I feel all alone on a Friday night
She stared into her glass of wine, her mind no longer following the ebb and flow of her conversation with Walsh. Instead, it studied the pattern of ripples of the liquid in the glass. She tried to remember when she started drinking wine.
It was before she was 21, of course. She had always been mature for her age, but that came from being in the system. It came from there being something so inherently wrong with her that even as a baby, no one wanted her. She had learned fast to take care of herself, and that didn't mean following the rules all the time.
She had started drinking wine before she met Neal, she felt confident of that. Well, drinking alcohol anyway. Wine was an acquired taste for her, and it had come later – after the fruity mixed drinks and cheap light beer. It had probably become more a staple after the year of not drinking, and then the years struggling to keep a roof over their head.
But damn it, she had kept a roof over their head. Sure she went hungry a few nights to make sure that Henry could eat, but she had turned all of it around. They were living in New York, and not in the slums, either. She made enough money now to keep a really nice roof over their heads, and she had done it all herself.
She focused again...wine. That was what she was thinking about, and yet somehow it always came back to the same thing.
"...and I thought the dress looked really good on me."
She looked up, an eyebrow raised in question.
Walsh smiled tiredly, "You seemed like you were somewhere else," he offered.
Emma frowned, "I...I'm sorry...Walsh, I just."
She shrugged, and he waited patiently for her to continue. When she didn't right away, he sighed and motioned to the door, "Do you want to get out of here?"
"No, no...nothing like that. I don't mean to sound unhappy or anything, it's just, I feel like things are stuck in rut. We've done the same thing every Friday for the past..."
"4 months," he said softly, reminding her how long they'd been dating.
She offered a small smile, "Right. 4 months."
In retrospect, maybe 4 months wasn't so long, but it felt like it. She still felt like an orphan, still felt alone sometimes, even sitting with this man on Friday night that she had been seeing for 4 months. Somehow it seemed so long, just another string of time nestled in with the rest of her life that dragged on, lonely and empty of...something.
She forced another smile, "So did you sell that high back chair yet?"
Walsh's concerned look gave way to a smile, and he chuckled, "No, I haven't. I guess you were right. It was a bad investment."
She held up her wine glass, "I have pretty good taste."
"That you do," he offered, clinking their glasses before taking a sip and continuing his original story.