#wmw23

Honestly, she had expected something more…fancy for tonight's festivities, not this club-bordering-on-dive-bar that Kate Kane has selected. But this is Mary's favorite sister and maid of honor they're talking about, so Ryan will wisely keep all such thoughts to herself tonight.

(Even the fact that this is the strangest turnout for a bachelorette party she's ever seen).

Mary comes stumbling (read: banging) out of her stall. “We should do shots,” she gasps, as if this is an epiphany she's just had and not a repeat of the very first sentence she'd uttered when they arrived.

“Sure,” Ryan agrees, and waits patiently as Mary joins her at the sinks.

“And we'll save one for Sophie.”

Sophie Moore is the only elusive bridesmaid that Ryan has yet to meet. Not the last to arrive, though; Kate hasn't even deigned to show up yet. Only Alice—Mary's other sister—is waiting for them back at the bar. Truth be told, Ryan isn’t quite sure what to make of her. Alice always makes snide comments about Ryan's clothes and always, always seems to undercut Mary's fun with snark, but Mary tends to excuse it. She likes to fall back on the fact that Alice has become somewhat of a bitter person since her soulmate died; Ryan might not understand since she's never met her own soulmate, but she's pretty much of the ideology that nothing excuses being an asshole.

Kate Kane not showing up to her sister’s bachelorette despite picking the location trumps all of that tonight, though. Mary hasn't said anything about it, but Ryan has already decided she'll glare at Kate all night to make up for it.

“So who is Sophie, again?” Ryan remembers to ask as they squeeze out past the bathroom line and back into the deafening bass of the club.

“My dad’s favorite child,” Mary has to half-shout. “He was seriously devastated when she and Kate broke up.”

“Wait. One of your bridesmaids…is your sister’s ex?” Ryan says, bewildered. “Isn’t that—I don't know. Kind of awkward for them?”

“Aw, no, we love Sophie. And she and Kate are cool! Trust me, you'll love her.”

The topic of Sophie is quickly forgotten by the time they rejoin Alice at the bar for another round of tequila shots. Three shots in, Ryan is finally feeling a warm buzz, and she's loose enough to allow Mary to drag her into the crowd to dance. (Alice is there too, but she can ignore that.) She can even ignore the music, which has been a strange mix of either 90’s hip-hop or weird 70’s disco. 

“You think the DJ takes requests?” Ryan turns to yell at Mary, but she ends up shouting this at a complete stranger behind her instead—a very pretty complete stranger, whose brown eyes grow impossibly wide as she catches the question.

“Oh my God, Sophie!” Mary is suddenly catching said stranger into a frantic, tipsy hug. “Ryan, this is—oh my God this is my song! Alice! This is my song!”

Ryan fondly watches Mary drag Alice into an one-sided hug, swaying them back and forth to “Stayin’ Alive,” and knows in an instant that anyone sober will absolutely not survive tonight; she takes pity on Sophie Moore and leans in to close enough to say,

“Hey, I’ll go get you a drink!”

She carefully extracts herself from the throngs of sweaty dancers, all too grateful to escape, and nabs a seat at the somewhat-quieter bar. The bartender is high in demand tonight, but he still makes time to toss over his shoulder, 

“What can I get you?”

“Two shots of Patron,” Ryan says, fishing for a twenty from her wallet. The one perk of this place is cheap enough drinks that otherwise would have cost her twice the amount. 

He nods at her, harried, and Ryan leans her arm against the sticky wood to wait. She casts a curious glance back to where Mary might be, but is surprised when she sees Sophie instead, walking over with a strange look on her face.

Ryan tilts her head questioningly, but is not kept in suspense long; Sophie comes to a resolute stop before Ryan, wringing her hands together, before she speaks. 

“This,” Sophie says, “is officially the weirdest night of my life.”

Well Ryan can officially second that thought, because those words might as well have been imprinted in her mind. That is her soulmark. That means Sophie Moore, the fabled ex of Mary’s sister, is her soulmate.

“Wait,” Ryan says, “are you—?” She is holding out her arm in a second, and Sophie is matching her pose. Sure enough, there are the words you think the DJ takes requests right on Sophie’s wrist. “Well shit.”

For a moment, all they can seem to do is stare at each other. Sophie is, impossibly, even prettier up close. Perfect eyebrows, heart-shaped face, parted lips in open surprise; she is simultaneously everything and yet nothing like Ryan anticipated.

“I was not expecting this,” Sophie says, her brow crinkling in distress. “Fuck, I almost didn’t show up today. It’s a goddamn miracle I even—” She pauses. “I didn’t get your name.”

Ryan would laugh, if she weren’t equally as shell-shocked. “Ryan,” she says. “I’d ask how you know the bride, but…”

Sophie winces. “Right,” she mumbles. “You can imagine why I wasn’t crazy about showing up.”

“Oh you’re good, Kate never even came,” Ryan says unthinkingly, and immediately wonders if she’s said something wrong by the way Sophie eyes her strangely.

“She’s…actually the DJ,” Sophie informs her. “She plays the last Saturday of every month here.”

“Damn,” Ryan blinks, “and here I thought she was just a flake.” She is slightly relieved to know Kate did not abandon Mary, but still: “Hold on, did she seriously throw a bachelorette party for her sister at her job? That’s kind of…”

“Shitty?” Sophie finishes knowingly, and this time, Ryan does laugh. Thankfully Sophie does too, a kind of sheepish, shared understanding of the situation.

“Well, Mary’s having fun at least,” Ryan says. “And Alice hasn’t murdered anyone, which must be a new personal record, or something.” A flash of movement to her right momentarily distracts her—the bartender has finally had a chance to pour the shots, and Ryan hands them off to Sophie. “Here. I think you need both of these.”

Sophie’s expression twists, ever-so-slightly, into trepidation. “Thanks,” she says, slowly easing into the first, and then grimacing and shooting back the second once the first seems to hit. “God, I haven’t had tequila in forever. That’s vile.”

“Really? I even sprang for the good stuff,” Ryan says, shifting over so Sophie can join her in leaning against the bar.

“I’m more of a vodka girl, I guess,” Sophie sighs, and takes the unspoken invitation to move closer.

There is something thrilling about it, to have a soulmate. Ryan knows, logistically, that she has always had one. But meeting her—seeing her—is something different, and Ryan is inexplicably on the edge of her seat. Her stomach is somersaulting, her heart is hammering, as if the mere proximity of Sophie Moore is a drug.

“This is weird,” Ryan feels the need to announce. Or at least, her mouth certainly seems to think so, already one step ahead of her head. “Does it feel weird to you?”

“I think,” Sophie says slowly, “if it didn’t feel weird, then that would be even weirder. If that makes sense.”

“It does,” Ryan says. Her arm is brushing against Sophie’s ever so often, and Ryan feels herself itching to close the distance altogether. “Everyone used to make fun of my soulmark, you know. They’d say I was going to be the worst date.”

“That couldn’t have been worse than being told ‘maybe you’ll meet your soulmate today’ at every single event where there was a DJ,” Sophie muses. “That was only, oh…every single party in existence.” 

Ryan pauses to consider this. “Okay, you win.”

Sophie smiles with the corner of her mouth, and she gazes at Ryan from under those long, pretty eyelashes, and yeah—Ryan’s a goner. Shit. This really could not be the worst time to meet her soulmate. She always imagined something more romantic, like standing in the rain while meeting eyes. Or bumping into each other in a nice restaurant, hands brushing against each other in a lucky accident. Or, really, anywhere that does not have drunkards screaming along to YMCA while the scent of spilled rum lingers in the air.

“Should we go find Mary?” Sophie asks. “She’s probably going to be looking for us.”

“Maybe, yeah,” Ryan is reluctant to agree. But when Sophie takes a solitary, expectant step, all Ryan knows in that instant is she doesn’t want to go back. “Unless…we could get out of here. Walk around, get some tacos until they’re done here.”

Sophie’s smile melts into something gentler. Something curious. “Kind of like a date?” she prompts.

“It…could be.”

There’s a split second where Sophie sways right into her again, so close their faces almost touch when she leans down. Her breath is warm against Ryan’s ear when she whispers apologetically, “I think we might be even shittier friends than Kate if we ditch Mary.”

“Right. No, that makes sense,” Ryan is loathe to admit. “Especially if we leave her with Alice.”

“Exactly.” From the way Sophie suddenly frowns, it’s clear she must be remembering her own sour encounter with Alice. “But, um, if you’re not doing anything next weekend, my friend is kind of getting married…maybe you’d like to be my plus one?” There’s a hint of shyness in the way she shifts back, in the way her gaze darts anxiously over Ryan’s face, and Ryan’s lungs burn with her ensuing rush of relief.

Hell, Ryan even manages a joke of her own, just about ready to bite through her bottom lip in an effort to keep a grin at bay. “You know,” she says, “I think I can manage that. We might even be going to the same place now that I think about it…”

“Wow,” Sophie plays along, her gaze soft and undeniably hopeful, as they melt back into the crowd together. “Talk about a coincidence.”

Or fate, Ryan thinks, but the words go unsaid; they settle instead in their linked hands, in the shared glances they exchange the rest of the night, in the way neither is willing to say goodbye when 2 A.M. rolls around.