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The room is packed, noisy and dark as Karen walks in. She didn’t expect to know most of these people, but with the masks and costumes, it’s even harder to tell who’s who.
Peering through the crowd, Karen spots the distinctive blonde hair of her host. She makes a beeline in that direction, adjusting the feathery halo she’d picked up at a bodega on her way over from work. It wasn’t much of a costume, but she had to hope it would do.
“Karen!” Trish says warmly as she approaches. Trish’s costume is much more elaborate than Karen’s, complete with a red wig and black bodysuit that makes her nearly indistinguishable from the famous Black Widow. “I’m so glad you made it.”
“Thanks for inviting me.”
As Trish says something else, Karen spots a familiar symbol in the crowd. The white skull is nearly neon in the flashing lights and there’s a rushing in her ears as her brain tries to catch up with what she’s seeing.
It’s been months since she last saw him. Months since she last spoke to him.
But somehow it feels like only moments when she sees it. Her heart is in her throat, her palms are starting to sweat, and her tongue feels too big for her mouth.
When she finally manages to tear her eyes from the skull, she can immediately see it’s not him. It’s a costume. It’s Halloween.
“Karen?” Heart rate slowly returning to normal, she sees the concerned wrinkle between Trish’s eyes and shakes her head, forcing a smile.
“Sorry, just thought I saw someone I knew.”
“I was just saying drinks are over there if you’d like anything. I have to go talk to my producer, but say goodbye before you leave.”
Karen nods vaguely, moving towards the drinks for something to do. She pours herself a glass of whiskey, marveling at the selection Trish has provided for this party. She spots Jessica lurking nearby, but she disappears again before Karen can get to her.
No one else looks even remotely familiar, and Karen can’t quite remember why she thought coming to this party would be a good idea. It’s Foggy’s fault. He wouldn’t stop badgering her about networking and getting out of her apartment once in a while, and Karen knew he was right.
So here she is, sipping on whiskey and trying to look anywhere but the man wearing a symbol he can’t possibly understand. She’s not entirely successful, but at least she got out and was around people for a little bit. And sure, her heart aches a bit every time her gaze skims past the skull, but it doesn’t hurt like it used to.
It can’t hurt like it used to. She’d never survive that again.
Draining her drink, she considers pouring another, but what’s the point? She’s been lingering by the drinks for half an hour now and no one has given her as much as a glance.
She waves to Trish on the way out, and makes her way down the street, ignoring the sounds of revelry around her. It’s still early. Karen could stop by Foggy’s and hang with him and Mariy for a bit, though that sounds less and less appealing by the moment. Her feet hurt and the feathers are falling from her halo like snow.
“Hey, angel!” someone shouts at her from a nearby street corner. “You fall from heaven?”
Karen rolls her eyes and keeps walking, the shouts receding behind her. She pulls the halo off her head and shoves it into her bag, pulling her coat more tightly around herself as she continues towards home.
Her heart sinks a little when she gets home. She had a vision of going to a party, meeting someone new, maybe flirting a little or making a friend. Instead, she’s back to her usual routine of sitting at home by herself, except this time she’s warm from the whiskey and might just go to bed.
Something pale catches Karen’s eye as she enters her apartment, and her hand instantly gravitates toward her gun. As she looks closer, she sees that it’s a pumpkin. A white pumpkin.
Karen hasn’t bought a pumpkin in years, probably at least a decade. But there one is, on her windowsill. The design is a little hard to make out, but when she turns on the light, she sees that it’s a rose.
The back of her neck prickles and she looks around as though Frank might appear out of the shadows.
He doesn’t.
Frowning, Karen lights a candle and places it into the pumpkin, setting it out onto her fire escape like she used to with the last roses he gave her. It’s a very long shot, but at this point, she doesn’t care.
She brews herself a cup of tea and sits on the couch, waiting for a call, a shadow, something to show that this isn’t all just a weird series of coincidences prompted by the whiskey, the season, the deep echoing hurt that’s growing inside her chest.
She stares at the flickering candle until her eyes start closing on their own. She doesn’t even know what time it is, but she knows, deep down, that he’s not coming.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever again.
Sighing, Karen puts her mug in the sink and gets herself ready for bed, still listening hard for the faintest tap on the window or buzz of her phone.
The silence wraps around her with the darkness, like something she can reach out and touch. She almost wishes she could, her loneliness feeling heavier than ever after being around so many people and still ending up alone.
The sun wakes her in the morning, rays streaking through the gaps in her blinds. Groaning, Karen stretches and tries not to think about the previous night. None of it matters. None of it changes anything.
She has a life to live, and she can’t keep waiting for a ghost.
As a first step, she decides to go out for breakfast and treat herself to one of those sugary seasonal drinks she usually avoids in favor of the cheaper, more efficient caffeine transport of black coffee.
But when she opens the door, there’s someone standing on her faded old welcome mat.
Frank.
With two cups of coffee.
Stepping back, Karen fights to breathe.
“Hi.”
The sound of Frank’s voice jolts her back to herself and she forces down the swell of warmth that threatens to overtake her at the sight of him. She still can’t quite speak, so she waves him inside.
“Karen? You okay?” Frank asks, ducking his head to look her over carefully.
She nods, folding her arms across her stomach. “I’m fine,” she says evenly. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs, holding out one of the cups to her. She takes it, hand trembling a little, and sits down at the counter.
“You brought me a pumpkin,” she says softly, taking a sip. “Why?”
“Thought it was festive or something. Figured you like holidays.”
“That’s not the point. You broke into my house to leave me something ‘festive’? After months of nothing?”
Frank’s ears turn pink and he shrugs again. “Thought you’d like it.”
“But why now?”
He swallows. “I missed you.”
Karen’s heart thunders in her chest. “What?”
Frank takes the cup from her and cautiously replaces it with his hand. It's warm and a little rough, callused on the palm and the fingers. His hands are bigger than hers, but they fit like they were meant to be here. Like they always do.
“I missed you and I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You still have my phone number, Frank.”
“I do. Wasn’t sure you’d answer if I called.”
“I always answer when you call,” Karen says, frowning. “I’ve always answered, Frank.”
“Yeah, but that was before.”
“Before what? Before you left? Before you dropped off the face of the earth?” She still remembers that awful day in the hospital, barefoot and heartbroken. That was the last time she saw him, the last time she spoke to him, the last time she held his hand.
He chuckles bitterly. “That sounds about right. If you want me to go, I’ll go.”
Karen holds onto his hand tighter. “Did I say that?”
Frank’s brown eyes brighten a little, a spark of hope lighting behind them. Karen squeezes his hand again and he sits down beside her.
Sipping their coffees, Karen isn’t entirely sure what this means, but it feels a hell of a lot better than being here alone, and she has a sense that Frank means to keep it that way this time.
He spots the halo sticking out of her purse and chokes on his coffee. “An angel?”
“What? Too on-the-nose?” Karen says, smirking at him.
“No, it just doesn’t sound like much of a costume for you.”
Blushing, she glances back at the pumpkin that’s still on the fire escape. The candle has long since burned out, but the white rose is still visible.
Maybe it’s old-fashioned. Maybe it’s too good to be true.
But maybe, just maybe, it’s exactly what they both need.