Page 15 of Chaos Theory
Josh steps back to let him pass, then enters the room fully and seems to take up most of the space. Unexpectedly, he smiles at me and it’s like a sunbeam cutting through the gloom. All the tension in my body releases. For a second I think he’s advancing towards me, but he goes straight over to Kobi for an inspection.
‘So, they have you working in a shop. Interesting!’
I laugh, relieved I’m not in trouble.
‘This isn’t a typical shop. We rarely get any customers. It’s usually Tumbleweed City in here. By the way, this is my colleague Shane.’
Josh doesn’t look at him as he says, ‘Hi, Shane.’
He focuses his full attention on me. ‘Maeve, I’m sorry I couldn’t drop by sooner. But I want to hear all about the lasttwenty-four hours. I need to run a full diagnostic on Kobi, then can we go somewhere to talk?’
TEN
6pm
I’m the one who suggests we go to Phelan’s, the usual haunt for after-work drinks. I struggled to pick an appropriate venue for an unexpected meeting about a difficult robot with a good-looking, somewhat mysterious engineer. A restaurant would be way too date-like, and most cafés close frustratingly early for a city that’s supposedly cosmopolitan. It’s drink or die in this town, as Shane says.
Once Josh ran a few tests on Kobi, he was very eager for us to talk freely, but not on company property. Maybe he didn’t want to risk being overheard by Kobi, who seems to have supersonic auditory abilities. So I find myself leading Josh to the local pub almost on autopilot, as if my footsteps were pre-programmed.
‘Do you come here often?’ Josh asks with a smile, holding the door open for me. We enter the bar to the soft hum of sober chitchat, its cadence pleasingly muted by the red velvet banquette seats and the occasional red velvet curtain.
A photo taken on a night out here circulated around the office recently. Me and Shane seated very close together, our upper bodies discreetly hidden by one of these red drapes, only our legsvisible. Of course I knew my hope of keeping our dalliance a secret was naïve, but at least most people have refrained from openly asking questions about it, allowing us all to continue in the shared pretence that it isn’t really happening.
‘Only every Thursday,’ I reply now cheerfully, ‘with the work crowd. Spent many a long night in here and suffered the consequence the next morning.’
‘Why not go drinking on Fridays instead?’
‘Thursdays are for work friends. Fridays are for real friends. And for dates.’ I don’t know why I added that last bit. There must be a disconnect between my mind and my body. I’m too used to coming here to relax and have the craic.Josh is not my new work colleague, up for some flirty banter, I remind myself.It’s Kobi who’s my new colleague, I think with a twinge of disappointment.
‘I love how the Irish don’t let work get in the way of their drinking,’ says Josh.On second thoughts, maybe he is up for some banter. I lead him to the high wooden bar, polished to a dull sheen by generations of elbows seeking support. ‘I’m kidding, of course. Now, what can I get you from this fine establishment?’
I nod at the barman. I don’t know his name, but I know him well enough to feel like I owe him an explanation for being here unexpectedly on a Tuesday evening, and with this stranger in tow. Maybe he thinks I’m on a date. A low-effort date, because I’m wearing my usual office garb of dark jeans, a plain top with a scoop neck and a casual suit jacket. He probably thinks Josh is out of my league – tall, handsome, clothes that look like they were selected with care.
Josh makes an executive decision and sits on one of the upholstered high-back chairs at the bar. I follow suit. By now I’ve figured out how to climb into one of these chairs in one smooth movement – not an easy feat for someone only five foot two. I wonder if the barman remembers the time I hit my chin on the bar when I tried to jump down gracefully in a hurry. Shane nearly spilled his drink laughing. Although he did offer me the ice from his Jameson and ginger – akind gesture.
‘Jameson and ginger, please.’ I regret the words even as I hear them. Whiskey before 7pm? And on an empty stomach? Unless ginger ale counts as food. ‘I hope I’m not reinforcing all those Irish stereotypes you Americans seem to believe.’
‘Jameson and ginger sounds good to me.’ He seems very relaxed. Like a friendly golden retriever. I notice that he’s not in a rush to talk about Kobi. And neither am I.
‘Can I ask how you ended up here?’ I gesture vaguely at our surroundings. ‘I mean, in Ireland?’ I want to ask many more questions but instead take a sip of my drink, which has appeared in front of me miraculously quickly.
‘Sure.’ He takes a gulp from his own squat tumbler and exhales. His hands look large and capable. ‘If you want the short version, I grew up in Portland, Oregon, got a scholarship to MIT, went to Silicon Valley, where I worked for a few tech companies. Met Ron Tron at a conference, met an Irish woman at the same conference, moved to Dublin. Ron put me on the Kobi project when I arrived.’
I feel myself deflate just a little at the words ‘Irish woman’. But why should I care? I suspect that my mind is reaching out for anything that could provide a handy distraction from the current major stressor in my life: The Kobi Project.
‘And when was that?’
‘About three years ago.’ Another slug of whiskey. ‘Man, that tastes good.’
I get the sense that he’s holding back.Time for a little McGettigan probing. ‘So, things are going well then?’
He smiles into his glass. ‘Yes.’ The smile fades. ‘Actually, no. Well…let’s just say things are not exactly on the trajectory where I thought they’d be by now. I’m a little bit behind schedule.’
‘Schedule? You mean work-wise?’
‘Not just work. Life, too. You know the way you have a life schedule, a plan for how your life is going to go?’
Just like I suspected, Josh is a grown-up. A man with a plan, literally. ‘Er…kind of?’
