Another Alternative

The Bean and Barrel

The year was 1914. I was working at a pub in New York when I saw her. It was a slow day, even for us. The Bean and Barrel wasn't exactly the most popular bar in New York, but today there was literally no one there. Except for her. She came in around nine and ordered a vodka soda. She was wearing a beautiful grey dress and had a press badge around her neck. I noticed her eyes first. They were a deep brown and had small circles under them. Her makeup was slightly askew just from poor application, but it was smeared, which showed she had been rubbing her eyes. I assumed she was tired, but then I saw her lip quivering, her hand shaking as she raised the glass to her lips, and the faint redness on the tip of her nose, which told me she had been crying. While I hated being the stereotypical bartender, I walked over to her.

"What's on your mind?" I asked, hating myself just a bit inside.

"What do you mean?" She responded, the sobs of before evident in her voice. "I'm fine."

"No. You're not." I insisted. "You've been crying."

"So I have." She leaned forward. "What's it to you?"

"I've lived here for years, but I've never seen you anywhere around the city. You come in my ridiculously named bar, and it's very evident you've been crying. I'd say this is 100% my business. So, I'll ask you again, what's on your mind?" I refilled her drink as I spoke, seeing that she had already finished it off.

"Okay. I'll tell you what's wrong, so long as you tell me something as well." This small smirk crept onto her face as she said it, and it gave me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. I decided to brush it off. "Deal?"

"Deal. But first, introductions. I'm Hannah." I extended my hand as a greeting. "Hannah Hart."

"Grace Helbig." She shook my hand and smiled at me.

"So, Grace Helbig," I left the vodka on the counter, because I felt she may need it to tell me what I wanted to know. "What's your story?"

She told me about the job she'd just lost, and how her fiancé had broken up with her right beforehand. When I finished work, I poured us each a few shots and spilled my guts to her about how she was lucky she even had a man in the first place, because I couldn't even get that.

"Gah. Men are such pricks." Grace sighed and looked over at me. "Don't you just wish there were another alternative?"

"Yeah." I stared at the bottom of my now empty glass, thinking about what she'd just said. "Grace?"

"Mmm-hmm?" I could see she was having trouble staying on the stool, so I grabbed our glasses and a bottle of tequila and took us over to a booth. When she sat down, I decided to let go of my question, but she wasn't having it. "What, Hannah?"

"It's nothing. Just, what if there were another alternative?" I knew I'd hate myself in the morning for asking that, if I could even remember it. "What if we didn't have to date boys?"

She looked at me, and I her. She considered her words for a brief moment, but given her unfortunate state of inebriation, blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "What do you mean? Like, date no one?"

"No, forget it." I refilled my shot glass and downed it quickly, trying to dismiss the subject.