Supergirl's Mom

Patrick nodded about the journey. “I know, and I know that spending that whole journey looking in the rearview mirror never helped anyone.” He raised his brows about her word choice, but chose not to say anything about it. He gave her a little smile at the news that she was a decent artist. “I ‘spose decent pays the bills, doesn’t it? I’m pretty sure ‘abstract’ means it would go over my head.” Hollywood and Broadway weren’t exactly at the top of Patrick’s realms of knowledge, but he wasn’t completely clueless. “I’ve heard of people doing both, I think? Though I’d think you’d need a certain level of fame for that?”

With the amount of eye contact she was giving him, he wasn’t sure why she was looking at him like that, but he knew he wasn’t going to get through the rest of the night if he didn’t fully accept that Janice was just a little unique. He gave her a light chuckle as she attempted to start in on her ex-husband before passing the baton to him. “I’d probably put it differently, but I guess you’d say that she decided to let go of me, when I had no plans whatsoever to ever let go of her. You know that friend of theirs that you don’t quite trust, and no matter how much you’re told it’s nothing, you always have a suspicion it’s something, and you turn out to be right? Everyone likes to be right, but not when it’s about something like that. I guess I must have done something wrong in there somewhere that made someone else more appealing. Maybe I wasn’t good enough at all of the important stuff.” 

“Given everything, if it had been just she and I alone, I wouldn’t have wanted to reconcile anyhow, for my own selfish reasons. I just…both she and I were children of divorce, so I ‘spose the statistics won out on that one. I didn’t want my daughter to go through everything my siblings and I did growing up, after my old man left with some floozy. I wanted her to have a stable homelife, and yet here we are. I mean what kind of mother…” He shook his head and took a deep breath. “That was a mighty tangent, I apologize.” He took a sip of his wine to try to calm down before cutting into his steak as he looked to her with a curious grin. “So, tell me, which particular kind of asshole is your ex-husband?” 

Decent pays the bills. No. No, it apparently doesn't. Janice's real life relied on her daughter. In Janice's delusional world where she was an abstract painter, she could agree, and she did with a mirroring smile and another helping of water. She was drinking much more than she was eating, evident in how her plate was just as full as when it had been set down. "Not everyone gets it. You're not alone!" Just don't ask to see any paintings. Don't. "Oh! She's definitely going to be famous. Trust me. She's working on something right now. She thinks I'll blab to everyone if I know what it is, but it's big. I know it. As long as it's not a remake of Pretty Woman."

She felt like if she was going to take another drink she'd just turn into liquid in human-form. Finally, a fork was in her hand, flaking up the fish she ordered, wondering why she chose it; fish breath was not attractive in a kiss. She was resigned to it as Patrick told her about his ex. Half-way through it made her convinced that he was still attached. However long it had been since the marriage had ended, it didn't seem like it was long enough. Her skeptical side was showing slightly as she glanced over him before returning to her food.

By the second half, she could relate. Her parents had never officially divorced, but they should have. God, should they have. Having a daughter was another thing she could sympathize with, and not wanting to bring that into her world, too. By the end, she had taken several small bites, chewing slowly as he looked at her--it was her turn now. Her lips had to curve into an empty grin with her eyes rolling behind her closing eyelids. Taking a moment to pat her lips with her napkin, she laid it back down across her lap to gather her words.

"More or less the same kind as your wife...ex-wife," she corrected with a single wag of her finger, as if checking it off in the air before leaning back. "Except I don't know what rock she crawled out from and he's married to her, so..." Her lips spread into a wider smile with a sharp twist of her head, sardonic in nature to try to throw off the hatred. She had downloaded enough zen apps on her phone. You would think that would chip it down, but it hadn't made much of a dent when it came to this. "You know what? It sucks. It sucks a lot. I wanted to be...something, and he knocked me up. We did the right thing, got married, and what did it accomplish? Nada. Zilch. It's--" She huffed out her frustration, dabbing the corner of her lips with the tip of her tongue. This wasn't going well, at least not from her side of things. She felt much smaller than she was, shrinking, and she wasn't going to let it continue.

"You know what else sucks?" she went on with a brush of her hair behind her ear. "This fish. Like... W.T.F. How’s your steak?"

Patrick grinned. “I’ll happily own 45 then.” He didn’t know her well enough to vouch for her sanity, or lack thereof, so he just nodded. He had however questioned her quirkiness several times this evening. In his experience, people didn’t tend to show their true colors until after the first impression. So far, this night had been quite the rollercoaster. For example, he wasn’t sure what to think about how she had described her belief in fate, but he realized he had been the one to bring it up. “I ‘spose that’s true. If only that path wasn’t so winding at times.” 

He shook his head, though he took her evaluation of her home state as derisive, and wondered if that opinion covered the true South as well. “No, I’ve never been to Indiana, to the best of my recollection.” He smiled warmly though, at the way she laughed. Amid all of the awkwardness of this evening, it was a nice sound to hear. “I’d imagine painting gets pretty messy. Are you any good?” He shrugged when questioned about types of actresses. “I feel like this is going to be like me listing the art types again, but theatre or film, I’d guess?” He rolled his eyes about those that set them up. “I’m surprised you weren’t given my business card already. I’ve got to wonder how they described me.” 

“To pushy friends.” He agreed on the toast and reached to clink his glass against hers before he took a sip of his wine. He was grateful when a little while later their food arrived as well. He debated about what was proper first date conversation material, given their respective ages, so he floated a likely taboo topic out as a semi-joke. “Uh, so which date is it that we commiserate about our ex-spouses?” 

"Ah... yeah, it's real winding, for sure," she mused with a sigh before having her tone shuffle around. Shoot, be positive. It's all about positivity. "But, you know what? It's the journey. The journey to anywhere is going to have its twists and turns. You just have to let it ride, yo." 'The tip of her tongue dabbed at the corner of her mouth, as if trying too late to block the last word from reaching his ears. Slowly, she drew it past her lips instead, knowing its turn to hide it was long over and the time to embrace it was just beginning.

If only her actual life was as good as she made it sound, but what was Patrick going to do? Fact check immediately? Check under her fingernails for signs of paint chips or residue or whatever the heck leftover paint is called? She would be well rid of him if he even tried, so why would she continue with any other means than her little white lie? "I'm decent!" she grinned back at him, giving the right amount of pride and humbleness. "It's abstract, so you might not get it at first, but it's there. But for Eva, she's more of a film actress! She'd be so good on Broadway, but you make more money with film, so I'm not complaining."

Clinking her glass of water against his, she made sure to keep eye-contact. She had once heard a superstition that if you didn't it was a curse for the bedroom, which was something Janice couldn't risk, whether it was with Patrick or whoever else. As she took her sip, though, she had to force it down at the mention of her ex. Just the idea of him could wind her up. Her glass was set down as her head flipped up to shove the rest of the water down, wishing it was the bitter burn of the wine Patrick had. Giving a hollow laugh, she brought a smile to her face. "Oh boy, okay," she started before tilting her head at him, her eyes narrowing slightly with thought. "No. You go first. You brought it up so you go first." Her back leaned into her chair, making herself comfortable. "Who decided to let go of who?

Harrison had always liked Janice, had thought they had a sort of special bond, being the two outsiders who had married into the family. It wasn’t like he had ever put a lot of thought into it - they really only saw each other around the holidays - and it was only after the family had turned against him that he realized just much he had underestimated it; how much he had secretly hoped she’d feel it too, and stand by his side. He didn’t have a right to feel disappointed she didn’t, and yet somehow he was. 

“I, uh… do you need some help with that?” he asked awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot, but making no effort to stoop down at her level. He wasn’t sure he could handle it if she flinched away from him; he could barely handle the look of distrust in her eyes. 

How could Kenneth not have told her about his ex-brother-in-law? Had he just completely abandoned that like he did with everything else? A little warning wouldn't have hurt. Afterall, they had been married with a child once upon a time, and that time just so happened to be when everything with Harrison was fine..until it wasn't. It was right on the fringes of Janice's marriage collapsing that the murders happened. In some ways, it was the universe's way of giving yet another push for them to separate when Kenneth wanted to run from his problems more than anything.

God, what was she even doing now? She suddenly realized she had been staring at him, frozen in place with her purse still sprawled out against the cement. Harrison's hand was vaguely gesturing in its direction, tentatively just like his entire stance towards her. Did he offer to help? Janice's heartbeat had been in her ears, blocking out what he had said and apparently her short-term memory had been in the same boat.

"Ah.. No," she spoke as her hands yanked up the purse, grappling with it in the moment to get it back on her shoulder but eventually getting it to where she needed it to be. Some cards fell out in the process, but automatically her foot stomped on them to keep them in place. "Nope!" she repeated, regaining a sense of that usual pep, even if it was superficial. She stood like that for another moment, sharing the awkwardness. Adjusting the strap of her purse, combing her back behind her ear, shifting her eyes back to him, anything to fill the unbearable time. "Are you..." she began, trailing off before breathing in deeply. "Look, I'm not with Ken anymore. I don't have anything to do with them. So whatever beef there is, not with me, okay?"

Patrick grinned, shaking his head. “Uh, if you’d like to think I’m 45, go right ahead, but you might want to consider rounding up just a bit.” He gestured upward with his thumb. He laughed softly at her question. “’Kooks and nuts’? I ‘spose I never got close enough to quite know, thankfully. I told you no one really made an impression. Though, I’d wager someone else would say that’s because I didn’t give any of them a chance to make one.” His brows raised about the online dating. “I guess I don’t really know how you’re supposed to boil yourself down to statistics? Stats are good for sports, but not so much for dating, I’d imagine. Unless you’re looking for something specific, which seems like that’s asking for disappointment. I don’t know, maybe I’m just old-fashioned, and think things should be left up to fate.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t have any doubts about your strength. I’d characterize Indiana as being in the Midwest. Like I said, Southern girls are just going back to my roots, that’s all.” He grinned, touching on her previous logic when she said she had had her daughter when she was young, trying to put her at ease again. “Oh, was that also at 10?” He tilted his head curiously at her vague answer, probing for more. “What kind of art? Pottery? Painting? Photography? That could mean a lot of things. I’m sure I missed some art form, I can’t say I’m an expert myself.” His head tilted slightly. “I think Charlotte is a very pretty name, no need to change it, in my opinion. What kind of actress is she exactly?” He chuckled softly, wondering if the differences in the two of them were ultimately a good or bad thing. “I have to wonder what all you think go with ‘motorcycles and all that’. I own my own very small construction company. It keeps the lights on.” He was grateful when his glass of wine arrived, and he raised it toward her glass. “Is toasting on a first date a thing? If so, what should we drink to?” 

"I mean! You look good, so why not think forty-five is right? You don't want anyone to round up. Unless it's money, then sure," she teased. Her shoulders shrugged with her head swaying from side to side at his answer. "Eh... I get it. You don't want to be in too deep, but then you can be judgy and, you know, you can miss out, I guess. But hey, maybe you can know me, and I'll be the perfectly sane one." At her own words, she gave a laugh before she nibbled back on her lower lip. Her light eyes flickered back to him. "I completely believe in fate. Completely. We're all just on this giant path, and when the stars align just the right way, it's kind of like magic. Nothing can beat that." Not that she had much experience in the positive forces, but she kept her faith in it, or at least wrangled with it enough to keep it.

"Oh, you've never been to Indiana, then," she immediately spoke with another look, eyebrows raised and her head tilted with a curving smile. "It's an honorary southern state, trust me. You would feel right at home." Her nodding was stunted by the returned compliment, making her laugh like a small girl for a second. She came to a slow and sighing stop when it circled back to her non-existent work-life. The same one she had just lied about. Keeping a smile on her face, she answered. "Painting. It's really painting. I tried dabbling in other forms, but it wasn't for me. I think you named all the big ones, so don't be too hard on yourself!" Thank God, he doesn't know a lot about art. "Charlotte is a great name. We would call her Charlie, but she just wanted a change. Is there more than one kind of actress?" she asked with another laugh, probably some residual effect of her wine floating back. "Oh... construction. You're a very handy guy to have around. No matter what happens, I need your business card."

When the new glasses arrived, Janice took her water as Patrick raised his. "Hm, what about... pushy friends? That could be a new thing."

Patrick laughed softly about her assumption that he wasn’t a virgin, trying to steer her into less confrontational territory. “No, not for the last 35 years or so, thank you.” He genuinely grinned when she laughed, that was both a good sound and good sign. “I’ll admit I have good days and bad days, just like everyone else. My mouth has gotten me into trouble many times over the years. My fists too.” He considered her question about dating. “I’ve been thrown a few of these, what I consider to be, pity dates, but I haven’t met anyone that really made an impact or a connection of any kind. I think I’m a little saddle shy after my last go around in the arena. What about you?” Given her behavior since his arrival, and all what he could surmise had happened before it, his instincts told him she didn’t do a lot of this sort of thing.

He couldn’t help but be grateful once she’d removed the barrier of her menu. He nodded, with a small, knowing smile. “I’d say we get the ‘sorry’ look more often, probably. I was raised by a single mom, a lot of my life, and I’ve always been of the opinion that we men need women a lot more than women likely need us, in most cases. I like strong women, especially strong Southern women, but I’m not a stickler on that one.” He was grateful when the waiter came and took away the menus. He ordered a steak and a glass of Shiraz to try and begin to catch up with her pre-date imbibing, which was ultimately his fault.

He smiled warmly when her face seemed to light up when she spoke of her daughter. Now she was truly speaking his language. “How old is she?” He nodded. “A daughter, she’s ten going on much older than I’m currently comfortable with. I got started on the whole settling down thing sort of late in life. I ‘spose I could have a granddaughter not that much younger than her age instead.” He shook away that strange notion. “One might assume that you are divorced, and thus do something to support yourself, which might be…..?” He tilted his head curiously about her choice of profession.

"Thirty-five years," she repeated as her eyes briefly swept over him. "Oh my gosh, you lost your virginity at ten? Talk about early start." A small smirk was taken by a sip of the newly arrived water. How crazy was it to think that saying someone was basically forty-five was actually a compliment? Her head tilted at the thought before eyes focusing back on him. She wasn't about to admit that she was part of the pity party, but she could still relate to it. "So... do a lot of kooks and nuts come your way? Because that's always fun. Not." She gave a half-laugh before wetting her lips at the question. It wasn't too much of an issue of her being picky that was the result of her singleness. "Uhm... same? My last date was... eh.. a gigantic prick? Not at all like his profile." Oh, great, she just admitted to online dating, making her fingers thread through her ash blonde hair. "My daughter thought it'd be fun," she lied rather convincingly.

"We really don't need anyone," she confirmed playfully with a smile back. "And I am strong! But... the closest I am to being Southern is being from Indiana, and that's not too south." Honestly, she hadn't thought about her childhood in a long time. She wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. "Oh, she's--" she started to say about her daughter before straightening slightly at the age, which also was a reflection of her age, "she's twenty-four. I had her when I was young." By now, she was playing with the napkin with her free hand before laying it across her lap. She blinked at the age of Patrick's daughter. Was she the older of the two of them right now? To add to the weight on her shoulders, the question about her way of living made her go back to the Merlot to buy some time. A job? She internally scoffed and cringed at the same time. "I'm an artist," she finally spoke, pulling it out of thin air with another smile. "It runs in the family. Charlotte--well, she goes by Eva now because it sounds cooler--my daughter, is an actress. I guess I'm her muse. Go me. But how about you? You've got to be doing something to have motorcycles and.. all of the stuff that goes with that."

Patrick frowned at her statement, as that seemed to be yet another sign they were getting off on the wrong foot. “No, I wasn’t implying that you were, nor do I happen to think that, given first impression.” His brows raised in confusion at the second part of her sentence as she trailed off about going straight to bed. “No, I don’t know what you mean. You want to help me out there?” 

He studied her for a moment, trying to get a better read on her and the awkward situation they had found themselves in. He found it slightly irritating that she seemed to have a hard time deciding what she wanted. Even if he didn’t always agree with said decisions, he appreciated those who were decisive. He wasn’t quite sure if she was trying to be lady-like, health and/or price-conscious and he sighed softly.  “You should order whatever you really want. I’m not going to judge you based on what you choose for dinner. I like to think I’m a little less of an asshole than you’re probably thinking I am right now.“ He glanced at the wine list casually. “In my opinion, red is usually a better bet, depends on what you order though, I ‘spose.”

He was grateful for that small smile of hers, and he tried to steer them in a better direction. “Why don’t we order, and then you can tell me about yourself, in your own words? Though, I’ll admit, I kind of stopped listening to the pitch fully after the words ‘My wife and I really want to fix you up.’, my translation of that is that they feel sorry for me, or something, and his wife was the one pulling the strings. I really don’t think matchmaking is at the top of any of my friends list of hobbies.” He thought maybe that would make him sound sexist or similar, but he felt it to be the truth.  

Occasionally, Janice thought she could read other people's auras. If she happened to look in a mirror at her own, she would've been able to see something similar to a porcupine. Quills, once cute, were now puffed out defensively from nerves. "I'm just letting you know that I'm not," she tried to salvage, even if her tone tread on making a statement. The lacquer of red against her lips was wet as they pursed briefly. "How do you not know what I mean?" She looked him over, confused back, before readjusting in her seat. "I knew I should've worn amber," she muttered before facing him directly, riding a wave of forwardness. "We're not virgins here, okay? Well... I'm not.. You... probably aren't." This wasn't as saved as she would have liked it, but she continued, even if her eyes were straying away now. "Anyways, I've been there and done that."

The menu was acting as a barrier, shielding her from Patrick's looks, even if she could feel them. She never wanted this awkwardness. God, she could die from it. Hearing his words, though, made her breathe out a laugh. Somewhat exasperated and desperate, like a release, but an amused laugh nonetheless. "I don't think you're an asshole," she repeated the word with a sense of familiarity, no stranger to it. She peered over the menu at him. "When was the last time you were out with someone?"

Finally, the small booklet was folded slowly. She wasn't fully convinced she wanted to let go of something to keep her fingers busy, but she tested the waters. If Patrick was expecting her to be miffed by his words, he would be disappointed. "So, men can get that 'sorry' look, too. That's funny." She reached for her glass, but instead just had her tips rest on the stem for a moment as the waiter approached again to take their orders. Janice settled on something entirely different than her last two choices and requested a glass of water to drown out the Merlot. When he disappeared, she held up her end of Patrick's suggestion. "Hm..  Okay, well, I have a daughter," she started, instantly smiling. "She's awesome. So talented. And..." I'm her mom. There wasn't much Janice could think of adding for herself, as in her own accomplishments, her own life, her own little world away from her daughter. "Do you have any kids?"

This whole extremely awkward middle-aged starting over after divorce thing was part of the reason Patrick hadn’t dated very much lately. He was also cautious about what type of woman would potentially be a good role model for his daughter, Emma. His ex-wife had rolled smoothly from her affair into being engaged to the man with whom she had had said affair. The truth was, he wasn’t very happy about his ex’s fiance’s influence on their daughter, and he was trying to avoid a similar situation on his end of things. 

He shook his head about her seeing all of his tattoos, clearing his throat. “I think that’s more of a third date sort of adventure.” He listened to her as he studied the menu. “Bread might be a good idea though, since you got a head start on me. What looks good to you, and what are you drinking exactly?” He glanced at her. “I wouldn’t be so worried about what a waiter thinks, if I were you. It’s my fault you had to wait by yourself.” 

"I'm not easy." The statement rushed straight from her brain cells to her taste buds, instantly being taken aback by her own voice for a moment. It was her turn to clear her throat, but remained loyal to the essence of her thought. "I wouldn't go straight from this to the bedroom, if.. you know.." well, maybe she would, but her hand reached over to take another sip of wine to force that bit down. By the time she had pulled it away, thankfully the subject had momentarily changed. However, she had to give him a side-eye look when he mentioned bread. Was he being cheap? He was taking her as a cheap date just now.

Janice ran her fingers through her hair to flip the strands behind her shoulder before picking up her menu. Everything expensive had something to do with meat. Trying to be a vegetarian was much harder than it seemed like when she first attempted this... and failed and failed again. Who decided fish was a meat, anyways? It's not even comparable. "The ribeye sounds good," she half-lied, mostly hitting upon it just based on price. "And this," she glanced back at her drink, "is dealer's choice. I love wine but I know the difference between white and red, and that's about it. So.." if she wasn't dependent on her hands from having the menu fall on the floor she would've immitated that emoji her daughter used on her a few times with the hands up to shrug.

It was embarrassing to face the idea of being stood up. It seemed like Patrick at least wanted to address that, which made her look back at him. A slight smile was exchanged before dropping her eyes on the menu again. "Cheese tortelli might be a better choice."

Patrick laughed softly, echoing her words. “Cool.” He felt that perhaps he was coming off as more of an asshole than usual tonight, but he just couldn’t hold back the sarcasm for some reason. “I’d be very surprised and disappointed if there wasn’t food, as this is a restaurant.” He helped her with her seat before taking his own across from her once she’d situated herself. His eyes had followed her hand along her body as she’d smoothed her dress, but he didn’t voice anything else about it. Fashion wasn’t exactly his thing. 

He was highly amused at the way she had awkwardly worded her evaluation of him. Oh, you really have no idea how much of a bad boy I am. He shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve just been around long enough to know what I like and what I don’t.” He grinned. “Oh, I have a lot of tattoos. And I have a Harley in the garage at home. All that scandalous and salacious enough for you?” He glanced at her wine glass again. “Did you look at the menu yet? When you ordered your wine?” 

"Right..." Janice raised her head as the agreeing word flowed out, "because restaurants have food. Wild." She prayed that her laugh didn't sound as awkward as she felt. For some reason she felt like she was missing her usual stride. Blaming it on the wine was mostly a crutch to lean on when the truth had something to do with her dating scene lacking in the recent years. She just had to put herself out there more. The idea didn't seem particularly hard with Patrick's face now known.

Arms lightly folded, she leaned forward against the table as he spoke, taking interest in his answer. He exuded confidence. From the way he spoke to the entertained look, it all felt like a challenge to her, making her eyes narrow in acceptance. "I'd have to see all those tattoos first to see if it's enough," she shrugged back, pleased with herself for the first time tonight. "I went right for the wine," she admitted as she reached over for her menu that she had all but forfeited to the waiter. "Are you going to let me drink alone? If you do, I'm going to look like the alcoholic of the two of us.."

Patrick tried very hard not to laugh at her display as she clumsily rose from the table and managed to tone it down to a very amused grin. “Hi there. Yeah, that’s me. It’s nice to see and meet you too. Uh, I made the mistake of trying to look presentable, and lead foot or not, traffic and I got in an argument. I didn’t put the number they gave me for you in my phone, I don’t know why. So, I apologize. I hate people who are late and rude and who make excuses. So, color me a Grade A hypocrite.“ 

He’d perhaps underestimated how nice of a restaurant this was, and he cursed his friend silently, though in the back of his mind he realized he should have made the effort to do his own research. Dark wash jeans and a black button-up, sans tie, beneath his trusty leather jacket didn’t seem to compare to how she looked. “That’s quite a dress you’ve got there. Would the two of you like to sit? I could hold your wine glass for you, make sure it doesn’t escape?” He hoped she could see that he wasn’t laughing at her, but was trying to help put both of them at ease. 

She might have been of questionable sobriety, making her easy to please, but Patrick's look made her bubble with soft laughter. "Pft, it's cool," she waved off casually, trying to sound younger than reality gave her. "You're here. I'm here. There's food..." her grin spread as her head tilted towards her glass, "there's wine. We're good to go." Her hand was tempted to form a thumbs up, but thankfully she hadn't had the amount required to go through with it, making her palm simply reroute to smooth down her dress. It gave her a boost when the outfit was actually noticed instead of just her movement against it. Another flattered laugh left her lips before tucking a few strands behind her ear. Mentally, she was sixteen right now.

"Thanks. It was on sale," she replied as she sank down to her seat. That was unneeded information. Now, he'll think I'm destitute. "You look like a bad boy--as in, that's what you're going for," she quickly attached. "I'm not trying to sound like a sex chat. You just... look that way, you know? With the leather jacket and the beard.--You're a tattoo away from being my mother's worst nightmare."

Patrick abhorred the idea of being fixed up, but he had a few well-meaning friends and co-workers that were eager to ‘help’ in that department after his divorce. Blondes weren’t usually his type, but he’d spent time than he’d wanted to waste, only half-listening to his friend extol the supposed virtues of this woman. He tried to be a gentleman, and he didn’t want to be rude and turn down the date. He’d thought it best that he ran home, cleaned up and changed into something more casual after work. It just figured that he’d run into traffic on the way back and was late, which was a decidedly bad start. He had scoped out the room, spotting the blonde and approaching her from the side. Did she go by Jan? No idea.  “Janice?” 

She began the evening by sitting like a proper lady. Her hair was done as perfectly as she could master with a curling iron; she had smoothed out her little black dress; and she had put an effort into her make-up. Now, after having to tell the waiter twice that she wasn't ready to order food and to only bring wine to appease him and remove his pitying eyes, the blonde's elbow was propped up on the table with her palm cradling the side of her face. Her fingers sprawled through her hair while the strands dangled from her playing Candy Crush on her phone. She despised this game, but it was so hard to give up when she was stressed. She had been stood up. She sucked. "Why were there so many freaking jelly beans?" she muttered under her breath before the unknown voice snapped her attention up. "Hi!" the word came out automatically as she stared up. He wasn't bad. At all. She shook off the shock quickly as she stood up, thinking it was the right thing to do at the time until nearly knocking over her drink in the process. "Crap," she hissed as she stabilized it, only losing a drop. A wide grin spread as her face turned back to him. "Ha.. yep! Janice. That's me. You're Patrick. Good loo-- seeing you." How many servings of wine did she get served?

When was the last time she had been on a blind date? The question she posed to herself made her eyebrows arch as she searched for the answer. Kenneth? Her lips curled around the rim of a wine glass to drown the name from her mind. That worked out so spectacularly. Whatever. This was better than sitting at home, slow dying with air-puffed pita chips in front of the soft glow of the tv. Well, maybe. He hadn’t even shown up yet, so maybe those stale little triangles were better than she gave them credit for.

schrodingersowen:

important headcanons to consider:

can they use chopsticks :: Nope.

what do they do when they cant sleep :: She’ll just face-plant into her pillow and hope it works. If it doesn’t, she’ll think it’s because of her dreamcatcher, so she’ll fiddle with that.

what would they impulse buy at the grocery store :: All the tabloid magazines.

what’s their coffee order :: Green tea frappuccino (no whipped cream)

what sort of apps would they have on their smartphone :: Fashion Police app, America’s Got Talent, Tinder, Yoga and meditation apps

how do they act around children :: She’s not as good with children as Eva is but she’s pretty entertained. She may or may not ask about their father because maybe he’s single.

Eva: WAIT. WHAT. HE MARRIED EMORY?

Eva: TELL ME EVERYTHING

Mom: They had their honeymoon in Monte Carlo. It's all in the globe. I skimmed it. You weren't in it and didn't see the point

Mom: How can anyone pay 30k for a room? More like MONEYMOON😆