I.

            It is October and Sadie and Vi are in a bar.

            Sadie has ordered a novelty drink. There is bright blue soda in it, and coconut rum. Vi, facing her across the table, is holding a glass of beer.

            They are talking about a party—not a costume party—just a few friends, meeting at someone’s house. It’ll be fun, Sadie says. You’ll meet people. I’ll introduce you.

            Vi pushes her lips to one side, gives Sadie a skeptical look.

            I know, I know, says Sadie. But you have to go out during your first few weeks in town, or you’ll never go out at all.

            The bar’s regular band isn’t onstage yet, but a grizzled violinist sits in a chair beside the piano. His head sags a little. The brim of his cap points toward his chest. His bow arm is playing a tune, but nobody’s really listening, not even him.

            Sadie wants to know how Vi likes the city so far. I’ll never get used to it, Vi answers.

            Used to what?

            The traffic. The big digital signs. The general bewilderment. Vi laughs. I haven’t even found a grocery store where I can buy bread. The gluten-free sections are just chips and rice cakes.

            There’s a place right around the corner from here, Sadie says. She sketches directions on a napkin. Isaac didn’t tell you about it?

            He’s been working. Anyway, he usually shops at convenience stores.

            Sadie laughs, shakes her head. Someone should tell him he’s not in college anymore.

            A waitress, climbing onstage to set up for the band, jokes with the violinist about napping on the job. She calls him Walt. Behind her, in the kitchen, glasses clink. A faucet runs.

            Vi asks Sadie about work. I don’t really mind the dress code, Sadie tells her. And I’m getting better at the hair and makeup. The hours are long, she admits, but I didn’t even notice until I looked back at my timesheet.

            Ugh, the ambition, Vi teases. She pretends to fan a smell away from her nose. Isaac’s the same. He and his people already have a couple clients. He says they’re going to incorporate.

            How about you? Sadie asks. Career prospects?

            Still looking for a day job. But I’m going to do some volunteering. The city elections are coming up and a woman from the food bank is running a long-shot campaign. I’d like to get into that.

            Ooo, a budding politician, Sadie says, rounding her lips around her straw.

            Definitely no, Vi says. Just a fundraiser. But I’ll meet some interesting people.

            The bar door swings open and a man walks in. Walt lifts his head, plays a sting on his violin. The man shouts a good-natured response.

            Vi tells Sadie she wants to know about this new boy, this Javier.

            Sadie smiles. I met him at a friend’s house, she says. Just when I was getting sick of reading dating profiles. The old crowd was in town that weekend and everybody was as drunk as college. Javi was a friend of someone’s roommate. The two of us had the funniest conversation in the kitchen, doing fake accents into a speech-to-text app.

            Did you get his number? Vi says.

            No, but I will. Sadie finishes her drink, points at Vi. That’s why you have to come to this Halloween party. I know for a fact he’s going to be there. Your job is to put him and me alone in a room somewhere. Pretend you’re going to put on a movie. Or just lock us in the basement.

            Vi laughs. Sure.

            You’ll be there, though? Sadie asks as they get up to leave. I’ll need somebody to cry to after I humiliate myself.

            You, rejected? says Vi. Since never.

II.

            They’re back, and it’s a party. Seven or eight people, tables pushed together in a long rectangle between the bar and the stage.

            Isaac is wearing a birthday hat, which has the word DUNCE markered down the side in drunken handwriting. He is talking to one of his coworkers, gesturing with a french fry. All along the tables are baskets lined with wax paper and fried crumbs.

            Vi is doing a circuit of the group, stepping around fallen mittens and puddles of salty snow. She stops behind Sadie, bends close to Sadie’s ear.

            How’s it going? she shouts.

            Sadie can’t hear. She grins and raises her glass, in which corkscrews of lemon peel are tangled among ice cubes. Sadie has come alone tonight. Her hair is twirled into a flattering updo.

            Have they called it yet? Sadie shouts.

            Vi shakes her head. They’re still counting votes, she says. She shows Sadie wide, panicked eyes. I know we won’t win. I’ve seen the stats. But it’s so close . . .

            Sadie leans forward to hail the waitress. On the way, she catches eyes with one of Isaac’s coworkers, the one with the cute flop of hair.

            Who’s that guy? she asks Vi. The one talking to Isaac?

            That’s Kenny, says Vi.

            Hmm, says Sadie.

            Vi laughs, nudges her, moves on along the table. The waitress hurries past and Vi presses herself to one side, holding her beer up out of the way.

            There is a banner hanging from the ceiling. Isaac’s coworkers commissioned it from their own company. It is a nighttime photo of the city skyline, modified so the points of light spell ISAAC. Vi, not knowing their plans, had her own banner made, but this is the one Isaac preferred. Vi’s banner is rolled up in a cardboard tube on the couch at home.

            Vi has ordered a bourbon-spiked milkshake in lieu of a cake. The waitress brings it out with a blue candle standing upright in the middle of the whipped cream.

            Walt! Vi calls over the noise. She looks for the fiddler onstage, circles a finger in the air. He launches into “Happy Birthday”. On the last note, he plays a trill, which makes Vi and Sadie and the rest sound almost like they’re singing in tune.

            The candle flame has died in the confusion. Vi snaps a lighter at it. It catches at the same instant that Isaac blows it out.

            Vi leans in, but Isaac is turned toward the candle, not toward her. She kisses his cheek.

            Kenny, the cute coworker, has received a shot glass of tequila from the waitress. He mimes pouring it into Isaac’s milkshake. Isaac notices. He rescues the shake, taps it against Vi’s glass of beer.

            Up and down the table, everyone clinks glasses. Vi reaches all the way over to Sadie. They drink.

III.

            Vi arrives first.

            She is alone at the table for a long time. Her beer glass sweats. Droplets of water gather mass, slide down, make a soggy ring on the coaster.

            Finally Sadie appears. Sorry, she says breathlessly. Couldn’t get a cab. Her shoulder bag and her hair swing forward in tandem as she sits down.

            It’s okay, says Vi. Are you drinking anything?

            Sadie decides on a martini. The waitress brings it out. Sadie thanks her distractedly, then switches her focus to Vi.

            How are you doing? Sadie asks.

            Oh, you know. Vi wraps her hand around her glass, spins it with her fingers. The beer is almost flat.

            Any news about the job application?

            Turned down, says Vi. Nobody wants to hire from the amateur campaign.

            She looks off to the side. The dark window is speckled with rain. The drops scintillate as a pair of car headlights swings past.

            Did you hear from the passport people? Vi asks.

            What? Sadie says. Oh, yeah. It was just a little thing about the photo. You can’t show your ears. Or maybe it’s the other way around?

            Booked your flight yet? Vi says.

            Got one for the day after tomorrow, says Sadie. She raises her drink. I should learn to order these in Cantonese. You never know what might happen when you’re on expense.

            Vi brings a smile up to bat. She says, How’s Kenny?

            Sadie frowns. Didn’t I tell you? We’re splitting. She takes a sip of martini. He and I talked it over and that’s what we decided. Don’t look at me like that. We both work long hours and there just isn’t enough time to go around.

            You’re okay with that? Vi says. Really okay?

            I’ll miss him, Sadie allows, but we weren’t long-term like you and—

            Behind the bar, ice rattles in a cocktail shaker.

            Like me and Isaac, Vi completes.

            Sadie, nervously: Isaac’s been sleeping on Kenny’s couch all week.

            Not for much longer, Vi says. I’m getting a studio.

            Sadie chases the ice around her glass with a stirrer. She asks, What happened?

            Long work hours, Vi says. Not enough time to go around. She adds, dryly, He and I talked it over, and that’s what I decided.

            There is a silence. Vi stares at her glass.

            Well, good for you, Sadie says. Vi says nothing.

            Hey. Sadie bends down, puts herself in Vi’s line of sight. When was your date night? Friday? Give me a call. We can watch a movie.

            Sadie, Vi says patiently, you’re going to be thirteen hours ahead. Friday night will be Saturday morning.

            I’ll be up early, Sadie insists. Call me, okay?

            I’ll be fine, Vi says. Worry about your trip.

            Vi fiddles with a napkin. She pins one edge against the table and reels in the opposite edge with little tugs of her fingers, pleating the napkin into an accordion.

            It’ll get easier, Sadie offers.

            I think I’m going to go home, says Vi. She pushes back her chair.

            You haven’t touched your beer, Sadie objects.

            Vi crumples the napkin and stuffs it into her glass.

            Sadie opens her mouth, then closes it. A bubble rises through the beer, hits the underside of the soggy napkin, and sticks there, trapped.

            Okay, Sadie says, it’s not like this place is on fire tonight. She looks around. Where’s the band, anyway? Where’s the violin guy?

            Chemo, Vi says. Didn’t you know?

Mira St. Clair is an aspiring writer from the Lehigh Valley of Pennsylvania.