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Summary
Matt lifts his gaze and cocks his head slightly, trying to pin her down, figure her out. She looks like she belongs in another era, a different timeline, an alternate universe. A life where Matt wears three-piece suits and doesn’t drink to forget and isn’t scared shitless all the time. A life where Matt meets a girl like her and takes her on an appropriate amount of dates before popping the question and takes her up to meet his parents and spends every Christmas spoiling her with ’54 convertibles and yachts and Tiffany boxes. A life where he isn’t an outcast, and she isn’t a misfit, a life that isn’t real even if they pretend that it is for tonight.
“Matt Lent,” he says finally.
“Violet Chachki,” she introduces herself, offering him her hand.
Or, Matt spends his Christmas Eve getting drunk. Violet spends hers performing for a nearly empty bar. They meet.
In which they are two broken parts that find themselves fitting into each other’s hollow spaces.