Work Text:
The first Friday in December is nearly identical to the eight Fridays that came before it.
Allison gets home from work just after six, her skin tacky with sweat from being jammed in a packed subway car for half an hour, hair damp from the snowflakes that have started to fall from the dark sky. As soon as she steps inside, she starts tugging off her winter clothes, leaving them piled in a heap on a chair in her small kitchen.
She strips out of her work clothes, drops them into her laundry hamper, and immediately pulls on another outfit, one a little more glamorous than the dark suits and printed blouses she wears to the law firm she spends her days at. She swaps out her earrings, puts on a fresh coat of mascara, stops in the kitchen only long enough to scarf down a banana, and ventures back into the cold evening, trench coat belted tightly around her waist to keep out the worst of the cold.
She takes the subway three stops and steps out into an entirely different district, all bright neon signs and honking cabs and lines of people stretching around the block. She bypasses the first two lines and stops at the third, which is considerably shorter. She's been to this place four times so far, and it's her favorite of all the bars and clubs she’s dropped into. It's not absurdly high-class or exclusive, but it's quieter. The lights are brighter and warmer, the drinks aren't as pricey, and it's usually not so crowded, probably because it's not a favorite spot for visiting celebrities.
But while it may be one of her favorite environments to kill a few hours in, it’s failed to help her meet someone.
When she'd accepted the job offer that brought her to the city, she hadn't thought twice about moving to a place where she knew absolutely no one. She figured that she’d have her coworkers, and she'd always been great at making friends when she'd moved around as a child.
But her coworkers had remained exactly that. They were all pleasant enough, but they were distant, caught up in their own lives. For the first few weeks, she'd been too busy to even think about finding friends outside of work. There was her apartment to unpack and decorate, family and friends from back home to keep updated, long days at the office to put in, landmarks and districts to explore. But once the weather turned cold and she began to properly settle in, she spent most nights sitting in front of her laptop or television, binge watching shows and movies until she fell asleep.
The feeling of isolation grew steadily in the back of her mind until one day, while she was cooking pasta for a late dinner, the sheer weight of it dropped onto her shoulders like a lead blanket.
She briefly thought about trying a dating app of some kind, but that wasn't exactly the kind of relationship she was looking for, and all of her previous experiences with that kind of thing were laughable at best, horrifying at worst.
So instead, she turned her pasta off, dug into her closet, and instituted her new routine.
So far, it's proved to be useless. None of her bar conversations have gone beyond painful small talk. Instead of being a way for her to make new acquaintances, every outing has just devolved into her wasting money on drinks, going home after four hours, washing off her makeup, taking an aspirin for her headache, convincing herself she won't do it again, and then repeating each step the next Friday.
She thinks tonight might be the last time. It's getting too cold to be going out, and her method obviously isn't working. Maybe her time would be better spent combing through the newspaper for events to attend, or finding somewhere to volunteer.
At the very least, that would be cheaper on her wallet.
She's four people away from the front of the line when a high-pitched ringing starts pouring from the door of the bar, overwhelming the faint sounds of music and laughter. The bouncer disappears inside for only a moment before he comes back outside and hollers at the top of his lungs.
"There's a fire in the kitchen! Please move to the other side of the street."
A collective groan rises up from the rest of the line, but Allison simply sighs and steps away from the bar, crossing the road before she's swallowed up by the departing crowd. There are lots of other bars and clubs scattered up and down the street, but she strides past all of them, heeled boots kicking through the fluffy snow that's accumulated on the sidewalk.
If there's a clearer sign that she should try some other method of making friends, or maybe just give up entirely, she can't think of it.
On her way back to the subway, her stomach starts rumbling, and she sighs again, glancing around at her surroundings. There's food back at her apartment, but she definitely not in a cooking mood. There are a few fast food joints nearby, but there's also a small diner on the corner ahead of her, glass windows bathing the sidewalk in soft yellow light. Booths line the other side of the glass, and the place looks surprisingly empty considering the time of night and the heavy foot traffic on the street. Allison beelines towards the door; even if the menu isn't the greatest in the world, she could really use a cup of coffee.
It's toasty inside, and the television bolted above the service area is playing a basketball game at low volume. A number of the stools marching along the curved counter are empty, and Allison takes one far away from the door, so that a draft doesn’t wind along her legs.
She orders coffee to start and flips through the menu, which is marked by tears and discolorations. She's just taken her first sip and decided what to order when the stool beside her rattles as someone perches on it. She automatically glances over and ends up making eye contact with a woman around her own age with vibrant strawberry blonde hair streaming down her shoulders.
"This may seem like a strange question," she says, glossed lips curved in a smile small, "and you are more than welcome to say no. But would you like to eat with us?" She waves a hand in the direction of the booths lining the front wall, and Allison glances back over her shoulder. The booth directly behind her is occupied by a young man with dark hair who seems preoccupied by his phone, but he suddenly glances up and smiles wide, crinkles forming at the corner of his eyes.
"Have we met before?" Allison asks with a slight frown, twisting back around to face the woman, who shakes her head.
"No. But you look lonely, and I know what that feels like. Both of us do. But, again, feel free to say no. If you say yes, you can leave at any time." Allison averts her gaze into her inky cup of coffee, pondering the proposition. It's certainly unexpected, and she's more than a little wary about other possible motives that the woman and man could have. But she's in a well-trafficked, public area. If anything goes wrong or if warning bells start going off in her head, she’ll retreat.
Even if it turns into nothing, good or bad, at the very least, she can tell herself that she tried something different, something totally outside of her routine.
"Sure," she finally says, tossing her coat over one arm and gathering up her cup of coffee. "Why not?" The woman smiles wider, revealing two rows of straight white teeth, and slides off the stool.
"Perfect! I'm Lydia."
"Allison."
It takes four steps to cross from the counter to the booth. Allison joins Lydia on her side and once she's rearranged her things, the young man reaches his hand across the table.
"Hey. I'm Scott."
She gives her name again and briefly shakes his hand. Before she can say anything else, the waiter appears beside the booth, and the three of them order. Once the waiter disappears back towards the kitchen, Allison speaks up, cutting off the inevitable awkward silence before it gets a chance to sink in.
"Do you two do this often? Invite total strangers to eat with you, I mean."
"Once in awhile," Scott says with an easy shrug and a slightly crooked smile. "I usually let Lydia handle it. She's better at knowing if someone wants to be left alone or if they're looking for company. I think she might be a little psychic."
"I'm not psychic," Lydia says with a roll of her eyes, although the smile on her face indicates she's not wholly bothered. "I just know how to read people."
"Well, I'm still waiting for you to teach me." He leans forward onto the table, clasped hands resting just to the left of an old ketchup stain, and addresses Allison again. "Are you okay with this? You can leave whenever you want."
"I'm okay," Allison replies. "Really. You're basically the first people I've talked to in months that aren't my co-workers."
"I know that feeling," Scott says. "When did you move here?"
&.
By the time their food comes, they've settled into a conversation that, while not effortless, moves along fairly smoothly. Allison has found out that Scott and Lydia have been in the city for five years and living together for three. They met when Lydia had to rush her dog to the emergency veterinary clinic that Scott was working at and, apparently, there was no coming back from that. Both of them are very into volunteering; environmental groups for Lydia, animal rescue organizations for Scott, LGBTQ rights for both of them. They offer to give her the names and contact information of some of the associations that they work with, and Allison gratefully accepts.
She isn’t sure which organization she wants to contact first but, at the very least, her weekends won’t be so boring anymore.
Allison tells them a little bit about herself; where she works, the general area that she lives in, some of the bars she’s tried meeting people in. When she tells the name of the place she planned on visiting earlier, both of them burst out laughing. Although Allison immediately tenses, one glance at their faces, at the fond looks they’re giving each other, is enough to silence the thought that they’re mocking her.
“We went there on our third-”
“Our fourth,” Lydia interrupts, popping a blueberry from her pancakes into her mouth.
“Our fourth date,” Scott continues. “As soon as we stepped on the dance floor, the fire alarm went off.”
“Fire in the kitchen?” Allison grins.
“Fire in the kitchen,” Lydia and Scott say simultaneously before breaking out into more laughter.
“So you’re saying I should probably steer clear of there from now on?” Allison asks, raising her eyebrow.
“Definitely,” Lydia replies. “If you really want to keep hitting up bars, we can give you a list of some that don’t get a weekly visit from the fire department.”
“Actually,” Allison says, “I think I’m going to take a break from bars for awhile.”
She’s amazed at how truly she means it.
&.
Once they’ve all polished off the rest of their food, they split the bowl of fruit that came with Allison’s breakfast platter; Scott takes the pineapple, Lydia the orange segments, and Allison keeps the berries. It’s the largest meal she’s had in months, and she feels like she could just slump over in the booth and nod off.
That is, if it wasn’t for Lydia sitting beside her. Allison’s pretty sure falling asleep on someone is only okay after months of friendship, and it’s possible that she won’t see Lydia or Scott again after they part ways.
She hopes that isn’t the case. After finally having dinner with someone else, eating alone seems completely overrated.
After they pay, they leave together. The sidewalks are now covered in a thick layer of snow, with still more falling from the sky. By morning, it will all be a trampled mess of brown slush, but it looks lovely now, sparkling under the streetlights.
“Wow,” Scott says, tilting his head back towards the sky. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” Lydia says, tugging a woven headband down over her ears and turning to Allison with a soft smile. “Do you want us to walk you to the subway?”
“It’s okay,” Allison replies. “I think I’ll be able to make it home.” She has a butterfly knife and a can of mace tucked into the inside pocket of her coat, just in case someone decides to try and test their luck with her.
“I have an idea,” Scott says, fumbling his phone from the pocket of his jacket. “Do you want to add your number? I can text you so you have mine, and you can let us know when you get home safe.”
“Or if you want to go out for dinner again,” Lydia adds and, for a moment, Allison thinks that she sees an honest to goodness flush stain Lydia’s pale cheeks. Allison quickly ducks her head, warmth rushing into her own face, as she takes Scott’s phone and flips to the contacts menu.
“I’d really like that, actually,” she says quietly, and when she looks up, the crinkles around Scott’s eyes are back in full force.
“Agreed,” he says after glancing at Lydia, and his smile grows larger, bright as the moon on a clear night.
Allison doesn’t want to be presumptuous, doesn’t want to get her hopes up too far in case everything comes crashing back down, but she thinks that the bar’s kitchen catching fire might truly be the best thing that’s happened to her in the last few months.