Work Text:
8:30 pm
Nat fidgeted with the side of her gold dress. It felt too formal for her, with the straps and her tied up hair. It was a date at Olive Garden, too, which made her stand out like a sore thumb in a waiting area full of people in in formal attire. But whatever, right? She had to at least try.
Sighing impatiently, she instinctively checked her cell phone. Nothing from Travis yet. Nothing about being late.
“Can I help you?” A voice rang in her ears. Nat looked up to find a familiar face. It was Charlotte Matthews, in the flesh: the girl with the best footwork on her team, this year's homecoming queen (More like runner up, but Nat doesn’t exactly like Jackie, so sometimes she pretends she doesn’t exist), rich daughter of some big shot millionaire—Working at Olive Garden....?
She blinks.
“Nat? Sorry—maybe you didn’t hear me,” Charlotte repeats, almost shyly. “Can I put your name on the waiting list or do you have a reservation?”
“Oh. Fuck, sorry.” Nat mutters, breaking out of her thoughts. She scratches her dress again, looking around for Travis. Still not here. “I mean, table for two. Under Martinez?”
If Charlotte knows anything about their shitshow of a relationship, she doesn’t show it. She just smiles with her lips, and picks up an extra menu, gesturing to Nat to follow. “Okay! Right this way, please.”
They walk past a crowd of tables, and then further down a hallway. Nat follows, but has to walk a little faster on account of Charlotte’s long legs. They walk until they reach a table in the corner of the restaurant, hidden using a curtain. It’s a dark corner, two chairs and a pathetic candlelit table shoved by the kitchen. It’s a bit loud, but it’s hidden.
Nat wonders if Travis had asked for a private table, or if Charlotte had purposefully assigned them a private seat.
“Here,” Charlotte says, interrupting Nat’s thoughts. She says it with another grin (this time, sympathetic) pulling open Nat’s chair. “My treat on account of the missing gentleman, Madam.”
“Ha, thanks,” Nat laughs breathily, taking a seat. “You don’t have to be so formal around me, you know. You can just treat me like you usually do–Like at school.”
Charlotte shrugs, putting down the menus. “It’s fine,” she says, looking at Nat with a cheeky grin. “I’m sure you deserve it.”
Nat questions what she means by that, but doesn’t get to think before Charlotte picks up a menu and pushes it in her hands. “I’ll be back in 5, so get your order ready…” Charlotte says with a sigh. She taps a flashing pager on her belt. “Unfortunately, I have to deliver a bunch of drinks to the baseball team… So, I have to go. But.. I’ll be back with your breadsticks!”
Nat snorts. “Fuck, the baseball team?”
“Yup…” Charlotte confirms, biting her lip, grinning even more while she does. “Don’t miss me too much?”
Nat snickers at her suffering. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
Charlotte salutes Nat, all while hugging her tray, before turning around and walking away.
Nat stares at her until she turns a corner, and pretends she doesn’t miss the company.
__
8:47
Travis still isn’t here, and it’s radio silence from her phone. She knew Travis had wanted to go to a party tonight, but to think he would pick that over this date, which they had been planning for months?
She puts her phone down with a frown.
No, he wouldn’t.
She wants to check her phone one last time when—
"Breadsticks, anyone?” Charlotte says, putting her tray of breadsticks down on the table.
Nat looks up, grinning slightly. "Thanks.”
Charlotte shoots a glance at the empty seat across the table from Nat. "Still no—" Charlotte begins, her voice sounding cautious.
"Nope." Nat interrupts, popping the p. “Still no Travis.”
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
“…Well… Do you have an order in mind, Nat?" Lottie asks, pulling out a pen and paper. "Anything special in mind that I can get you?"
Nat grinned mischievously. “Alcohol?”
“Haha, so funny,” Charlotte sighs, rolling her eyes. “It’s almost as if you care about my job. How about apple juice?”
"Just spaghetti, or something." Nat decides, shrugging, passing the menu to the other girl writing frantically in her pad of paper. “I don’t know. I’m italian. I’ll like anything on the menu.”
“Oh c’mon,” Charlotte says with a groan. “You’re the most unoriginal italian I’ve ever met–”
“I’m the only italian you know—”
“You should try the risotto! Live on the edge a little bit.” Charlotte suggests. “Mamma Mia, or however the saying goes.”
“I’m good.”
Charlotte sighs.
“Unless…I don’t know if this is on the menu, but—”
Charlotte perks up and stops writing. “Yes?”
“...Are you, on the menu?”
…
Charlotte turns an outrageous tone of red, and Nat laughs hard. “ Fuck you, Nat,” she mutters, narrowing her eyes at Nat’s laughs. Nat just continues her sniggers. “You should have seen your face. Fuck, you’re less red when we run suicides!”
“Haha,” the other girl says, rolling her eyes. “So, Spaghetti it is? I’ll tell the chef to make it extra crunchy, hm?”
“Don’t be a bad sport, Charlotte.” Nat sighs, her laughs finally dying down.
Charlotte shrugs with a grin. “Sure. But Nat— just call me Lottie, okay? The whole Charlotte thing is making me feel old.”
Nat laughs. “Lottie!? How the fuck did you get that from Charlotte?”
Lottie smirks. “I’ll tell you if you let me snag a breadstick.”
Nat narrows her eyes. "Okay. Sure."
Grinning, Lottie takes a breadstick, breaks it in half, and eats one part whole. "It's because people like me. A Lot."
Nat furrows her eyebrows. "Huh?"
"I'm Lottie," Lottie says, mouth full. "And people like me a lot, so they call me Lottie.”
"Oh, fuck you, that was so cheesy.”
Lottie smiles, all teeth. “Now, madam, I have to go—”
She takes her tray and twirls it around. “And serve some more breadsticks to fucking Lord of the Flies down the hall. But I’ll be back, with your al dente pasta.”
(She leaves again, and Nat again has to chase away that feeling of wanting her to stay.)
___
9:25
When Lottie approaches her table this time, she’s not as enthusiastic. She’s just quiet, mulling with some sort of disappointment and worry.
“Still not here?” She asks softly, putting her tray down on another table. Taking the spaghetti and meatballs from the tray, Lottie puts it in front of Nat, as if it may break. (It’s unsettling, and it makes Nat feel as Lottie is making a bigger deal out of this than she would like.)
“Men, am I right?” Nat sniffs, trying to lighten the mood. She picks up the fork set in front of her, pretending to examine it. (If Lottie sees any holes in her faked nonchalance, she doesn’t say so.) “Doubt any of them have ever stood you up though, huh? You’re too pretty for that.”
“Umm… ” Lottie says quickly, fiddling with her serving tray. “I… No. I mean, I just, I never really…"
Nat twirls the fork in her hand, eyebrows raised. “Is the runner up hoco queen saying she hasn’t picked up any men?”
“Well, it’s… I mean… I just don’t… I don’t see the appeal,” Lottie murmurs, looking down at her feet. For the first time that night, she sounds unsure; letters detached from one another, tone hesitant. (And Nat is relishing in it. )
“Huh,” Nat smirks. “That’s a fun fact to know.”
And then, Lottie goes all red at that, and it feels as if Nat is getting let in on a secret she can’t quite decode. “Uh—Men… Well, I don’t know. T-they just don’t… They don’t.. You know…” Lottie stutters, eyes wide. “I-… I just never really thought that one could really be what I want and I just never wanted one…”
Nat leans back in her chair, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. Surprised, she says "I never thought I'd ever hear anyone say that."
“Yeah.” Lottie says sheepishly, the pink of her face slowly going away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all—”
“No, Lottie. I’m glad you told me,” Nat interrupts, voice genuine. "It's nice to see someone in this stupid place is happy."
"You could be happy too, you know." Lottie says. "You look pretty. You give the vibe of any happy person I know, Nat."
Subconsciously, Nat glances at the empty spot next to her again. "Men suck,” Nat whispers harshly, twirling the noodles with her fork.
"Well," Lottie tries, voice soft. "Travis might–"
Then, to Lottie’s surprise, Nat stabs a meatball with her fork, making sauce fly onto her gold dress. “All of them are fucking assholes." She snorts.
___
9:45
Travis still isn’t there, and Nat feels her stomach turning. From anger or sadness, she doesn’t quite know. And on top of it, she’s fucking starving and Lottie hasn’t come back since she left.
Nat kicks the table, before checking her phone for any messages or voicemails. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. “Fuck,” she whispers. She’s about to text him a very angry, very hatred fueled message when—
“I’m back!” Lottie announces, out of breath, tray high on her hand. Suddenly she places a brownie dessert on the table, followed by a glass of apple juice—both of which Nat knows she definitely did not order. “And a free dessert, on me. Or… I don’t know if it’s your favourite, but, you know, you always order chocolate desserts at the away games, so I tried to—”
“Seriously? I can’t take this.” Nat interrupts, pushing the dessert away.
Lottie’s eyes suddenly crinkle at its edges, and Nat can tell that she wants to frown. Or ask what she did wrong.
(Nat always found Lottie to be too much of a people pleaser, sometimes.)
…
“Oh… Do you not like this kind of brownie?”
(Of course. )
Nat avoids her gaze, shrugging. Tears threaten to spill, but she keeps her voice steady, somehow. “I mean, yeah, of course I love it, i mean, it’s chocolate, but–”
“So why can’t you take it?”
…
Lottie sounds clueless, daring, even. She looks clueless too, almost like a puppy, head slightly tilted and eyebrows furrowed. So much so that Nat almost believes her.
( Keyword: Almost.)
“Oh for fucks sake, dude,” Nat sighs, exasperated. She looks into Lottie’s eyes to see nothing but confusion, and it boils Nat’s blood even more. How could she not know?
“It’s because I know it’s a fucking pity dessert, Charlotte. ” Nat spits. “I’m not stupid.”
“It’s not—” Lottie says, voice soft, eyes hesitant. “It’s—”
But Nat’s on a roll, and she doesn’t stop there. She just raises her voice, and it feels almost good to have power over something, so she holds on. “---Oh, I know it’s one, because fucking Travis hasn’t showed up yet even though our reservation was, I dunno, a fucking hour and a half ago? I mean, fuck, you’re literally closing in 15 minutes, and no one–”
Nat gestures to the lack of talking in the restaurant.
“-- No one is here anymore. I’m literally the last one here, for fucks sake!”
At her outburst, Lottie doesn’t speak. She just stands there, limp and sad, holding the tray in her hand with the tips of her fingers. Nat has never, not ever seen her look so… Miserable.
She hates it so much.
“I'm.. I'm.. I need to go. Fuck." Nat mutters, avoiding Lottie's eyes.
She gets up to leave, pushing the table forward and knocking her chair back. The spaghetti is knocked onto the floor and shatters the plate. "I'm so fucking done with today."
"Nat—" Lottie whispers. It's a last attempt, a last try. Nat almost gives in. But Lottie just sounds so sad, not mad, and it makes Nat even more mad. She should be mad , Nat thinks. She has to be.
"Wait—"
Nat tunes Lottie out, instead choosing to storm to the exit. The tears are starting to collect faster than she can hide, and it's not long before there are tear tracks running down her face. They burn, and hurt, and she almost makes it to the exit when–
A man, a little bit on the chubbier side, grabs her arm. He's greasy, balding, and everything out of Nat's nightmares.
"Do you plan on paying for your meal, or what?"
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"I-" Nat forces out, voice cracking. She looks around helplessly, but there's no one. No one but Lottie, fucking, Matthews, coming from behind. "I can't. I… I don't have money."
And, like the fucking saint she is, Lottie speaks up. Her voice is soft, hesitant, but daring all the same. "Sir, it's fine. She's my friend. I… I'll use my earnings. You can have my next paycheck."
Nat almost finds it in her to feel hopeful, but the manager just shakes his head angrily. "No. She needs to pay. I run a very, very, tight ship here, Matthews. You should know that–"
"I know," Lottie interrupts desperately. Nat thinks she is crying too, and now she just wants to hug her, as angry as she is. "But, she's just had a bad day and her date –"
"I don't fucking care!"
"Well I do!" Lottie snaps back. "I'll pay! You know I can! I have–"
Lottie feels around her pockets, pulling out a 10. "This'll cover some of it, and I'll be able to–"
Nat can feel the guy getting angrier, his hand gripping tighter on forearm. "Don't. Call the police, Matthews. There's a landline in the kitchen-"
Nat feels her heart drop. Luckily, Lottie seems to think the idea is outrageous too.
"Are you fucking crazy?!" She asks, voice low. Nat raises her eyebrows. She’s never heard her sound so… Scary. “Fucking police?! Are you fucking INSA–”
…
She's fired, by the end of it.
…
10:05
They're both sitting on the curb outside of the olive garden. It would be completely silent, if not for the passing cars coming from behind the building on the main road. The sound makes it a little less awkward, Nat thinks.
"I'm really… I'm–" Nat begins. "I– Your job. I'm -"
"It's good." Lottie murmurs. Her arms are crossed over her chest, almost like she's trying to hide, and Nat feels her heart twisting into something that feels of guilt.
"God. I suck." Nat whispers.
“No!"
“Fine, Lottie. Boyfriends, suck. Is that better?”
Lottie smiles slightly, all lips. She’s satisfied. "Better. And yeah, I'm almost glad I've never had one."
Just then, Nat wonders why Lottie doesn’t have a boyfriend. Surely, she thinks, surely she has her pick of the lot.
She was pretty.
She looks at Lottie, honey brown eyes and all, shining especially bright against the light of the full moon.
She was tall too, with long, toned legs.
Definitely.
Any boy would want her.
“Well, you do know you could have anyone you want, right, Lottie?” Nat asks, tracing her finger on the pavement. “You’d have pick of the whole school. Surely you’d fine someone who fits your… amazingly high standards.’
Lottie glances at her, eyes glazed. She’s smiling. Kind of. It’s a half-smile. A sad one, maybe. “I don’t know about that.” She whispers, her breath coming out as a cloud in the biting autumn air. “Not anyone I’d like.”
Nat looks at her, puzzled. “You know that’s not true. And if he didn’t like you, then he’d be batshit crazy—”
“It’s not just that,” Lottie interrupts, staring hard at the ground. “I just… I don’t think it would be okay for me to be with that someone.”
“It’s the 90’s. It’s not whatever-the-fuck olden times that Romeo and Juliet was in. Society’s gotten, like, better.”
Lottie sighs. "You'd be surprised at what society thinks about many things, then.”
Nat laughs breathily. "Charlotte Matthews, dissing society. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Look, Nat," Lottie mutters. She's staring straight ahead, and Nat thinks that the lack of eye contact hurts more than it should. " I'm really sorry that Travis stood you up. And I'm sorry it seemed I was looking down at you, or something. I would never."
Lottie turns her head to look at Nat, before threading their fingers. “Never, Natalie.”
“It’s fine.” Nat says, tightening her grip on Lottie's hand. Nat lets her eyes water a bit, but she shrugs to try and show her nonchalance. She needed a wake-up call anyway. “I’m sorry I got you fired.”
Lottie snorts, also shrugging. “It’s whatever,” she whispers, pulling out a cigarette and a match out of her apron. Putting the cigarette into her mouth, Lottie sighs as she strikes the match on the pavement, lighting the cigarette slowly before putting out the match on her apron.
“I fucking hated that job anyway." she mutters, smiling into the cigarette sticking out of her mouth.
"Oh, yeah, no shit." Nat snickers, nudging Lottie’s shoulder with hers.
“Jesus,” Lottie chuckles, taking the cigarette out of her mouth. “Is that why I barely made tips? Was it really that obvious?”
“Yeah. The way you yelled at the manager really nailed it for me, though.”
Lottie nods, staring at the cigarette in her hands. “I really didn’t like him.”
“My knight in shining armour,”” Nat whispers, shooting a glance at Lottie. "Thank you, Lot. Like seriously. I probably would've gotten my ass kicked. No offense to your manager, but I mean, he's a big guy.”
It's like Lottie feels Nat's gaze on hers, and Lottie looks at Nat just in time to catch her eyes tracing the outline of her face. Putting the cigarette back in her mouth, Lottie smiles again. Wider this time. "I wouldn't have let that happen, Nat. Trust me."
"Thanks, Lottie."
…
She's very pretty, actually, Nat thinks.
Cigarette sticking out of her mouth, hair undone, legs stretched out, eyes glazed over—
…
(…No, Nat thinks.
Lottie was not just pretty.
….Lottie was gorgeous.)