i believe in yesterday

The image of a woman suddenly rendered helpless by a yellow sweater was oddly endearing. Grayson couldn’t help but chuckle lightly, letting Bailey stew in her current predicament before getting up to help her out. She grabbed onto her bare waist (somewhat deliberately, mostly curiosity) firmly, as if touch alone could convince the tangled woman into staying still. If anything, it had done quite the opposite.

“Stay still,” Grayson said with pseudo-gravity, tip-toeing to look over Bailey’s head as she searched through her thick hair for the culprit causing so much distress. “The wrong move could either rip your ear off or put another tear on your sweater.”

It was honestly just an earring stuck in a garment – Grayson had seen this one too many time while dressing models for fashion showcases during her short stint as a student. She wondered what her life would have been like if she had stayed in New York; she would probably be doing the exact same thing with another model.

Lift, unhook, and Bailey was a free woman. Flashing an amused smile at her, Grayson turned to begin working on the sweater. It was obvious that Bailey wasn’t very comfortable with being only in her bra, and especially so in a complete stranger’s apartment – Grayson had to remind herself that.

“These are just some of my earlier stuff,” She said nonchalantly as she worked, chin nodding towards the rack. “I’m also working with Wildflower Boutique on getting my work in their store. That yellow suit though? One of a kind.”

How was she meant to stay still? Warm hands on her waist, skin on skin, kept her squirming. Just her luck. Grayson unhooked her hoop earring from a snag in her sweater and lifted it up and over her head. Bailey was glad to be free, but it came at a cost. Now she stood, bra and tank top, in front of a stranger. Practically exposed... Was Grayson a stranger? Bailey never thought she’d be the type to go inside a stranger’s apartment, just on pure personality type alone--not to mention the stranger danger mantra drilled into her head as a child. So maybe she’d think of Grayson as a friend, instead. A quick friend, sure, but a friend nonetheless. Everything felt less complicated that way. Bailey tried to sift through her running commentary to distract from her discomfort; arms over her chest as if she had the capacity to hide her body from view. 

She tried, at least.

“Thank you.” She said politely. Twisted the hoop around her ear, to make sure everything was a-okay. 

The rack didn’t look like earlier work. It looked professional. If Bailey had the confidence or the budget, she’d love to wear the types of clothes that Grayson made. She grabbed the yellow suit jacket off the coat hanger and slipped her arms inside. It was a good substitute for her sweater while Grayson repaired it. “It feels so nice.” She commented, fingers rubbing the fabric of the sleeve. “How do I look?” ‘Cause that’s what you were meant to say, in these types of moments.

“I love that store. They’d be lucky to have you and your designs.” 

“There’s someone out there for you” Beck said, trying to be encouraging. Beck didn’t exactly believe in soulmates. He believed there were a lot of right people out there for everyone. It was just a question of finding one of them. “You just have to put yourself out there until you find the right person for you.” Which was easy for him to say. He’d fallen in love purely by fate, not by actively looking for someone. He grabbed a napkin off the bar and handed it to her to dry her tears.

He sighed. “We were so happy back in Oklahoma” he said. “We even decided we wanted to adopt.” They’d been going through the interview process when his mom had been diagnosed with cancer. “Now we’re both trying to adjust to living in a new place and not seeing each other very often.” Beck was spending more time taking care of his mother and helping his father than he was with his husband.

Bailey shrugged. “Maybe for everyone else. I don’t think that’s possible for me, though.” People, namely her mother, had tried their hand at this line of logic with her many times before. Rationally, she understood it. Even people in prison, serving twenty-five to life, had friends and family and people that loved them and cared about them. If murderers and bad people could have that type of intimacy and connection, why couldn’t she? Emotionally, mentally... Bailey didn’t believe it. She threw her hands up in the air, defeated. “I don’t even have friends.” Putting herself out there was only half the problem. She tried, sometimes, and got rejected. And that rejection stopped her from doing it ever again. 

Better to have loved and lost, right? “Oklahoma?” Bailey questioned, wondering how he’d ended up there, post high school. “Adopt?!” Said it like she’d never heard the word before. “Wait, what happened? What changed?” She pried. “I don’t get it.” She ducked her head and caught a glance at Beck’s wedding band. “You’re married?” Yeah, she needed more information. She needed details. “Tell me more.” Bailey said, straw stuck between her teeth.

          Lisa was not used to being thanked, if she was completely honest she did half the things she did without really expecting anything in return and it was just how the world went. Still, there was absolutely no way she would leave Bailey at the mercy of some cab driver or who-knows-what to take her home, especially since now she had the information that not only she had crashed her car a couple of months ago, but she was also on anti-depressants — it made Lisa wonder if she should even be drinking.

          She wouldn’t ask. She wouldn’t ask because she had once seen her mama mixing and mingling all kinds of drugs with alcohol to have her liver being the ultimate killer of her. Lisa was sure her expression might be showing her inner battle, but she brushed it off— not want to add anything to make Bailey think she was in any way judging, everyone had their own battles, that was for sure, and they all handled them in different ways. There was a reason why Lisa was the way she was — this upfront, forward, happy and giddy talented girl who was always laughing… nobody ever wanted to be there when the laughter stop.

          “Come on, babe,” Lisa patted Bailey’s ass gently, ushering her off the sink so they could leave the bar once and for all, “I will just need your coordinates, you don’t mind me sticking around to take care of you and make sure you’re gonna sleep alright, do you?” She wondered— hoping she would be okay especially since she had been so forward about the use of anti-depressants, “I would take you to mine, but I live in a shoebox that fits barely me and I still have two dogs,” she chuckled, adjusting Bailey on her side and taking her hand again, hoping she was okay enough to walk, especially after throwing up. “You don’t need to thank me, though— that’s what Zumba buddies are for right? Think that after tonight we can successfully consider ourselves friends… maybe partners in crime? That would be fun.”

Lisa didn’t leave, or laugh, or tell her she was stupid. Lisa lightly tapped her ass and called her babe. Bailey slowly let her eyes flutter open. The bathroom was still spinning and she could still taste acid on the back of her tongue--but this was nice, given the circumstances. “That would be nice.” She mused. “Gimme your phone, I’ll type in the address.” She was sober enough to do that, for sure. Gestured with her hand, palm forward, for Lisa to hand over her cellphone. Bailey didn’t bother mentioning the fact that she still lived with her mother. The shoebox apartment sounded better than Bailey’s little blue childhood home. Instead, she latched onto dogs.

“I didn’t know you had dogs!” Bailey slurred, excited, like it was the coolest thing in the world. “Tell me about them. I have a dog, too, y’know? His name is Maisky. M-A-I-S-K-Y, like Mischa Maisky, the cellist.” They held hands and walked out of the bar together. Took it slow, step by step. Bailey liked to watch her feet whenever she walked. Kept her head down, so she could catch cracks in the pavement or uneven bumps in the floor. She didn’t want to trip. Especially now, after throwing up. Especially now, with all the alcohol in her system.

Fresh air was a good idea. Bailey clung to Lisa’s side as they hopped along to the parking lot. Friends, partners in crime... Bailey squeezed her eyes shut and smiled to herself. This night was turning around. She was starting to feel a little less lonely--all it took was a few small gestures and some nice words from a Zumba buddy. “I would love that. You sure you want me to be your partner, though?” She had to double check. Just in case it was a mistake, or something Lisa was just sayin’ to be nice. “I’m a fuckin’ mess.”

Grayson was someone who took pride in the things she did, and especially so if she did them well. From being a star player on the soccer field to drinking someone under the table, she didn’t necessarily sought for the spotlight but relished in it when it landed on her. Ironically enough, despite having spent the last years crafting on her workmanship as a fashion designer, she never quite felt the same sense of achievement. It was a cutthroat industry, and she was just small-town mediocrity.

“Sure,” Putting aside her hesitancy, Grayson rolled out a clothes rack from her bedroom. She ran her hands through her work, pulling out one of her first projects that she thought would look good on Bailey – a two-piece yellow power suit. It still smelled of her old New York apartment, but otherwise, the garment was in perfect condition.

“Take it off,” She said nonchalantly, turning away to rummage through her materials for yellow yarn that matched the vibrancy of Bailey’s sweater. “Not unless you want a needle poking at your skin. “Try on whatever you like, or if you feel so keen, feel free to get in your birthday suit. I’ve seen plenty of naked ladies.

“Played soccer,” Grayson quickly added. “No boundaries.”

Grayson had a whole rack of clothes. Clothes that she designed and fitted and made. Bailey felt grateful to be a small part in it. A witness to her talent. She hovered her fingers over a few coat hangers, staring in awe, her mouth fixed open in amazement. “Damn, these are gorgeous.” She said. It wasn’t even flirting, or her trying too hard: it was simple truth. Genuine honesty. Grayson pulled something specific off the rack (Yellow! Her favourite colour!) and Bailey scooped it up in her arms, thumbing the material. Taking it all in.

She paused. Birthday suit. No one had ever seen her completely naked before. It was alright-- Grayson didn’t need to know that. Bailey rushed to get her sweater off, yanked it over her head so quick that another thread got caught on her hoop earring. Completely blind, with her arms up in the air, Bailey started to panic. “Oh God, I think I’m stuck.” Her bra was spilling over her tank top, exposing some cleavage. Right now, that was the least of her problems! Grayson had said something before about no boundaries. Bailey needed that sort of attitude now to get untangled. “I think my earring is caught. Help me, please.” She sounded small, like a child. Shy and embarrassed and clumsy and Oh God--why did this have to happen to her? Right now? Ever? Why? 

Southby’s chin followed the girl’s hand as she waved his volume down. Probably a good call. “Bailey!” He said in an excited whisper. “What the hell is a Krupke?” Southby laughed, voice back to normal. “It’s Southby.” He chuckled neither getting the reference nor the feeling that her world was spinning whilst his was just beginning to tilt. Even though she was sad, or had been before she jumped off her stool, she looked happier here than she did at work. Hell, did that go for him too? Surely everyone looked happier at the bar than they did clocked in. 

“Me too.” Southby’s smile was a lopsided one that indicated that was nothing but the truth. Shots of anything went down much easier when one had already had a good buzz going. The bartender poured Jameson as Southby looked back to the television as Bailey surmised the lesson to be learned. He grimaced at the idea. He never intentionally tried to be bah-humbug, but this last week had landed on him weird. It did every year, to be perfectly honest, but he was usually better at managing it. If he’d known, that on top of it all, the hungry young woman next to him spent her more sober hours scared of him he’d probably have crawled under the bar in shame. But the fact of it was, they were both over-served with even more on the way as shot glasses were pushed in front of them. “I wouldn’t say everything.” Southby insisted. At least he hoped not. His life was shot otherwise. Picking up his shot glass, he held it towards hers to cheers it. “May we find love & Christmas & mozzarella sticks.” He threw the shot back & hissed behind clenched teeth. “I think we’re gonna need another round now that I’m depressed too thanks to Emma Thompson over here. This movie sucks. & Marty, could we get mozzarella sticks or fries or literally anything solid?”

He was whisper-shouting now, at least. “Southby!” Bailey said in the same vain, enunciating every syllable of his name through a drunk slur. “Y’know! West Side Story! You’ve never seen that musical?” If he knew Romeo and Juliet, he’d be good. He’d know what was going on. She turned to the bartender and told him to put it on the TV instead. He gave her a weird look and a glass of water, disposing of her empty cider bottle. Hmpft. “I love musicals. I love music. I play the cello, did you know that? And the sax.” She mimed playing the saxophone, head tilting back further and further with every tap of the fake/air keys. It didn’t take much, but Southby had done good in getting her distracted. She didn’t feel sad now. She just felt drunk.

It was a different bartender that poured them a couple of shots. The Saturday before Christmas was busy in Morgan City. Like it was a party for all the lonely people. In her warped, inebriated view, that’s how Bailey saw it, anyway. “Have you ever been in love, then?” She asked slowly. They clinked their shot glasses together. Bailey tipped her head back and swallowed down the Jameson quick. She was so gone, already, that she couldn’t even feel the burn anymore. Love and Christmas and Mozzarella Sticks. Sounded like the next great Netflix film, if you asked her. “Here’s to that!” She chased her shot by taking a sip of her water. It wasn’t very effective. “More drinks! And food!” She agreed, matching his volume. “This movie does suck, doesn’t it?” If it made them both sad, it deserved to be burned and banned from Mama G’s. 

          “Holy shit,” Lisa exclaimed, hopping off the sink so she could aid the woman who was now throwing up. She held her hair back and patted her back lightly until she had purged everything that was needed and once she had gotten the confirmation Bailey was done with the whole throwing up, she helped her on her feet and brought her to the sink, this time prompting her to take her previous place while Lisa stood between her legs, wet paper towels in her hand as she pressed them against her forehead, hoping the cooling water would somehow ease her nausea. “I think it’s more than safe to say that you’re done with the alcohol and with the bar for tonight, alright?” It wasn’t at all strange to her to take care of drunken friends, even if they only knew each other from Zumba classes. 

          “You didn’t come here driving, did you? ‘Cause I did and I’m gonna give you a ride home,” it was not an offer but a statement, she wasn’t ready to let the brunette go home alone at this odd hour of the night, not that Morgan City actually offered all that terror to someone like her, but one never knew what odd cab driver they could manage to have as chauffeur for the night. “When you feelin’ good enough, I want you to get up slowly and then rinse your mouth a bit with water, we’re going to give you lots of fluids and rest. You’re not allergic to any meds, are you?”

No one had ever held her hair back before. It was something she saw all the time in movies or shows, but she’d never had the same experience. Throwing up because of alcohol intake was rare, ‘cause she hardly drank much to begin with. Gut reactions to anxiety, or from massive bouts of crying, were more of a regular occurrence. If her Mom was home, she helped. Most of the time, though, it was Bailey by herself, looking after her own skin. This was different. This was nice. It was nice to have a friend—they were friends, right? Zumba buddies, at least. 

Once she’d successfully emptied her stomach, Lisa ushered her back over to the sink. Patted her forehead down with a nice, cold paper towel. Bailey wanted to cry again, because it was such a simple and sweet gesture. Her eyes were stinging, regardless, from the acidic taste in her mouth. Bailey nodded at her, agreeing. No more alcohol tonight. 

She laughed, mouth dry. “I don’t have a car. I crashed it a couple months ago.” Hah. Funny! Time to scare off and ruin her newfound friendship with her dancing partner, hey? Rinsing her mouth out sounded like a good idea, but Bailey felt too weak to turn around. She was leaning her back up against the sink to keep herself propped up and vertical. “No, no, no. I’m on Lexapro. Anti-depressants. So I’m all good on the med front.” Another little chuckle. It wasn’t funny. She closed her eyes, so she didn’t have to see Lisa react. “Thanks for lookin’ after me.” She said, softly.

Grayson shrugged nonchalantly, her hands busily fishing for her keys from her pocket. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. The world sucks and you don’t have to lie to yourself about that; I think it’s just a matter of saying ‘fuck it’ and having fun anyway. Then again, what do I know? I’m just someone who makes clothes.”

Unlocking the door to her apartment, she sent another look of warning to Bailey, as if offering her a chance to escape before it was too late. Although Grayson could not give two shits about what others thought of her, she’d also rather not ruin first impressions with people she genuinely wanted to get to know better. She should probably consider giving at least half a shit in normal occasions – maybe then she’d have more friends.

In reality, her apartment looked more so an unlived one than a messy one. Despite having moved back for a few weeks, half of her things stayed unpacked in suitcases and boxes while the rest were peppered in random spots all over the small space. The only place that seemed remotely ready (or, normal) was her workspace in the corner, featuring her trusty sewing machine, a busted mannequin, and a design board filled with loose sketches.

“Sorry,” Grayson sighed, haphazardly grabbing the clothes off of the armchair and throwing them into her room without another thought. “Do you want anything to drink? I only have coffee and vodka.”

Whenever Bailey tried sayin’ “fuck it”, it usually didn’t work out too well. Her car, completely destroyed and written off, was proof enough of that. She didn’t say it, though. Didn’t need to tell someone she’d known for a hot minute how depression—how her depression, at least—worked. Instead, she latched onto something else Grayson said. “You make clothes?!” She asked, grinning. Not surprised, now, that the offer had come up to fix her favourite sweater. Everything was starting to make a little more sense. The intrigue dampened her anxiety enough that by the time Grayson unlocked the door to her apartment, Bailey could look around in wonderment, not panic. 

It wasn’t messy by any means. A little empty, with boxes and suitcases scattered around the place. A mannequin in the corner. Bailey immediately crossed over to it, and the sewing machine on the desk. “This is so cool.” She said without a second thought. Traced her hands over the sketches on a design board, thoroughly impressed. “I was right before, y’know. You’re really talented.” Bailey was a musician, and artist—but couldn’t even draw a stick figure properly. This type of work she could appreciate. “Can I see some of the clothes you’ve made? Is... is that okay?” Bailey turned, looking at Grayson for the first time since they’d stepped inside her apartment. She shyly smiled over at her.

Vodka, this early, was a bad idea. It was a terrible idea in general. For a moment, though, Bailey considered it. “Oh, no, nah, I’m alright. Thank you, though.” She played with the sleeves of her sweater. “Do I need to... take this off?” It was only 60° Fahrenheit (max) outside, so she went light under the sweater. Only a bra and tank top. Her anxiety peaked again. Maybe she’d need that shot of vodka, after all.

Her tears seemed to double in amount, and Gale found himself staring awkwardly at his beer in his hand. The label was incredibly interesting during that moment, and he bit his bottom lip to try and hide his amusement, “It’s a movie, Bailey, and I don’t think it’s that old. Besides, didn’t they have pagers or whatever? Jesus, maybe we should put you on Tinder and see what happens.” Gale looked over at his friend, raising an eyebrow, “No…no, because no one is actually perfect. Besides, I ain’t – I’d hate it if they lied to me and then said they loved me.” He knew he was probably being a little too literal, but it was too late to take it back now. 

“Nah, I wouldn’t call myself that,” he murmured after a moment, looking over at her again, “but you must be.” Gale finished off his drink, pushing it away and ordering another one, “Ain’t no point when you put it that way. Upset you ain’t cuffed for the season?”

Yeah, yeah, it’s a movie. She’d heard it all before. “Your pager goes off and says ‘you’re perfect to me’. Hah. How would you respond?” She wasn’t lucky enough to have a pager when she was younger, so she didn’t even fully understand how they worked. It was a funny concept, at least. Bailey giggled while she cried. “No. No, no Tinder. People just wanna have sex on there.” She waved a hand, dismissing his suggestion. Sure, Bailey wouldn’t mind getting laid, but... She’d never done that before. Dating someone and liking them sounded like the better first option. Baby steps. She swivelled on her stool and squinted at him. “Of course no one is perfect but... Rose-coloured glasses? Ain’t that a thing?” Maybe he was right and she was a romantic, believing that love meant someone thought you were perfect. Or at least perfect for them.

He ordered himself another drink and Bailey followed suit, raising a hand and calling over the bartender for a new bottle of apple cider. “I’m just lonely. Lonely.” She enunciated. “What are you doin’ for the holidays?” She leaned her head on her hand, glancing over at him. Let him talk for a bit. Her head was still spinning and spinning. 

Ren was confused for a moment because of the question of whether she was visiting for the holidays or not – she didn’t look that out of place she felt like –, but then the woman complimented her accent and suddenly she understood the assumption. Sometimes she forgot that despite the over more than a decade spent living in the US, she still had her Hungarian accent seeping through everything and anything that she said.

(In Hungarian you were taught to say every single letter of every word out loud. It was so ingrained into everyone that when it came to learning another language, it was a struggle to unlearn it. It was a struggle for her during her school years in Austria with German, and it was a struggle with English too, making her pronunciation sound weird and thick. Her accent gotten a lot better over the years since she’s arrived to the US, but it was still there, still present, and probably would be forever.)

“Thank you,” Ren smiled at the waitress. “I’m originally from Hungary, but I’m not actually visiting, I live in town. I’ve been here for a decade now, actually, even longer in the US, despite the fact that it doesn’t feel that long at all. But I guess my accent gives me still away, huh?”

She gave the woman an appreciative smile. She wasn’t sure how long Lily would take, but she looked interested and hopefully Ren saw it correctly that she couldn’t choose because there were more things she would have wanted instead of couldn’t choose because she didn’t want to eat anything. Well, Ren really hoped that was the case at least. “Drinks would be nice, yeah. Two cokes—Coke will be okay for you, honey?” she quickly turned to Lily to check, and the girl nodded. “Yeah, two cokes, please, and that bread sounds amazing.”

Oopsies. She’d jumped the gun a little, too excited by the prospect of customers and activity and keeping busy for the last bit of her shift. “Oh, I’m sorry!” She wore the shame on her face; forehead crinkling. “I’ve never seen you two ‘round before, so I just assumed. Y’know, small town and all.” Bailey tried to explain, feeling completely embarrassed and stupid. The usual. “I still love the accent. What’s Hungary like? D’you go back often?” Questions to cover up everything else. Yikes. 

Coke and bread. Easy to remember. “Awesome, I’ll be right back!” Bailey awkwardly gave them a thumbs up and retreated back behind her counter. Yelled back at the cook to get some cheesy garlic bread goin’ while she grabbed two bottles of coke from the front fridge. With those in tow and a couple of plastic cups, just in case, Bailey walked back over to the mother and daughter duo. “Here you go. The bread should only be another minute or two. I’ll bring it back out.” She wiped her hands on her Domino’s apron, ‘cause that was something she saw waitresses do sometimes. “Have you decided on anythin’ else? I can come back.” Bailey asked, still smiling. Not wanting to be too pushy while still being positive and enthusiastic. 

The little girl was browsing her paper menu. Keeping the conversation light, Bailey said. “Got any plans for the holidays? Are you excited for Christmas?” It wasn’t the same, being older, with the excitement of the season long forgotten. Bailey wished she had something to look forward to like that again. She didn’t. That was half the problem, in her life. Getting some of that joy from a child, from hearing their elation over the holidays and the gifts and the food and the family time... It could do her some good. 

Two nights partying in a row? It wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t a good look. Hair of the dog. The Saturday before Christmas, what else was she meant to do? Her mother had the next six days on, doing shift work. Bailey seemed to sleep through it all—her Mom left early afternoon and came back at bedtime. She hadn’t seen much of the woman lately, it seemed, even living in the same house. With nothing to do but wallow around on the couch or crawl up under her covers, it was commendable that Bailey was leaving the house at all. Even if it was to do something as equally (if not more so) unhealthy by indulging in mood-altering substances like alcohol...

She switched up drinking joints. No Mama G’s, this time. Tonight was The Drink House and fancy cocktails instead of cheap apple cider. They seemed to work their juju faster, ‘cause before Bailey knew it, she was outside on the curb, cut off. She had her head shoved between her knees, trying to fight off the nausea. Mumbling nonsense under her breath. The security guard out front approached her and Bailey slowly lifted her head to greet him. “Hey, mister.”

          In more than one ways Bailey reminded her painfully of her older self. Before stumbling on Carlos and Belinda, Lisa had been a shy little thing— never truly sure of herself or of where she was standing, it took her a long time to stop being the shy flower on the wall and grow to be who she was now. Their relationship, albeit messy, had taught her Lisa a lot and made her earn a lot of self-confidence in return. Confidence she had taken right back to Morgan City with her and it was not surprising to see people noticing how much she had changed over the years. Bailey’s uncertainty pretty much matched her own, once upon a time.

          With raised eyebrows the red headed stopped middle sip and lowered her drink, “never?” she didn’t need to wait for a confirmation, because there was no trouble in understanding what Bailey was talking about. “That’s it, come here–” this time she stood up and pulled Bailey by the hand, swerving and maneuvering her body around people until they came to the female bathroom door, pushing inside and thanking God it was empty enough so she could lock it behind them. She turned the brunette to the mirror and stood behind her. “Has anyone ever told you how fuckin’ hot you are? I mean—” Lisa gripped her hips and then caressed her outer thighs, hoping she wasn’t exactly crossing any boundaries or making Bailey feel uncomfortable. “You know what I see when I look in the mirror? A fuckin’ beautiful woman who puts a lot of us to shame, your skin, your body, your eyes— everything is just beautiful, sweetie,” she grinned before going to hop on the sink for a seat, “you can have absolutely anyone you want— hell, if you weren’t so drunk, I would probably take you home myself.”

Oh no, this was what Bailey was afraid of. Before Bailey could repeat her answer and shame once more, Lisa had intertwined their fingers and started yanking her through the crowd of Mama G’s patrons til they reached the restrooms. She locked the door once they were inside, and for the briefest of moments, Bailey thought she was gonna get jumped. Why else lock the door? She’d been watching too much Netflix lately. It was giving her ideas. Lisa pointed her toward the mirror. Bailey didn’t want to look. Her eyes were a little puffy from crying, but the rest of her make-up miraculously remained intact. That was a plus, at least. 

Lisa was touching her waist, her thighs. Bailey tried not to read too much into it. A point was trying to be made, okay? Bailey shook her head. “You’re just sayin’ that...” She drawled, keeping her eyes downcast to avoid her reflection. Everything is just beautiful. She kept shaking her head, feeling sick. Like the alcohol was going straight through her body. “You’re just sayin’ that out of pity. You wouldn’t really...” Bailey said, trying to argue Lisa’s point. She cupped a hand over her mouth, eyes stinging, the nausea in her throat. “I need to...” She began, slow and small, so nothing else could spill out with her words. She turned to a bathroom stall and stumbled, falling down to clutch the toilet seat and hurl.

Iris hummed softly, her head bobbing from side to side at the mention of getting a break. While finals were upon her and soon she’ll have time to herself before the next semester begins, she wasn’t sure if she would truly get a break. There was still work to maintain her income and pay rent, there would be more free time for sure but Iris liked to keep herself busy and felt she needed to do so. “Well yeah, sorta I guess. I’ll have more time that I won’t have to drop too many shifts at Rita Mae’s cause of classes, and the dog walking scene kinda slows down during the holidays so yeah I guess I’ll have a bit more time to relax!”

Her eyes began scanning the dog park just to make sure the dogs she was looking after weren’t getting themselves into trouble before looking back at Bailey. She tilted her head to the side and gave her a curious look. “Yeah, for sure. What’s up?” she asked, wondering what she could want. Questions like this always made her kind of nervous, her mind couldn’t decide what the question would be and instead made her consider the worst case scenario just to be safe.

Even talking about it sounded insane. How did she ever have time for herself? Working all the time, in so many different ways... Even the thought of it made Bailey wanna crawl up in a ball and hide. “Are you celebrating the holidays this year?” They were only a few days out from Christmas. “I hope you don’t have to work or study. You deserve a break.” She deserved more than a little bit more time to relax. Not just for her own sake, but for the sake of Bailey’s self esteem. Please. 

“I was.... I just....” She wasn’t sure how to begin. There were a few questions on her mind. “Do you like it? Nursing?” She’d start off simple. To the point. Maisky was sitting between them, tail still furiously wagging against the grass. Bailey buried her fingers in his fur and took up a space on the ground to sit with her legs crossed. 

Her next question earns something inside him to stir. It’s one of those necessary questions that Ben usually avoided, mainly because he tried to convince himself that it wasn’t that important. Was being in love more important than paying the rent? Was questioning love more important than getting to work on time? Was love more important than his sobriety? The idea of love went hand in hand with the most detrimental parts of him, though he claims it’s a backseat scenario. So he shrugs, eyes searching her expression once more before he looks back over to his watered-down soda. “No, I haven’t.” Ben finally answers, and it’s as honest as he’s ever been. “Though I’ve never actively searched for it. Love in the romantic sense, I mean.” He always wants to say how it’s never truly mattered when booze was his one true love for so long. Which was annoyingly ironic, considering he’s sitting in a bar, and that might be the thing that makes him refrain from speaking on it. He also doesn’t want to make her more uneasy than she already is, so he stops himself. Ben inhales a little, turning to her again, “There’s also nothin’ wrong with wanting it, either. To be in love. I think we’re just used to believing that the desire for love is supposed to be this…terrible, painful thing when really it can be invigorating.” Ben wasn’t entirely sure if he believes his own sentiments or not, but they were a nice thought. It was refreshing to hear himself become so positive suddenly, as he’s spent so much time festering in his own intrusive, negative thoughts. 

When Maggie is mentioned, Ben’s face lights up. That’s where he knew her from. She’s also meant to be an enemy of sort, a Domino’s employee that could easily tarnish business for his place of work here in Morgan City. But knowing she was Maggie’s daughter eases the sudden need to ruin their conversation. She looked a little like her mother in small ways, both of them having that air of gentle beauty that made the beating organ inside of Ben’s chest rattle a little more than usual. “I do know you! Or, I know of you.” The man corrects himself with a nervous laugh, scratching at the side of his bearded face. “Your mom mentions you sometimes. She’s really nice and gives me the best strawberries.” Ben had needed Maggie’s kindness during this time in his life, especially as his family is more than reluctant to welcome him back in with open arms. It was understandable, but Ben wasn’t sure how he could ever come back from this even when they eventually do speak to him again. “It’s Bailey, right?” He asks, “I’m Ben but Maggie might have called me Berry around you, mainly because she knows my mother and my family too who only call me Berry, so..”

Maggie also knew of Ben’s issues with alcohol, which makes him believe that maybe Bailey knew too. The thought makes him a little anxious and suddenly their surroundings become louder than they were just moments ago. It’s like someone’s crawled into his mind and turned up his senses. Ben swallows hard, turning away from the bar now. “You maybe wanna get out of here? Not like, in a weird way, just to be somewhere else.” He laughs again, though it’s breathier this time, “Might be better for both of us, honestly. Better to contemplate love and all things when you’re not surrounded by drunken strangers.” 

“Now see, that doesn’t make any sense to me.” Bailey replied, almost automatically. Blame it on the alcohol. She motions to his face with her hand and drags it down to emphasise his body. “You’re a gorgeous lookin’ man.” And even if that was all surface, and not all there was to be desired, Bailey had more pointers. “You’re sweet. My Mom always talks about how sweet you are.” And here he was, consoling her over a shitty holiday rom-com. Ruining his night for her. She couldn’t count on a hand the amount of times someone had done that for her. That solidified how sweet he was, in her eyes. Bailey wasn’t actively searching for love, either. Not really. It was an excuse to tear herself down, to feel sorry for herself. To remind herself how unworthy and unloveable and terrible she was, inside and out. She’d gotten the speech before, too, plenty of times from her mother: love comes when you least expect it. Ben had the same sort of insight. Even in her drunken haze, Bailey nodded along, agreeing and hanging off every word he said. 

He smiled bright at the mention of her mother. It got Bailey to perk up, too. Her mother was the closest person she had in her life. Bailey understood his reaction. Appreciated it. Almost as if the way he felt toward her Mom could translate to how he’d feel about her, so they could become friends. Bailey needed friends. Bailey needed to be surrounded by people who cared and outwardly expressed that care. “You’re the only one who gets those strawberries, these days. She saves ‘em all for you. Nobody else is allowed to touch them.” It was a cute dynamic. Gardening was too exerting for her, personally. If she wasn’t so depressed and unmotivated, she might’ve helped her Mom out with it more. A chance to spend more time together. If only. “Yeah. Bailey.” He knew her name, that was something! She held her hand out for him to shake, ‘cause that felt like the appropriate thing to do. Awkward, but appropriate. “Berry. I like that.” She smiled. Berry must’ve been because of the strawberries, she thought. “Wish I had a nickname.” Couldn’t get much out of Bailey besides Bail... and that never sounded right.

Oh. Bailey blinked up at him. Not like in a weird way. Okay. “Yeah.” She said and swivelled around on her bar stool, ready to leave. “I could use some air.” Sober up. Stop being messy. 

This strange girl might just very well be Grayson’s undoing. Bailey was so unsure of herself, so quick to put herself down that she reminded Grayson of all the freshmen soccer players she used to play with. All she wanted to do was wrap them up in blanket burritos, put on a family Netflix movie, and make sure no one ever hurt a single one of them.

“Nah, just the two. I used to visit Shanghai a lot, you know when I was younger and had all the time in the world.” Grayson chuckled. “You should totally join me the next time! I’ll show you around the city; oh my god, there’s this place that makes the best chive dumplings.”

There was certainly enough room at her dad’s place for Grayson and Bailey – hell, if she wanted, she probably could have roped in a couple more stragglers from Mama G’s or something. In most cases, she didn’t believe in boundaries.

“Nobody? Listen, I’ve met you like what, five minutes, and I think you’re somebody. You like that canary sweater, right? Then you’re somebody who likes brightening up the world, thread by thread.”

Grayson pointed at the rundown apartment building across the street, a terrifying horror suddenly washing over her. “I might have some dirty laundry lying around. Please don’t judge me for it.”

Shanghai and New York City were still so far removed from what Bailey was used to. They were just movie sets, in her mind. Fantasies. Something she’d only ever see on a screen, or in prose or photographs. Before Bailey could ask more questions (when was the last time Grayson visited China?) she was met with a surprising offer. It was a casual invitation. Bailey wasn’t sure if Grayson said it seriously, or if she said it because it was simply something you said. “I wish!” Bailey exclaimed, caught up in the moment and excitement of it all. She didn’t even have a passport. Didn’t have the money to buy a new-old second-hand car, let alone a plane ticket. The idea was nice. Bailey was short of breath. “I can’t remember the last time I had dumplings.” She tacked on, scared of sounding too eager.

I think you’re somebody. Bailey kept her eyes on the pavement to keep herself from falling. To keep her small smile hidden. “I wish I saw the world that way.” The depression and her own myths and beliefs about life and the universe kept her jaded. Negative. She’d never be able to draw the same conclusion that Grayson did. At least, not for herself. “Thank you.” Bailey piped up. It was a beautiful thing to say, especially to someone she’d only known for five minutes.

They’d reached the apartment building. Grayson had to warn her about what she was walking into. Bailey chuckled and shrugged. “My entire house, inside and out, is a pig stye. It’s fine.” If anyone had the right to be judged here, in this situation, it was Bailey. Running off with a stranger ‘cause of her favourite sweater. “No judgement here. Scout’s honour.”