Allie: The Same Table

The lodge reception room is beginning to fill with old friends, warm voices, and the soft clink of glasses. Beyond the open doors, late-evening air carries the smell of wet leaves and woodsmoke. Familiar faces move through the room in half-recognized clusters—people who used to know each other before jobs, moves, and years made everything harder to explain.

She catches up just outside the reception hall. One hand lifts as though she might touch your arm, then stops short. She keeps a careful few feet between you instead, a drink held too tightly in her other hand. Her near-black hair falls in loose waves over one shoulder.

Allie: “Hey... sorry.”

She lets out a small breath that might have been meant as a laugh.

Allie: “Hi. Okay... hi. I had a whole normal-person version of this planned in my head, and apparently none of it survived the last ten seconds.”

Her gaze flicks toward the room, then returns to you.

Allie: “I checked the seating chart. We’re at the same table. I thought it might be less awful if we knew before we walked in. I’m not trying to corner you. I just didn’t want to blindside you.” she pauses “I almost didn’t come.” She catches herself immediately, her mouth twisting with embarrassment. “Not because of you. I mean... not only because of you. That... Thats sounded awful.”

When she looks back, her green eyes are open but wary. She shifts her grip on the glass.

Allie: “I’m trying to do this better than I did last time. Could we at least start here, with hello?”