Hope and Other Lost Things

Chapter One

The brass doorknob was frigid in her hand, the metal bone-chilling as she listened to the lock click into place. The sound echoed off the frosted brick, off her hollow form.

Opening the door, she entered an empty house–the expanse stretching like darkness in space. Moonlight spewed from the oversize bay window, casting rainbow fragments over the entryway, illuminating minute specks of dust that settled on the white tile as if they were made for that very spot.

Homes are supposed to be more than just a house. Not just a structure. Not just four walls begging to be adorned, but a refuge. A single buoy in the middle of an ocean. A sanctuary for buried secrets. A place where the tapestry of life mends its fabric together. Home is the comfort of tip-toeing in and hearing dishes clink in the kitchen as your love’s voice lingers in the air. Home is dancing in the halls, laughter coating the walls.

She knew it would never be home again.

She stood there–her briefcase in her right hand, her keys in her left–frozen in an ocean of ice. She couldn’t think past the stagnant silence. It was too much, too loud–the lack of noise reverberating across the painted sheetrock like an earthquake’s last tremor.

She couldn’t breathe as her eyes locked onto the walls patterned with photos of two people she couldn’t recognize, two people who didn’t exist anymore. The silence that stretched from those distant memories, the facade of the perfect life caught in those photos, stung as tears welled in her dusty hazel eyes.

So, she left.

Normally she was strong enough. She’d ignore the stillness and bury herself so deep in the solace of work that nothing else existed. That usually worked. It always worked. Well, it did until it didn’t. On days like those, days where 31,536,000 seconds of silence equaled one entire year, the stillness sunk into her bones and consumed her entirely. She couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t embrace it. She didn’t know how to be, how to physically exist in its presence. She was a fish without water, a bird who strayed too far over crystal clear water with no land in sight.

Without warning, her briefcase slipped from her weakening grasp. It clattered to the floor but she couldn’t hear anything other than the pin pricking silence screaming in her ears. She turned around–her body feeling as alien to that space as the walls themselves–and made her way to her car; a skeleton with no form, liquid bones inhabiting her skin.

She drove mindlessly, allowing her thoughts to empty like rainwater onto the dashboard before her. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, back straight against the seat as she watched trees and snow-covered corn fields flash past her in lightning streaks. Bands of white, dingy greens and brown clouded her vision like mere storm clouds off in the distance.

Forgotten small towns disappeared in the rear-view mirror, their month-old winter festival banners still hanging above empty streets. The word historical was on almost every weathered town sign she passed, the wooden plaques rumbling in the wind. It seems like every village in upstate New York was historical for some reason, special in ways no one remembers anymore.

As she drove farther and farther away from the place with walls but no love, she realized she didn’t know where she was going; she just knew she couldn’t be there. Not today.

She found herself turning off the main road onto a snow beaten path. The gravel ricocheted off her car, pinging to the heartbeat vibrating within her chest. She crawled into the parking lot of The Tipsy Hatter; a home away from home when she felt like she didn’t have one left. At what point she turned off the car and made her way inside, she didn’t know. Everything seemed to dwindle away in slow motion.

She sat staring out of a chipped wooden-pane window, the sound of drunk laughter and clinking glasses fading into the background. Small snowflakes formed like delicate crystal footprints on the glass outside, just soft enough to be out of sight as the snow scattered like glitter on the landscape beyond it. She pushed it all away. Nothing mattered more than watching those ice crystals dance.

She always chose the same seat, the same window. It was the perfect place to relax in the madness without being in it, to watch people without being watched. It was the only time she didn’t have to use what little bit of energy she had left on her social odometer for small talk.

There were times when someone looked at her–really looked at her, magnifying glass at the ready–and they could tell that beyond that practiced smile, there was a melancholy that took root in the fibers holding her together. If they peered hard enough beyond her professionalism, they’d discover a crack in the very foundation of her being, one that no amount of dissolving stitches could hold together.

“Is this taken?” a voice asked in the distance.

She was pulled back to reality in full force–a sudden smack in the face shattering the bliss of mindlessness. Music blared in the background as if the muffled stereo had turned on at that very moment, begging to drown out the raucous cackles of the men who had one too many beers.

She glanced over at the bartender, Greg, who flashed his charming smile at a group of giggling girls. One hand balanced a tray full of vodka cranberries while the other wiped an already sticky counter.

Even when the world came back into view–the clarity at an optometrist exam after they flip the correct prescription onto the goggles floating in front of your face–it still hadn’t clicked that someone was talking to her.

Julia’s gaze shifted to the woman by her side, her right hand resting on the stool and a glass of white wine in her left. The woman’s captivating green eyes gazed right through her, embracing every aspect of her, imperfections and all. They didn’t scan over her glass of clear liquor, questioning her choice of drink. They didn’t merely graze her face before moving on. No, they looked deep into her soul and emerged on the other side. When was the last time someone looked at her like that?

“The seat,” the woman said, small wrinkles forming on her forehead as the corners of her mouth curved upwards, “are you saving it for someone?”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Julia stammered, pulling her attention away from the fact that the woman’s eyes glistened like spring raindrops even in the dim lighting. “No, not at all. Please, sit.”

With an effortless grace, the woman pulled out the stool, its movement devoid of any noise at all. She sat her wine down first, carefully not clinking the glass on the sticky lacquer of the counter. Her outfit matched her confident demeanor, an undertone floating through the air that she’d done this before.

She wore fitted gray dress pants tailored to accentuate her subtle curves, tapering slightly at the ankles. Julia looked up just as she slung her perfectly pressed blazer across the stool and perched on it. Her sheer white blouse was neatly tucked into the front of her pants. Shoulder length golden brown curls bounced with each movement as she found her comfort on the worn wooden stool.

She reached for her wine with ruby red nails, leaving fingerprints smeared across the glass after placing it back in its exact place. That simple movement was captivating in a way that Julia couldn’t put to words. Julia forced her gaze down at her tequila. It was only her second drink, but she’d barely taken another sip since Greg topped her off at least an hour ago. Too often the mindlessness out that window consumed her entirely.

“I’ve never been here before,” the woman said, a smile playing on her lips as she leaned in closer. “Have you?”

“Yes.” Julia nodded, rushing to compose herself for human interaction. “I come here occasionally, but definitely not for the food. Their menu only consists of French fries and wings on a good day.”

“Is that so?” She chuckled, and Julia couldn’t think of another sound that would match her so well. “I could go for an order of good wings.”

Julia’s eyebrows arched in surprise. This woman looked like she dined on salmon and asparagus, not greasy bar wings smothered in a questionably red sauce. She looked like bottomless mimosas during Sunday brunch on a still lake, wind gently tousling her hair–like early morning runs on the beach, invigorated toes squishing into silky smooth sand.

“I never claimed they were good,” Julia quipped, eliciting another laugh from the woman. The sound rolled off her tongue like liquid satin, and Julia couldn’t help the half-grin that appeared on her face.

“Is it for the bartender? He’s been shamelessly winking at these ladies since I arrived!”

“Oh, God, no!” Julia gasped at her own reaction, her hand instinctively rising to cover her mouth in mortification. She raised her glass to her pinked lips, the liquor warming her chest as it settled in her belly. “I’m sorry,” she started again, “that came across wrong. Greg is as gay as the day is long. He just winks at the ladies to get bigger tips.”

Greg slid down the counter, Julia completely unaware he was eavesdropping, with a fresh bottle of chardonnay. He gently tipped it into the woman’s glass.

“Oh, you know it!” He grinned, his white smile reflecting back at them. “No woman can resist a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy winking at her while keeping the drinks flowing!”

Suddenly Julia felt a pang of panic. Had she said too much to this stranger? Some people you can’t tell what’s too far, what lies past the line of comfort for casual conversation. Julia watched as she chuckled, her hand covering her mouth as she nodded thanks to Greg. Relief flushed through Julia’s body like a sprinkling rain, dampening her palms at the same time.

She brought the glass of wine to her rosy lips again, leaving a smudge of lip gloss as she pulled away. Even in the muted light that enveloped her, her skin radiated a glow like the sun refracting off a freshly fallen snow. Julia didn’t realize just how beautiful she was until that very moment, and she had to forcefully pull her attention back to the drink before her.

“And that is why you keep this place filled regardless of the day of week.” Julia smiled, taking another sip and not realizing she already reached the sticky bottom of the glass.

“I’m Erin, by the way,” she said softly, leaning towards her just slightly. The quietness of her voice forced Julia to meet her halfway, just to hear.

“Julia.”

Pulled in by the magnetic pull of Erin’s words, the world around them faded to a distant hum. Greg discreetly slipped away to the other end of the bar, leaving them both in their own private sphere.

Julia’s gaze followed the graceful lines of Erin’s cascading hair, her eyes tracing the contours of her collarbone peeking through the V-neck of her shirt. With each movement, Erin’s black heels clung to the edge of the stool.

Julia sat there wondering why in all the open seats in the entire room, she chose to sit next to her. She stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the middle-aged men in flannel, leather toting bikers huddled in the corner, as well as the out-of-place college students wearing neon cocktail dresses. Somehow, they seemed to fit within the scenery of that bar; a respite for the peculiar, a haven for the weary, for those who don’t quite fit in anywhere else.

If one were to look close enough, they’d see that on the exposed beams behind the bar are old pictures tattered at the edges; snapshots of the original owner and his many sons and daughters, all who passed through those same squeaking hardwood floorboards. Dust clung to cards of friends and family–full of thank yous, love yous, screw yous–pinned in front of and behind local newspaper clippings.

It seemed to be the last bar in the city to keep its old town charm, to be a family to fall into when you’re left in the dark. A hidden gem in the rough. The last “mom and pop” pub in a world full of sky risers. Even in the oddity of random license plates nailed to the sheetrock kissing the ceiling, old Coca-Cola glasses lining the shelf above half empty liquor bottles, the smell of beer on every surface, it’s a place of comfort for so many.

Suddenly Julia felt out of place in her work clothes; they were far too business-like for the location, not quite in between the casual drinkers and twenty-somethings in far too tight clothing. Usually she stopped in on a weekend or a Friday night after work, always after she changed into something comfortable.

But right now, tan linen pants cascaded over her thighs, resembling a skirt as she settled into her seat. Her periwinkle blouse was askew, partially still tucked in, and partially tousled from a hectic day of running around. One spot right on her chest was still a little wet from where she tried to blot out a coffee stain from earlier that afternoon.

She was sure she looked like the mess that she felt like on the inside. The weariness of the day always settled beneath her eyes, halos of brown bags only highlighted by faded mascara. But in reality? She looked like a tired woman with far too much to bear, worn and relatable in every way.

Her long blonde hair was thrown into a bun, little wisps of wavy hair escaping from the sides and framing just right over her dangling crystal earrings. She absorbed such a relief after pulling her hair up after a long day at work, as if it lifted something off of her shoulders for the time being–one less burden to bear.

The odd thing was, somehow, she looked like she belonged next to Erin, as if they emerged from the same world and that realization helped her shoulders to settle just a little more.

“Have you ever been here before?” Julia asked, a sad attempt to hear that satiny voice again.

Just as the words escaped her lips, she realized Erin already said she hadn’t. There was something about the attention that young woman demanded, the kind that pulled your eyes even in a crowded bar. Julia couldn’t help but stumble over fumbling thoughts. When was the last time she had a personal conversation?

“No.” Erin’s emerald eyes glistened as she held back a smile. She knew. “I’m in town for work. I don’t usually venture towards this side of the city, but I decided to take a walk earlier and saw the glowing blue top hat above the sidewalk. It looked like an interesting little place. I couldn’t resist.”

“By yourself?” Julia loosened up a little as she raised her glass for Greg to see. She smiled interestingly as Erin laughed and pulled her hair behind one shoulder as if to say, I’m an independent woman. “Do you often wander around unfamiliar parts of a city at midnight?”

“No, I definitely bring my bodyguards, but Thursdays are their days off,” Erin joked. Julia smiled behind her glass at that velvety laugh again. “You?”

“I live somewhat near here,” Julia lied. “It’s a little out of the way, but worth it for the company.”

Greg grinned as he poured Julia another drink. This time, she offered him the wink, and he took it graciously. He slid down to the group of girls at the other end of the bar, but Julia couldn’t see past the woman beside her.

She didn’t mention that she came there because it was the farthest bar within a reasonable distance from her work and home; a place where no one knew who she was or what she did, and they didn’t ask either. A hideaway of sorts she relied on to have a little peace–to be alone with her thoughts without actually being alone.

“I felt like I was interrupting you when I came over. Do you want me to sit somewhere else?”

“No.” She smiled, realizing once again her mind drifted off. “The company is nice.”

She was surprised she actually meant those words. She always thought at some point after her workday, her brain stopped functioning. It was like an off switch activated as soon as she locked her office for the night. Some days, it took her every last ounce of will to make it through the day, let alone be willing to spend energy on entertaining someone else.

Burn out wasn’t the right phrase to describe it. She wasn’t on the verge of a complete mental breakdown; it was more like she teetered on the edge–an OSHA certified safety strap wrapped snugly around her as she tried to lean more and more over an abyss, desperate to catch a glimpse of what rested at the bottom–but consistently pulled back to where she didn’t want to be. Deep down, she so desperately wanted to fall.

The end of her work week was always the hardest. She spent so much time around people, diffusing situations, finding solutions where there were none, and managing what seemed like a zoo most days. Well, let’s be honest, it was a zoo most days. She needed an escape, which is why every so often she’d end up at The Tipsy Hatter, staring out that same double-paned window as Greg’s presence floated up and down the bar calming her with each stride.

Sometimes it was snowflakes that swirled in her eyes. Sometimes it was those walking down the sidewalk–Julia imagining what conversations they were having, what lives they lived. Sometimes she listened to the phone conversations of men five bourbon’s deep, their wives’ voices coming to life as they complained about the hour and his slur of speech. Sometimes she stared at her drink and wondered what she could’ve done differently, what else she could’ve said.

Checking her watch for the time, Julia became increasingly aware she had to be up in just six hours for work. She squeezed her temples, the thought of all the paperwork cluttering her dining room table pushing to the front of her mind. With the long drive ahead, there was no way she could function on such little sleep. She wasn’t a twenty-something anymore.

Glancing up at Erin, who was now smiling at another stranger at the other end of the room, Julia wondered if she was that friendly with everyone. Maybe she was the type of woman who had the confidence to walk up to strangers and spark conversations all the time. Even with that thought hovering in the back of her mind–tugging at her strings like a puppeteer–there was something about her that Julia wanted to wrap herself in, something she wanted to surrender to.

Get it together, Jules.

“I really like your blouse,” Erin whispered towards her ear. A smile illuminated her face, brightening the entire room–a single beam of moonlight on a cloudy night. Her lips formed a cupid’s bow, pursing softly after she spoke as if there was something still to say.

Julia looked down, forgetting what she even wore. A faint rouge tinted her cheeks as she realized it’d fallen a lot lower than it had when a suit jacket was covering it earlier.

“Oh.” Julia fought the blush rising to her cheeks as she hastily adjusted the shoulders of her shirt. “Thank you.” She paused, searching for something to say without sounding like a recluse void of adult interaction. “Are you here with someone?” Real smooth, Julia. Real smooth.

Julia scanned the room to see what person would best fit beside her. It could’ve been the dark-haired man leaning at the end of the bar, his square chiseled chin dimpling as he smiled. It could have been the group of girls squeezed into one booth, clinking glasses raised high in the air as they giggled past fake eyelashes and far too tall heels.

“No.” She smiled softly. “Just me.” There was a long silence that followed as Julia looked back out the window. “So, what were you thinking of before I rudely interrupted you?”

Julia froze for a moment, her eyebrows raising just slightly. She couldn’t remember the last time someone asked her what she was thinking, couldn’t remember the last time she tried to focus on the thoughts that crept in during the quietness instead of working so desperately to shut them out. When was the last time someone cared enough to notice she was lost in the void?

At work she was the person: the fixer of all problems, an arm to lean on, someone to think outside of the box when no one else could. She played that role well, as if the center of it all was where she belonged. But when alone? When the curtains closed and just her heavy breathing carried through the air? That was an entirely different story. She wasn’t good at being alone. Humans aren’t meant to be alone. It was too easy for her to just succumb to the emptiness, to allow the heaviness of her body to sink too deep.

Julia looked down at her drink, her left hand resting on its side. The chill of the condensation trickled onto her ivory skin, providing a brief sense of tranquility from the outside in. A woman just about to be forty years of age shouldn’t hide away in bars by herself, without any real reason at all to be there other than she didn’t want to be home.

Home. What a novel thought.

Raising her eyes, she met Erin’s gaze locked onto her with an unwavering smile. She picked up her wine again, not breaking eye contact. The corners of her eyes pulled, creating the most beautiful road map to her freckles.

Julia hated people looking at her. Maybe if she dug far enough back in her mind with one of those yellow Little Tikes shovels, she’d find the moment that broke something inside her. Maybe she could pinpoint the exact moment, the exact second, when the last layer of belief in her worth shed away like a caterpillar’s chrysalis in the night.

But there was something about how Erin’s eyes wrapped around her. They were soft, genuinely curious, and for some reason she felt honored that those sagey eyes were focused on her. It was a pull of attention that Julia could tell she didn’t even know she had, beauty she didn’t know she possessed.

“Life, I suppose,” Julia answered at last. She grimaced at her own response. How cliché? She turned back to the window where snow still twirled in strands and landed like powder on top of thin layers of ice.

“Do you ever catch yourself looking at something and realize how inconsequential everything else is? Not in a bad way, but a way calms the mind. Like there’s something good, something sweet in the nothingness.” She couldn’t believe she said that out loud. She most definitely had one too many drinks.

She pulled her gaze from the window and it fell on Erin’s face. She held an involuntary breath, not knowing why she cared what this stranger thought. But she did.

Julia allowed her narrowed eyes to relax as she studied how young Erin appeared. She couldn’t place a specific number. Erin held herself with more confidence than Julia ever felt she possessed. Just being near her made Julia feel youthful, like she wanted to dance on the sidewalk in the rain, like Alison and Noah.

“That must sound incredibly stupid.” Julia managed to choke out a laugh to suppress her embarrassment, but it didn’t work. Her cheeks betrayed her, heat rising from her chest and crawling up her neck.

Erin reached out and placed her warm hand on her wrist and it seemed like the whole world slowed a little. Julia looked up into her eyes–completely pulled into her gravitational vortex–like something, somewhere, had put her in that very place at that very moment.

It was only a couple of seconds of stillness before she looked down and realized Erin still had her hand on her arm. Julia swore she felt her thumb swirl on her skin beneath. Erin looked down at her hand too, as if she wasn’t sure when it appeared in that very location, how her fingers happened to caress the smoothness of Julia’s skin.

“I completely understand.” Erin’s soft voice hummed in her ears as she pulled her hand away, the place where it was now tingling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your space.”

Julia wanted to say that it was completely fine, that she could keep her hand there. She wanted to say that for once it felt good to have someone close to her who didn’t have to be there, that to have someone even platonically touch her skin sent warm goosebumps up her arm, and that she liked the feeling. But then the usual thoughts took hold. That sounds crazy. Don’t be the crazy lady sitting alone.

It’d been far too long since she interacted with someone outside of work. It’d been far too long since she had one too many drinks, the warmth of the tequila taking over her too strict conscious mind. Maybe her friend, Keegan, was right: she was too busy burying herself in piles of paperwork over finding a way out, a way up.

“You didn’t,” Julia said instead, turning back to her drink and taking another gulp.

“I only meant that I get that feeling, and it’s not stupid.”

Erin pulled her own drink back to her lips, almost as if to keep her hands from wandering into enemy territory again. Could she feel the goosebumps that began to creep up Julia’s arm? Were the sparks literally scouring that bar table, or was it just her?

“Sometimes I get so overwhelmed,” Erin sighed, drawing out the words as she looked down at her wine. She picked up the glass and swirled its contents, hesitating before bringing it to her lips. “The only thing I can do is lie down and stare at the ceiling fan twirling above me. It helps the world fade away, watching those blades spin.”

Julia glanced up faster than she intended, locking eyes with Erin. She watched the spark fade from her eyes. Those ruby nails tightened around her drink, eyes fixated on her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Those eyes told more than words ever could.

They didn’t spend hours crying and pouring out their past, spewing their darkest secrets onto the stained varnish of that counter. But it was like both knew what the other meant, knew what they held inside. It was as if words weren’t needed in the space they shared.

Julia never heard anyone openly admit the thoughts that echoed in her own mind. She couldn’t be the only person with this feeling of all-too-muchness. She couldn’t be the sole one swallowed by the silence. But when the void closed in around her like a noose? She was sure she was the last one standing.

It was something about being content in the nothingness that she liked. The feeling of needing to be alone, but not wanting to be lonely; the feeling of escaping reality without actually doing so. That’s why she sits here alone–because being alone isn’t the same thing as being lonely. For the first time in a long time, that stranger managed to make her feel heard in a way she never thought was possible again.

Closing her eyes, Julia shook her head slightly as the cold sting of tequila trickled down the back of her throat. Her vision began to sway, the hazy pleasure of the alcohol finally catching up with her.

“Why are you shaking your head?” Erin leaned on one elbow, a soft smile across her face as she stared directly at Julia. Her hazelnut hair cascaded over her hands in a river of heavy molasses.

When did she get so close?

“Oh.” Julia was suddenly startled, lost in the way her pink lips shimmered in the reflection of the light. “I’m sorry,” she tried to shake out a laugh through her nose, “it’s been a long time since I’ve talked to anyone outside of work.”

Erin leaned even closer. Julia knew it meant nothing, but having this beautiful woman look at her when she’s felt like a ghost in her own body for so long lit a warmth in her chest. It forced a smile on her face that she really meant, a feeling she thought she forgot.

“What do you do for work?” Erin asked, her proximity drawing Julia in.

She thought about her answer for a moment before responding. How could she explain her career when she was sitting in a bar, in the middle of the night, talking to a complete stranger? Drinking on a weekend with friends, sure that’s acceptable. But hiding in a bar after midnight, on a school night, by herself? A little tipsy, nonetheless?

“I’m in management,” she responded, far too hastily. It wasn’t quite an outright lie; more like a stretch of the truth. “I have been for probably longer than you’ve been alive.” Julia giggled, but the joke felt misplaced.

She wasn’t trying to be dismissive, but that woman’s smile made her mind muddle into a rain-soaked pond. When she looked at Erin with concern, she caught her looking back, eyes slowly scanning her body as if it was on display. Erin leaned in closer, those eyes stripping layers off of her, forcing Julia’s breath to catch in her throat.

“I’m older than I look,” she whispered, her words mere inches from Julia’s ear. The heat of her breath sent hot shivers down Julia’s spine. She smelled like floral vanilla musk, like a cashmere blanket on a crisp afternoon, soft and filled with such an indescribable comfort.

The way Erin smiled? The way she said that last sentence so breathlessly? After being out of the dating game for so long, Julia wouldn’t recognize a genuine advance unless it hit her square in the face with a handwritten invitation. Even then, she might need some signage directing the way too–neon arrows lining the path.

Shaking the idea out of her head, she took another sip. The warmth spread to her cheeks and down her chest. Erin retreated back to her own personal space like she hadn’t said a thing. She raised her glass for Greg to see, who was to her side in an instant with a fresh bottle of chardonnay. Julia raised her own with a smile and he flashed that knowing wink.

“I apologize if that came out wrong,” Julia finally spoke, setting down her empty glass. She looked back out the window, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over her.

Did she have any social skills left? She spent too much time alone. She’d walk through her front door as the sun dipped below the horizon and then work on the couch until she felt tired enough to lay down. After tossing and turning for hours, she’d give up the futile act–the tiredness of her bloodshot eyes stinging every throbbing nerve–and open a book from her bedside, hoping it would lull her to sleep. But it never did. There wasn’t any peace in a place that couldn’t be called home.

She couldn’t play that same routine on days like today. Days that add up one year since what felt like was the worst day of her life. Days when the silence spread too far in all directions, even when the hustle and bustle of life hollered in her ears. Days when she’d glance at her left hand, fixated on the faded tan line of where a promise used to be. Days when the realization that the hollow piece of a woman before her in the mirror was all that was left.

Erin leaned closer, a smile dancing on her lips. “I have a feeling you think too much.”

She ran her hand through her hair, tucking away golden waves that resembled strands of bronze silk. For a fleeting moment, the light caught those strands. She subtly shifted her hand, bringing it closer to Julia’s on the counter. Julia tried not to overthink, but God was it hard to focus on anything else other than the lingering scent of her perfume in the air.

“I’ve been told that.” How was it so easy to talk to her? How could two strangers melt into a conversation like fluffy cotton candy dissolving in water? Nothing is ever this easy. “What do you do for work for you to be out at,” Julia paused, looking at the clock, “one thirty on a Thursday night?”

“I’m actually in town for work.” Erin smiled. “Lately I travel around the lovely, frigid state of New York and evaluate different programs.”

She finished the last sentence as if it was the most boring job in the world. Julia found it fascinating. She wanted to know more. She wanted every detail, no matter how long it took. She never wanted Erin to stop talking, that soothing voice filling the space from corner to corner.

As soon as she opened her mouth to ask one of the many burning questions, a sudden interruption shattered the moment.

“Last round!” Greg shouted, and the entire bar erupted in disappointed howls.