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Penelope rarely drinks. Well, to be fair, if you put her in a room with Eloise and Francesca and Eddie, wine night is only wine night if they polish off at least a bottle each. It’s perhaps a more accurate supposition to say that Penelope rarely drinks with others, and going out in large groups had never been her cup of tea….save for the Bridgertons.
Kate and Anthony had, in true lovesick fashion, decided on a joint Bachelor/Bachelorette party with simply one request. A night out on the town with their favorite people. Penelope would never deny either of them anything, and so here she was, many many shots in.
Colin flew in that morning, unbeknownst to her or his siblings, so when he grabs a barstool next to hers and puts one hand on the rails of hers and pulls her closer, she is certain the tequila is playing tricks on her.
“Col?”
“Hey Pen, I missed you.” He sips his beer, or perhaps its cider, rather slowly. He’s never been one to indulge in food and drink with anything less than a marathon pace.
“You did, did you?” Drunk Pen is cheeky pen, cheekier than she normally has the courage for, the kind of cheek she only lets Lady Whistledown borrow.
But he nods earnestly, even if he knows she’s just riling him up for fun, and signals with those glorious hands of his for 2 shots for them from the bartender.
God, she must really be drunk if she’s waxing poetic about his corded forearms and long fingers and big hands before it’s even 11pm.
“What have you been up to this week? I didn’t know you were coming for this.”
“As if I could miss Ant and Kate get a little crazy before their wedding. The flight from Malaga was short, too.”
She opens her mouth to say something about Malaga, or really, any of the other 10 cities he’s been in over the past many months, but he beats her to it.
“Have you been writing?”
“I’ve been dating?” She offers instead, as though they’re equivalent in her mind, and really, in this moment, they kind of are aren’t they? Both entirely useless endeavors that have gotten her nowhere.
“Have you? Anyone special?” Suddenly, Colin is rather interested in the rim of his glass. Before she can answer how spectacularly horrible her past two dates have been, the bartender with the gorgeous tattoos drops off their tequila shots, lime and salted rims and all.
She grabs hers, and though her movements feel slow, like jello, she also feels like she’s racing and time is playing on 2x speed, where the audio gets all tinny, like how Eloise used to watch her lecture videos back in Uni.
“Cheers to Kate and Anthony!” She smashes her glass against his, dutifully taps it against the bar before tossing it back with ease. He laughs, and follows suit, like he always did. Would.
“Tell me about your dates.”
“Oh, where do I BEGIN Col, they’ve all been atrocious. First, I got drinks with this Finance guy, who really could not shut up about GDP the entire one hour we were there, before he just got up and left. Then there was another guy who just wanted me to go back to his place or come back to mine.”
“Gross.”
“Tell me about it,” Pen despairs, as if this conversation is anything new. She turns from looking at Colin, and his eyes, which have always been her greatest weakness, out to the sticky dance floor tucked in the corner of the bar they’re all in. Anthony is twirling Kate around, her tiara with a silly veil crooked on her head. Eloise and Phillip are whispering to themselves in the corner and even Frannie and John are dancing together. She can’t find Benedict, and really, he’s liable to be doing anything under the sun but he was really busy chatting up the cute blonde waitress from dinner so maybe he’s with her.
“Well, eventually you’ll find the right person. The right person that will match you in every way possible.” Sometimes, Penelope wonders if Colin says these things to placate her or convince himself.
“Hmmm, well I’ve always wondered, what if that never happens?” He’s quick to open her mouth to refute it, and she knows likely what he’s going to say, so this time she beats him to it.
“No, no, I know you’re a romantic and I know you won’t accept that. But, I don’t mean it in a despairing pessimistic kind of way. Not in the lofty hypothetical sense either, but more so….have you considered this question in the context of probability? Human behavior? For example, we humans find far too much solace in this idea of hope, in the what ifs. So we offer the whole “it’ll happen when you least expect it” and “there will be someone out there who’s meant to be” and all other such sentiments for everything! I mean we say it for jobs, we say it for friends, we even say it when people are complaining about their roommates and wish they lived with their best friends.”
Colin smiles, dimples and all, when she speaks and god if she wasn’t already in love with him and hadn’t been for the greater part of their lives, she supposes this could be her aha moment. The way he tilts his head just ever so slightly, playing with the rim of his glass, the ring on his right hand. The way his light tan sweater stretches over his shoulders, and the beat of whatever the DJ plays has got his foot tapping against the footrest of his bar stool. He has the softest of smiles and the softest of eyes as he considers her point.
“Well, I’ve always thought statistical probability is a rather bleak science, don’t you think? It’s nothing like any of the books I know you love reading or even what we see with my family, now is it?”
“Statistical marvels and fiction, Col, that’s how that works. I’m not saying I’m the exception. I’m saying I’m the general population in this scenario, I’m not guaranteed anything.”
Colin looks like he wants to add to her point, maybe continue refuting it, or challenging it in the way that he knows how, but he stops himself. She lets him ponder, pretending that she’s waiting for his answer and not watching every inch of his face, a canvas she could never replicate if she tried.
“Look at it this way,” she interjects, feeling the alcohol rush to her cheeks, “even if we do all have our one true love out there, like I’m sure you’re thinking, what’s the chance we actually ever find them? Here, c’mon, I’ll explain my math to you. Let’s go for a walk outside, it’s so warm and stale in here.”
He gets up immediately, and holds out a hand, letting her use it to more gracefully exit her barstool seating choice. It was a rather nice gesture too, considering her platform heels maybe make her more than a few apples tall, but between that, the alcohol, and the foot rails of the seat, she was sure getting out of her seat would be a lot harder then it was to find it in the first place. Colin pulls out a few bills from his money clip, the one she got him ages ago for his birthday, engraved and all, and sticks it under his now empty beer glass. For good measure, he even adds an extra tenner, and uses their joint hands to lead them outside.
“God, it feels amazing out here doesn’t it!” The sun has set, but it’s not yet chilly in London. The early autumnal weather has been creeping in, like a cat burglar that’s failed to obtain their target. Instead, there’s a nice breeze, cutting through the balminess of both the day as it were, and the bar they were in. It’s glorious. Her most perfect weather.
“It does,” and if Penelope were back on her hopeless romantic bullshit, she might comment on his twinkly eyes, slight smile, and how he was looking at her as if she held all the answers and all his purpose in the world. But, alas, the world must spin, the sun must set, and one must look at their conversational counterpart in the eyes lest they want to come off as a rude twat.
“Okay Pen, you promised me some numbers.”
“Hmmmm, think about it like this. If we were to account for age differences, like grossly inappropriate ones, and just a general level of fluidity in terms of culture, language, and even sexuality, there’s no way we have more than half a billion possible soulmates in the world. Anything more is just not feasible, so let’s say this is a moderately conservative estimate.”
“Hmm, okay, half a billion you say. Go on, Pen.” He encourages, and in doing so, grabs her hand again. This time, they move away from the entrance of the bar and start walking down the Main Street.
“Maybe you, by virtue of your job, your personality, or habit, are able to cross paths with strangers a handful of times a day. If you were to calculate some level of variability, like how you may meet more people on your travels then the average Londoner, that puts you interacting with anywhere from 5000 to 500,000 potential “soul mates” in your lifetime. So then, you tell me, there’s no way that everyone is destined to find their person! Even a 1 in 10,000 chance to find true love is horrible odds, especially when you start to consider factors like cultural differences and language barriers. What if your soulmate doesn’t speak English? What if they live on the other side of the world and are already married?”
“While I can respect your calculations, and God, Pen, I forgot how good you were at math,”
“Well, next time just ask my mum and she’ll remind you how I’ve wasted my potential not pursuing a lucrative career in finance and instead waste my time writing for a magazine, but I digress,” she jokes, laughing at her mother’s antics that Colin knew all too well.
“And as much as I respect Mrs. Featherington for the simple fact that she is your mother…..please know that I never wish to nor will I ever pursue a solo conversation with her.”
“For the better. We wouldn’t want you to suffer.”
“Never,” he winks, “are you hungry? There’s this pizza place around the corner, it’s to die for; New York style crust with the most amazing Chicken Tikka Pizza…”
“I could eat a slice.” And as though she declared something of much greater value, Colin smiles even wider, turning them suddenly to cross the street.
“I don’t think we live in a world of random soul mates, Pen. I mean sure, using strict mathematical approximations, and a general set of assumptions, your math is probably correct. I won’t doubt you there. But love isn’t….it’s not just probability. It’s not even just passionate lovemaking or reverent declarations. Its…..” And this is where Colin’s really at a loss for words. Because what the hell was he doing here. He came for his brother and his soon to be sister-in-law, sure, and any excuse to celebrate one of his siblings was a good one. But he also….he came for Pen. Who’s been on his mind, who’s always been on his mind. Who he’s missed so very much that traveling stopped having its allure.
“It’s companionship, and intimacy, and it’s the mundane,” Pen offers, as though she can read his mind. Maybe she’s always been able to do that. She’s always bore witness to the mundane side of his life, been a part of it at every turn.
“It’s you.”
“It’s me? What’s me?” They’ve stopped walking, now right under the neon glow of the pizza sign. They’ve reached their destination, and perhaps Colin has finally reached his.
“If I were to cross paths with, what was it, 500,000 strangers, chat up every single one of them, make eye contact with a few more, just to find my supposed love, I’d be wasting my damn time Pen. My 1 in 10,000, my 1 in 100,000 is you.”
“Col, I—“
“And I know, I know, this is sudden and it doesn’t make any sense. And we’re drunk. Well, you’re drunk and I’m tipsy and jet lagged, and I’ve been gone for months and I know we just got back to being friends after everything that happened last year, but I just….I really really missed you Pen.”
“I missed you too, Col, you know that.”
“No, I know, I’ve believed that and it’s gotten me through some of my worst days abroad. I’ll never doubt it. But, I’m in love with you. And this silly moment that should be far more consequential and planned out and meaningful, because that is what you deserve, well, I can’t take it back. I won’t take it back.”
“Are you just saying this out of pity? Because I spent god knows how long lamenting about dating and probability and the chances of never meeting someone? Because if you are…that’s okay. We can forget this conversation ever happened. I’ll have my planned horrible hangover, and we can grab breakfast, and we can move on. It’s okay, Colin —“
In a moment of sudden clarity, with the red neon light hitting her face, just so slightly, Colin knows what he has to do.
Pulling her in for a kiss, which is not yet passionate or reverent, but firm and certain, he groans, “you’re killing me Pen. I’m so far gone it’s not even a little funny.”
The smile that breaks out on her face, well, if Colin could bottle that up and sell it, it would make him a billionaire. It’s effervescent.
“In all my calculations and fantasies, I thought I would be the one saying it first. Colin, I’ve always loved you. I love you. I’d like to say it was from the very first moment I saw you, after literally running into you, but I think it was after. Somewhere between when we first met and now, you’d had a part of me that I’ve never been able to give anyone else.”
“Fantasies, huh?” Colin chuckles, smirking.
“Oh shut up and get me some pizza.” She shakes her head, shoving him a little in jest.
“First, this though…” and with it, Colin lunges forward, cradling her jaw in his hands and pulling her to him. This time, it is passionate and reverent and everything else he’s only ever dreamed of. He bites her lip, eager to taste her, hunger abating for once.
Maybe hope isn’t such a fickle thing after all.