’m sad this is ending.” I turn toward him as we amble behind.
He nods. “Well, everything runs its course, so they say.”
“Yeah, well. I hate endings.” I tug my jacket closed around myself.
“Me too.”
We stop under a streetlight. He faces me fully, hands in his pockets. I’ve known this man for three years. The emotions I’ve kept hidden are more dangerous tonight than ever before.
