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"It's okay saying sorry, but when you are drunk you say what you really feel." - Vidal Sassoon

Liz pushed her glasses up and sat down next to Michael, shooting him glances when she noticed that Sarah decided to sit opposite her. But the eagle just shook his head and looked away, briefly informing North that he should hurry up. Adam sat beside Sarah but swiftly switched seats when he noticed how the coyote looked at the bumbling cook. Meanwhile the object of her affections seemed to be completely oblivious to her tapping fingers and impatient fumbling whenever he was nearby. Perhaps it was just the alcohol that did that to her. Adam put his hand on his chin and waited for this melting pot of strong emotions to boil over. Everyone seemed to have at least a dozen unspoken words hanging out of their mouths, just waiting to eagerly spill over their lips. And he was in the thick of it. Not to say that he didn't want to be here. Liz was kind, more than kind to him so far. He also noticed that she held Michael's hand beneath the table, gently touching the back of it with her thumb. The girl had guts. That he had to admit, especially if she told him how she felt so quickly. Less then a week ago he saw her standing in the ER with a concerned look on her face, waiting for any news on the one she loved. And now they were together. It was wholly possible he figured it out on his own and returned her advances. The whole affair left a warm feeling in Adam's stomach. They were young and impatient. It was only fair that they got to spend the best years of their life together if they wished.

But what he didn't like were the glances Sarah and Liz kept exchanging. The coyote struck him as a pleasant and educated young woman that knew what she wanted. At no point was she mean or said anything that wasn't supposed to be said. Silently he hoped they would work it out by the end of the evening. He found himself taken aback by how involved he became with the group after a mere half hour he spent with them. Maybe it was his naturally gift at reading faces and words that allowed him to see the tension that lay underneath everything. North entered the dining room with the food in his paws, Sarah jumping up to help him eagerly. Once it was all set down, plates began circulating, North explaining how he made each one and which he considered to be best. Adam helped himself to some pasta and sauce, opting to skip the meat on account of his vegetarianism. A bottle of red wine got passed around, perfectly picked to compliment the food. Liz had a feeling that it was North's choice.

"So, Adam." Michael began, lingering on Dr. Hampton's name "How's life?" He knew it was an idiotic question but it was a good opener to any discussion. Adam swallowed his bite and washed it down with the wine.

"Well, I just moved here so 'life' isn't really appropriate given the circumstances" Adam replied and looked over to Liz with a smile on her face "If it weren't for Liz here, I would spend tonight sitting at home alone in front of the TV. I gave her my card, not expecting her to call ever again and here I am. So all's well that ends well." Liz glanced at him and smiled, knowing full well what he meant by that.

"So, you guys watch sports?" Sarah asked, trying her best not to notice that North's wineglass stood at the very edge of the table, threatening to fall. "I do." Michael said and began a long-winded discussion of the New York Rangers lineup for the next game. He and Adam milled it over for a little while, the latter obviously being a Rangers fan. Sarah saw that each time North took a bite his elbow flew just a few inches closer to the wineglass, narrowly missing it time and time again. Finally, the inevitable happened and the glass dropped, Sarah throwing her arm out to catch it. She managed to do so but fell against North's shoulder in the process. The entire table suddenly fell silent and turned towards her, Adam and Michael frozen in the throes of a discussion, their gestures hanging in the air, a bite hovering inches away from Liz's mouth. As carefully as she could Sarah lifted herself out of North's fur and put the wineglass down on the table, muttering a quiet "sorry" and turning back towards her food. North just looked at her from the side, as red as a tomato, and laughed thinly. Adam and Michael turned back towards each other and continued talking about Henrik Lundqvist's best blocks. Liz put the bite into her mouth and chewed slowly, her eyes intently following Sarah's every move.

"I'm telling you, we'll beat the Penguins no problem." Michael said, prompting Adam to nod sagely "How come you're a Rangers fan anyway? You don't have a New York accent."

"That's because I was born in Langley, Virginia. I just went to NYU." Adam replied in an aside manner, prompting Michael's eyes to light up "Spending five years in the Big Apple made me fall in love with the city and the people. The Rangers became my chosen team fairly quickly."

"I spent six months in New York when I was trying to get my book published." Michael said and crossed his arms, leaning back, his food suddenly a lot less interesting "Crashing on people's couches came with the obligation of watching hockey. I didn't care for the sport at the time. That changed in record time."

"Wait, you're a writer?" Adam asked as his forehead crumpled in confusion. "Yeah, he is. It's amazing that he didn't tell you immediately. He's damn proud of it." North cut in with his mouth full, leaning on his elbow, his fork flailing around as he gesticulated "I've read his book. Don't understand what everyone likes about it. I thought it was dull."

"North!" Liz said with an angry expression on her face. "What?" The cat replied, defending himself "I can be honest, can't I?"

"Your surname wouldn't happen to be 'Bennet', would it?" Adam asked, his hands folding in front of his face as he tried to ignore the silent discussion that had erupted between North and Liz.

"It is, why?" Michael said, not quite sure what the point of the deer's question was.

"Oh my God." Was all Adam managed to say, Sarah's fork dropping down onto her plate loudly. The entire table fell silent. Liz and North exchanged glances, unsure of what was going on.

"You're the Michael Bennet? Bennet with one t?" Sarah asked and Michael nodded, finally realizing that he was surrounded by fans. Fans who had never seen his photograph because his idiot editor convinced him not to take one for the cover.

"I have to say, 'The Fall of American Gods' was possibly one of the best books I've ever read." Adam said, a massive smile on his face "I had no idea that we were in the presence of a great American writer."

"You could have said something. I would have asked for an autograph." Sarah added, prompting Michael to laugh. He had no idea he was popular. His book sold well, that much was certain. But the idea of having a fanbase never occurred to him. Apparently he was famous. Not that he would be aware of it or anything. North made a point of never reading books unless absolutely necessary and Liz had been too busy trying to pick up the pieces of her life to read. The whole idea of having fans amused him. All he did was sit down and bleed onto the keys of his laptop for a year. What came out was apparently a fantastic book.

The rest of the dinner was spent exchanging pleasantries and words of praise on Michael's book, Adam asking questions about motifs and interpretation with occasional interjections by Sarah. This continued long after they finished eating, wine replaced by cigarettes as the occupants of the table became more and more involved in the discussion. Adam fell silent after a little while, passing the torch to Sarah who eagerly asked whether or not there would be a sequel and how the characters would end up. Michael just laughed at each of her questions, touching his beak with his index finger like a knowing mafia boss. He was enjoying this whole discussion. It was interesting to see how other perceived his book and his characters. Liz leaned into her chair and observed the readiness with which Michael answered. It pleased her to see him in his element. There was something enchanting about seeing an artist talk about his own work, especially when he had such an eager audience. Liz couldn't help but feel like shit for not reading Michael's book. Then again, how could she have known that they'd end up together? It's not like relationships had required reading.

"I need a breath of fresh air. Excuse me." Sarah said and got up to leave, her throat burning from all the smoke. She couldn't stand tobacco in any way, shape, or form. It made her eyes water. Stepping outside onto the balcony she took a deep breath and savoured the warmth of the night. A wind blew across the deck, the yard below empty and dark as it has always been. Phoenix was such a lovely place. There's just something magical in the night being the same as the day, only darker. The suburbs were empty for the most part, the majority of the residents asleep. She checked her wristwatch and noticed that it was almost one in the morning. Looking up, she gazed at the stars that adorned the night sky, a million spots of light shimmering on a background of infinite darkness.

The alcohol she had earlier wore off and left her with a headache. At least there was silence. Crickets chirped in the distant bushes, the noise of their calls broken only by the odd passing car or distant train. With her head pounding harder with each passing moment she descended down the stone steps that lead into the back yard and sat down at the bottom step. It was dusty and Sarah knew that it would ruin her dress but she didn't care. Tonight was so damn confusing. She was fairly sure she fell in love but remained happy, knowing that she'll wake up tomorrow and not remember anything. Love was just a fancy word for 'you're still here the next morning and every morning and I don't have a hangover'. And it was also the last thing she needed now. Love, she thought, what a bizarre little concept. I love you so much I want to grow old with you and have little offshoots of genetic material with you and then watch you die as I myself die. It was just lust extended past its expiration date. She wanted to strip North like a lollipop and have him to herself for an entire afternoon. That was all. Just lust. No love, no feelings. No offshoot genetic material crawling around, no complications about buying wheelchairs or side-by-side plots on the graveyard, no shitty last words or deathbed confessions about how she fucked the mailman that one afternoon when the vibrator ran out of batteries. Sarah giggled to herself. Fuck, she was still drunk. Very drunk. She might get up and go inside. She might do something crazy like kiss Liz and make up with North. Wait, fuck. That wasn't it. Putting her finger against her chin she feigned an expression of thoughtfulness and emptied her wineglass. Excitedly, she flung the glass against the fence and shattered it, mouthing "Feliz Navidad, Pendejo" as she did.

For whatever reason, her thoughts drifted to the famous writer that sat in the kitchen at this very moment, probably boisterously analyzing his own characters. Sarah thought about a proverb she once heard. Something about never meeting your idols. It's not that she didn't like him, it's just that...Liz glowed in his presence, her gaze lingering on each of his gestures. What the fuck did she see in him anyway? What could a girl like Liz possibly take away from a relationship with someone like old Mike? Once again she burst out in a fit of drunken giggles. 'Old Mike'? The fuck, Sarah? If she had been any less drunk, she might have pegged her questioning of their relationship on jealousy, instead of avoiding the obvious. Sarah had sex once, and that was with her old boyfriend, the sleazy fucker. And now she wanted more. God damn, how desperate was she? She'd barge into the kitchen, grab North by the balls and then she'd...

A door opened behind her. Tipsily she scrambled in place like a kid caught with her hands in the cookie jar. Why? She wasn't doing anything, to herself or anyone else. Just thinking. That's all. The clack of high heels against concrete descended down the steps and someone sat down beside her. It was Liz.

"Can I help you?" Sarah asked in what she thought was the perfect condescending tone. "Not really. I think it's more the case of me helping you." Liz replied and shoved a bottle of Jack Daniels in her face "Get shitfaced, that is."

"Excellent." They drank from the bottle in turns, Sarah doing her best to make sure she didn't remember a single fucking thing the next morning.

"So, what is this?" Liz asked and turned towards her unwitting companion. "How the fuck should I know, chica?" Sarah chortled quietly at her rampant use of Spanish, courtesy of her father "If you want to make amends, say so. I ain't fucking psychic."

"I do. Sharing an apartment with your boyfriend and his man-child of a best friend is tiring" Liz replied and coughed as the alcohol stung her throat "It'd sure be nice to have an ally. Or someone sane. Lord knows none of us are."

"Why the fuck were we even fighting? Hell, I like you. You're happy where you are. That's good. I'm glad you are." Sarah looked down towards the ground and immediately regretted it as the world began to spin around her "I'm down with being friends."

They sat in silence, glancing at one another from the side every now and again. The stars seemed to be swaying. On second thought, everything swayed, the ground included.

"Madre Santisima, how much did we have to drink?" Sarah muttered and lifted the bottle. "We're still talking, so not enough. What's with the Spanish anyway?" Liz asked and screwed the cap onto the empty bottle.

"Father was Mexican. Mother was from Arizona. It's a long story." Sarah looked up towards the sky and wondered if her ancestors were cheering her on "I'll make a point of retelling it sometime when I'm less bombed."

Another bout of silence ensued as they shaved the minutes off, both of them reflecting on how the dinner went. Sarah thought it was nice that they were friends again. Her jealousy faded completely, replaced by this weird sort of murky melancholy. Images of parking lots and high school football games ran through her mind. Not her own memories, of course. She had no friends growing up. Just a violin and some books. As for Liz, she was just happy that Adam didn't turn out to be a moron. He'd probably hang out with them again sometime. Probably.