Lydia's eyes swept across the dance floor and settled on a pretty piece of man candy. Light haired, blue eyed- definitely Lydia's type. A whirlwind of images flew through her mind; she imagined going up to him, talking to him, flirting with him, kissing him. She tugged on Mary's arm and swiftly turned to face the bar. Mary looked up from her book.

"What?"

"Don't look, but McHottie at 12 o'clock!" Mary swiveled in her bar stool and Lydia continued, "I'd like to get him in my combo meal." Lydia's cousin had no idea what that even meant, and didn't think she wanted to.

"That guy?" She said, pointing. Lydia squealed and slapped her hand down.

"Yes. Do I look okay?"

"Of course. You look great." Did she really? There was no time to find a mirror. The guy might be gone by the time she got back. She was going to have to trust Mary, even if she did prefer books to boy-ogling.

"Good. I'm going in for the kill."

Lydia strode across the dance floor, a seasoned pro at weaving through thrumming crowds. She leaned against a table a few feet from her target. She took out her phone and pretended to text. Every few seconds she looked up to steal a glance at McHottie.

And then, like a force of nature, his eyes found her and she was staring right back.

Omigod.

Omigod!

Rrrrhhh!

She smiled at him and slid her phone in her pocket. He smiled back. Lydia bit her lip and giggled. God, he was cute. Tousled hair and chiseled, just how she liked 'em.

He approached slowly and Lydia thought she might scream.

Showtime.

This is where she shines.

"I don't feel like going out." Lydia said, picking the paint off of her finger nails. They were purple, and ugly. She didn't feel like going out with purple, ugly nails. At least, that was one excuse.

Mary stood over the couch, where Lydia was splayed out. She had been migrating strictly from her bed to the couch to watch Hell's Kitchen for four hours, and then back to her bed, shutting herself aware for the rest of the day. Whenever someone would try to talk to her about something other than the Food Network, she'd stare blankly ahead and pretend not to hear, leaning a bit closer to the television.

Mary couldn't stand seeing her like this. Every once in a while she'd come to the Bennet household in hopes of lending a friendly ear, but Lydia didn't want to talk. So she'd begun cycling through activities that had once put Lydia over the moon. Mary had even gone so far as to polishing a vodka with her during a drinking game (which she usually frowned upon, because she was pretty sure it wasn't a far stride from alcoholism), during which Lydia had become much more talkative, but no less miserable.

"C'mon, I'll bring Eddie and we can totally be your wingmen,"

"Since when do you like to party?"

"Since you think parties are fun, and I want you to have fun."

"That's not it."

"No?"

"The people are fun, not the party." Lydia finally looked up to meet her eyes. "And I'm fine here. With you. I'm sort of tired. Can we just stay in?"

"Are you sure? I'm sure there are lots of cute boys at Sevens right now who are missing you."

"I'm sure."

"Okay."

"Whatcha readin'?"

"Where Things Come Back."

"Will you read it to me?"

Mary paused, and looked at her cousin, who curled up beside her. She blinked away a tear.

"Sure."