Page 4 of Snowed In
“Because your hair is fantastic!” she exclaims. “Look at it! It’s so thick and soft.” It’s now the tourists’ turn to look at me as she practically shouts the words for the whole pub to hear.
“Zoe.”
“Good hair is wasted on men,” she continues, oblivious. “Like eyelashes. Why do you all have such long eyelashes? I pay fifty euro for my lash lift; meanwhile, you’re just walking around like some Victorian doll.”
I choke on my beer, setting the glass down before I can spill it.
“It’s a compliment,” she insists.
I’m sure. “If you’re that worried about a haircut, just make Molly get it first. Then you can see if it looks good or not.”
She starts to scoff before her eyes go wide, and she takes out her phone, presumably to text Molly, her identical twin. Said identical twin is dating my nonidentical brother, Andrew, and last December, our families decided to spend Christmas together in Chicago, where they live. As the designated sarcastic siblings, we ended up spending a lot of time together. There was nothing romantic about it, but Zoe is blunt in a way I enjoy and lives her life exactly how she wants to, so we get along more than I do with most. She was one of the first people I reached out to when I moved to Dublin a few months ago, and I was secretly relieved with how easily she accepted me into her life here.
Even if it is hard to keep up with her train of thought sometimes.
“Haveyouever thought about a fringe?” she asks now, peering hard at my head, but before I can respond, a woman in a low-cut top and exceptionally tight jeans appears beside us, planting her hands on an empty stool.
“Excuse me?” she asks, already halfway to taking it. “Are you using— Is that a toddler?”
Zoe and I both turn to her almost two-year-old son, Tiernan, who sits next to her as he enjoys his daily allotted screen time via a tablet.
“I think so,” Zoe says slowly. “He was here when we arrived.”
“She’s kidding,” I say when the woman stares at her.
“I am,” Zoe says. “Sorry. I’m just nervous. It’s his first time meeting his dad.” She turns back to me, suddenly emotional. “I’m glad you came.”
And here we go. “He’s not mine.”
“I just need the chair,” the woman says hastily.
“He’s not mine,” I repeat, as Zoe sniffs.
“If you could give us some privacy,” she continues, and the stranger scurries away with the stool to a group of women who, after a few whispers, all swing in our direction.
I force down a sigh. “Are you ever going to get tired of doing that?”
“It’s literally the reason I bring him.”
“And did you have to bring Tiernan?”
“You love Tiernan,” she admonishes, pretending to cover his ears.
“I do love Tiernan. But everyone assumes I’m his dad.”
“So?”
“So,” I say, as she kisses him on the head. “Kind of makes it hard to meet someone.”
“You want to meet someone in the pub? What are you, old?”
“I’m—”
“You can’t pick up women in pubs. We don’t want that. If an unknown man so much as looked at me tonight, I would glare at him so hard he’d need a root canal.”
“That’s not a saying.”
“I never implied it was.” She sits back. “You are so grumpy tonight.”
