On the other side of town, Matt is sitting in a very familiar bar. It's small and dark, filled with strangers drinking like long lost friends, eating grease laden fries someone prepared in a back room kitchen. Someone has just turned on the jukebox. The song is loud, up-beat, and almost blaring.
Matt hates it.
It reminds him too much of that first day. Even now, he can picture it.
The woman that just entered the bar is nothing like the usual customers, with their leather-clad thighs and windswept hair. This woman looks like she just stepped out of a taxi and into a different world, with pale skin that looks almost sickly in the yellow bar light and blonde hair so pale it appears almost white.
Heels clack against the ground every time she takes a step. A pale blue skirt hangs about her legs, riddled with intricate stitching, these strange loops that never seem to end. A pale cream jacket has been shrugged over her shoulders, and she clutches tight to a designer handbag.
Victoria had been beautiful. She was always, always beautiful. The princess was a walking portrait, carved from marble and silk.
Matt closes his eyes, letting his face press against his palms. He groans, loudly.
From the other side of the counter, Meg gives a low sigh of her own. “Seriously, Matt? Stop that.”
“I'm not doing anything,” snaps Matt.
Meg scolds, “You're doing plenty, and you know it! I can't believe you're being so stupid over this!”
“I'm not being stupid!”
Meg slams one hand down on the top of the bar. “You are, and you know it!”
“She made her choice,” spits Matt.
Meg just wants to help. She can see a broader picture, can understand a different spectrum. Her own parents come from old money. A lawyer father, a neurosurgeon mother and here she is, running the Blank Tile—a beat up bar on the outskirts of a small Georgia town.
She could have been something great. Fame and money run in her blood, and they would have easily kept Meg afloat until she was done with med school or law school, until she was ready to forge her own pathway to fame.
The problem is, she doesn’t want fame. She isn't a shy girl, but even when she was just a young thing, this had been her dream.
“She's still young,” says Meg.
Matt counters, “She's your age!”
“And I'm still young,” says Meg. “I'm young, Matt, and so are you. Damnit, boy, life is hard enough when you're poor. When you have people expecting something out of you, it's even worse. That poor girl, she's probably torn every which way.”
“No, she's not. Trust me, she's only concerned with one thing.”
“She's keeping that baby, and she's kept trying to stay in touch with you. That means she's torn every which way. Try to imagine being in her place.”
“I wouldn't go to another country if I was in her shoes!”
“Bullshit. You would have no idea what to do. You've been raised your whole life on a pedestal, with lights shining on you and cameras in your face. Someone's put your life down on a script, and you've spent twenty some years reading off of it. Suddenly, you’re pregnant. You’re in love with someone your parents don't approve of—don't give me that look, Matt, because I saw those pictures. That girl is in love with you.” Meg pauses, just long enough to lean forward. Her arms slide across the top of the bar. She says, “She's lost, Matt, and she's damn confused.”
Matt runs his hands through his hair. “And you think I'm not?”
Meg looks at him, long and stern. “I think you have more life experience than she does, and you need to help her figure out what she's supposed to be doing.”
“And what's that?”
“Not taking off to some other country, for one. Not letting another man raise your child, for another.”
Matt demands, “How am I supposed to do that?”
“By showing her that being without her family isn't going to be the end of the world,” answers Meg. “I know you, Matt. You're not the sort of person that just sits around and lets the world be swept up away from you. You're an action man. So why aren't you taking any action?”
“Because I don't know what to do,” admits Matt.
“Talk to her,” says Meg.
“I've tried that!”
“Don't talk at her. Talk to her. Find out what you can do to help make things easier.”
Matt groans. “You're not going to stop talking to me about this until I get up, are you?”
“Not even for a moment,” says Meg with a laugh. She reaches out across the counter and ruffles Matt's dirty hair. “It's best if you just go head out there now and try to talk to her.”