Page 26 of Chaos Theory
TWENTY-FOUR
‘Should we sit at the bar?’
Josh takes a seat at Phelan’s bar before I have time to answer, but I don’t mind.
I enjoy the outsourcing of small decisions, especially in a social context.
I hate the mental burden of choosing where to go, where to eat, when to arrive.
It’s one of the worst things about dating – a trick to avoid blame for the wrong choice, disguised as thoughtful generosity.
Not that this is a date , I remind myself.
Josh came in to check on Kobi this afternoon and casually suggested we might come here to catch up.
‘Sure.’ I settle in beside him and signal to the barman.
‘Have you heard from our pal Sam?’ Josh asks. He seems totally, utterly relaxed.
I have to think for a second. ‘Sam from PHI?’
‘Yep – he was very eager to get your number.’
‘I think “very eager” is a bit of an exaggeration.’ I laugh and touch my hair, flustered. Wait – is Josh…jealous ? ‘Anyway, no, I haven’t heard from him.’
‘Yeah, you’re right – it’s way too soon for him to call. It’s only been a day. ’
I scoff at this. ‘As if anyone calls anyone any more. But I really don’t think that’s why he took my number. I think he just… we just… I just listened, is all.’
He rests his tanned forearms on the wooden counter. How does he have a suntan in October? Must be a trick of the soft lighting.
‘I’m not sure we’re going to get anything more useful from PHI anyway, to be honest. I think we’re better off focusing on the future.’ He smiles at me. ‘The present looks pretty good too.’
I swirl my rum and Coke, and try not to wonder if he means me, or us, or just this bar right now.
A group of musicians are chatting in the corner as they unpack their instruments. Phelan’s must be trying something new.
‘How is Kobi getting along with everyone this week?’ Josh asks, eyeing the musicians over my shoulder.
‘Not bad. In fact, I’m thinking of trying him back in the customer relations department again. You know what they say – if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.’
He laughs. ‘And here I was thinking that was New York City.’
‘Customer service is a much tougher place to survive.’
He clinks my glass with his beer.
‘Sounds good. Maximise his interactions. He needs to be out there in the real world.’
‘I’m flattered you consider Go Ireland to be the real world.’
We both laugh softly. The fiddle player has embarked on a melodious, mid-tempo slip-jig.
It seems to be having a hypnotic effect on Josh, and the only reason I know this is because it seems to be having a hypnotic effect on me.
The tune undulates. The guitarist joins in but only in a supporting role.
Everyone knows the fiddle is the star of an Irish trad session.
‘I really like this place,’ says Josh. ‘I can see why you guys come here.’
‘Everyone likes it,’ I say. ‘It’s good with a group, you can come here for a quiet drink on your own, it’s good for dates.’ Why did I say that? I greedily suck my rum up through the straw, willing it to enter my system rapidly.
He laughs, shakes his head. ‘Well, maybe I should give it a whirl myself sometime. I’ve been on some bad dates lately.’
‘Dating is tough for everyone,’ I agree. ‘Awful, actually.’
‘It’s so hard to meet someone,’ he says. ‘Why is that, do you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ I answer too quickly. ‘Chemistry, or lack of?’
The room seems to be getting warmer. I take off my cardigan, hang it on a hook under the bar. I rotate my glass on the beer mat. A bodhrán player has joined the session – a thrumming heartbeat under the melody, an echoing insistence.
‘And how would you define chemistry?’ So he’s not going to let me off so easily.
‘Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s that…that spark. Hard to define by itself.’ I feel my dating formula bubbling up through my mind, like the bubbles in my glass. Don’t say it , I will myself.
‘But it’s one of the four key elements required to ensure a second and possibly third date.’ Oh no. I definitely sound like Kobi right now. I thought I was supposed to be influencing him , not the other way round.
‘It is? What are the other elements?’
I face the bar so I don’t have to make eye contact.
‘I’ve kind of worked out a formula over the years through my own, um, research.
I use the formula to work out whether I should continue seeing someone I’ve just met.
It saves a lot of time.’ I’m unsure if this justification makes my confession worse or better.
‘Maximum efficiency – I like it.’
I can hear the smile in his voice, but I refuse to look at him. The musicians have moved onto a reel. It’s faster, spiralling ever upwards.
‘Can you share this formula with me or is it patent-pending?’ he says.
‘It’s open source, actually.’ Might as well lean into it, I suppose.
‘I call it CCSS. It stands for Conversation – Chemistry – Sense of humour – Safety. You need all four elements as a starting point.’ I inhale the last of my rum.
‘And you can take that to the bank,’ I add, as if I’ve just handed him the secret to everlasting life.
He gets onto my wavelength. ‘Interesting work, Dr McGettigan! Now let’s see if your theory holds up to peer review. Conversation – someone you can talk to. I’ll allow it. Next we have chemistry – definition pending. Sense of humour – no arguments here. What was the last one? Safety?’
I turn to face him. ‘I keep trying to remove that one from the formula, but every time I do, I end up needing to put it back in. It just means the person has a fundamental regard for safety, yours and their own.’
He laughs, then drains his glass, and I wonder if he’s mentally checking to see if we have all four elements of the formula right now.
I raise my hand to attract the barman’s attention, but Josh intercepts it and suddenly we are holding hands for no reason.
‘Let me get these,’ he says.
I do my own arithmetic as he orders us another round.