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Julia’s eyebrows arched in surprise. This woman looked like she dined on salmon and asparagus, not greasy bar wings smothered in a questionably red sauce. She looked like bottomless mimosas during Sunday brunch on a still lake, wind gently tousling her hair–like early morning runs on the beach, invigorated toes squishing into silky smooth sand.
“I never claimed they were good,” Julia quipped, eliciting another laugh from the woman. The sound rolled off her tongue like liquid satin, and Julia couldn’t help the half-grin that appeared on her face.
“Is it for the bartender? He’s been shamelessly winking at these ladies since I arrived!”
“Oh, God, no!” Julia gasped at her own reaction, her hand instinctively rising to cover her mouth in mortification. She raised her glass to her pinked lips, the liquor warming her chest as it settled in her belly. “I’m sorry,” she started again, “that came across wrong. Greg is as gay as the day is long. He just winks at the ladies to get bigger tips.”
Greg slid down the counter, Julia completely unaware he was eavesdropping, with a fresh bottle of chardonnay. He gently tipped it into the woman’s glass.
“Oh, you know it!” He grinned, his white smile reflecting back at them. “No woman can resist a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy winking at her while keeping the drinks flowing!”
Suddenly Julia felt a pang of panic. Had she said too much to this stranger? Some people you can’t tell what’s too far, what lies past the line of comfort for casual conversation. Julia watched as she chuckled, her hand covering her mouth as she nodded thanks to Greg. Relief flushed through Julia’s body like a sprinkling rain, dampening her palms at the same time.
She brought the glass of wine to her rosy lips again, leaving a smudge of lip gloss as she pulled away. Even in the muted light that enveloped her, her skin radiated a glow like the sun refracting off a freshly fallen snow. Julia didn’t realize just how beautiful she was until that very moment, and she had to forcefully pull her attention back to the drink before her.
“And that is why you keep this place filled regardless of the day of week.” Julia smiled, taking another sip and not realizing she already reached the sticky bottom of the glass.
“I’m Erin, by the way,” she said softly, leaning towards her just slightly. The quietness of her voice forced Julia to meet her halfway, just to hear.
“Julia.”
Pulled in by the magnetic pull of Erin’s words, the world around them faded to a distant hum. Greg discreetly slipped away to the other end of the bar, leaving them both in their own private sphere.
Julia’s gaze followed the graceful lines of Erin’s cascading hair, her eyes tracing the contours of her collarbone peeking through the V-neck of her shirt. With each movement, Erin’s black heels clung to the edge of the stool.
Julia sat there wondering why in all the open seats in the entire room, she chose to sit next to her. She stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the middle-aged men in flannel, leather toting bikers huddled in the corner, as well as the out-of-place college students wearing neon cocktail dresses. Somehow, they seemed to fit within the scenery of that bar; a respite for the peculiar, a haven for the weary, for those who don’t quite fit in anywhere else.
If one were to look close enough, they’d see that on the exposed beams behind the bar are old pictures tattered at the edges; snapshots of the original owner and his many sons and daughters, all who passed through those same squeaking hardwood floorboards. Dust clung to cards of friends and family–full of thank yous, love yous, screw yous–pinned in front of and behind local newspaper clippings.
It seemed to be the last bar in the city to keep its old town charm, to be a family to fall into when you’re left in the dark. A hidden gem in the rough. The last “mom and pop” pub in a world full of sky risers. Even in the oddity of random license plates nailed to the sheetrock kissing the ceiling, old Coca-Cola glasses lining the shelf above half empty liquor bottles, the smell of beer on every surface, it’s a place of comfort for so many.
Suddenly Julia felt out of place in her work clothes; they were far too business-like for the location, not quite in between the casual drinkers and twenty-somethings in far too tight clothing. Usually she stopped in on a weekend or a Friday night after work, always after she changed into something comfortable.
But right now, tan linen pants cascaded over her thighs, resembling a skirt as she settled into her seat. Her periwinkle blouse was askew, partially still tucked in, and partially tousled from a hectic day of running around. One spot right on her chest was still a little wet from where she tried to blot out a coffee stain from earlier that afternoon.
She was sure she looked like the mess that she felt like on the inside. The weariness of the day always settled beneath her eyes, halos of brown bags only highlighted by faded mascara. But in reality? She looked like a tired woman with far too much to bear, worn and relatable in every way.
Her long blonde hair was thrown into a bun, little wisps of wavy hair escaping from the sides and framing just right over her dangling crystal earrings. She absorbed such a relief after pulling her hair up after a long day at work, as if it lifted something off of her shoulders for the time being–one less burden to bear.
The odd thing was, somehow, she looked like she belonged next to Erin, as if they emerged from the same world and that realization helped her shoulders to settle just a little more.
“Have you ever been here before?” Julia asked, a sad attempt to hear that satiny voice again.
Just as the words escaped her lips, she realized Erin already said she hadn’t. There was something about the attention that young woman demanded, the kind that pulled your eyes even in a crowded bar. Julia couldn’t help but stumble over fumbling thoughts. When was the last time she had a personal conversation?
“No.” Erin’s emerald eyes glistened as she held back a smile. She knew. “I’m in town for work. I don’t usually venture towards this side of the city, but I decided to take a walk earlier and saw the glowing blue top hat above the sidewalk. It looked like an interesting little place. I couldn’t resist.”
“By yourself?” Julia loosened up a little as she raised her glass for Greg to see. She smiled interestingly as Erin laughed and pulled her hair behind one shoulder as if to say, I’m an independent woman. “Do you often wander around unfamiliar parts of a city at midnight?”
“No, I definitely bring my bodyguards, but Thursdays are their days off,” Erin joked. Julia smiled behind her glass at that velvety laugh again. “You?”
“I live somewhat near here,” Julia lied. “It’s a little out of the way, but worth it for the company.”
Greg grinned as he poured Julia another drink. This time, she offered him the wink, and he took it graciously. He slid down to the group of girls at the other end of the bar, but Julia couldn’t see past the woman beside her.
She didn’t mention that she came there because it was the farthest bar within a reasonable distance from her work and home; a place where no one knew who she was or what she did, and they didn’t ask either. A hideaway of sorts she relied on to have a little peace–to be alone with her thoughts without actually being alone.
“I felt like I was interrupting you when I came over. Do you want me to sit somewhere else?”
