Sarah has been abandoned.

The night was going well, at first. They all took a shot together, and Sarah loosened up a little. But then those guys that invited Kelsey showed up, so Madison and her pressed themselves to them and started playing poker by the far side. Sarah draws a little pattern on the counter, bored.

"Can I get you something?"

Sarah looks up. The bartender is massive, burly, slightly scary. But his voice is kind. His skin is dark, his eyes like coffee.

"Um, I'm okay, thanks."

"Driving?" he asks. He wipes down the spills to her right.

"Oh, no. I honestly just can't afford any of the cocktails here." She lets out an awkward laugh.

His mouth lifts up a little at the side. "You're not supposed to buy them," he says. "You're supposed to get someone else to buy them for you."

Sarah smiles. "Is that the way it works?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Absolutely. Pick out someone who looks rich and dazzle him."

"Well, I'm not very dazzling."

"I beg to differ."

Sarah clears her throat quietly. She's pretty sure the bartender is flirting with her, but she can't think of anything interesting to say back. She searches her mind. He's still wiping down the counters around him, the muscles in his arms tensing and relaxing. He glances at her for her reply.

"Are you rich?" Sarah asks. She wants to crawl under the counter and die. There is no way she said those words.

Peter laughs, but one side of his mouth curls more than the other. He throws the towel over his shoulder. "Sure," he says. He leans against the counter across from her. "What do you want?"

Sarah looks at the bottles behind him. There's no menu. She has no clue how drinks work. Adam would order her drinks for her, and they were always sweet. There was one she absolutely loved, but she can't remember what it was called.

"I'm not sure," Sarah says. "I don't really drink."

Peter looks her right in the eye as he speaks, "You look like a cherry girl. You like cherries?"

"I love cherries. Oh—" Sarah remembers the name of that drink. "A Shirley temple! Can I get one of those? They have cherries, right?"

Peter makes that slanted smile again, but it's not exactly condescending. "They do, but Shirley temples are virgin. I'll put something fun in it, if you like."

Sarah blushes. "Okay, sure."

Peter nods, then pushes off the counter to grab the vodka. He flips the grenadine bottle. Eris taught him that trick on a slow night one time. Told him every woman likes a bartender with quick hands.

Sarah watches him pour. He's got nimble hands. Quick.

"You here with friends?" Peter asks, spinning the bowl of cherries towards her.

Sarah nods. "They're over there. Playing poker."

"You're not a fan of the game?" Peter asks. He takes a red toothpick and stabs four cherries into it.

"I don't know how to play," Sarah admits.

Peter puts the lime slice on and slides her the drink. He leans against the counter again. "Nobody really knows how to play poker."

Sarah stops the drink before it slides in her lap. Talk about something she likes to talk about. Something that makes sense to her. As the bartender watches her, Sarah suddenly realizes she can't remember any of the things she likes. Daphne. She likes Daphne.

"My daughter could play poker, probably," she says. "She's a lot smarter than I am."

"How old is your daughter?" Peter asks.

"Five, as of a few days ago."

Peter smiles. He nods to another bartender as he passes. "You must've had her young."

"Eighteen," Sarah says. She sips from the drink. It tastes just like that one Adam ordered her, but it's a little less sweet. She likes it. "This tastes amazing," she says.

"Some people can play poker, some people can make drinks," he replies. "What's your daughter like?"

Sarah watches him clean a glass behind the counter. "She loves the planets. She's memorized all seven of them."

Peter smiles to himself. There are eight planets, but who cares? He certainly doesn't.

"She can't play the recorder for the life of her, though," Sarah adds.

Peter puts the glass away. "Astronauts don't need to play the recorder," he says.

Sarah laughs. She wonders if the bartender will ask her about Daphne's father. She isn't sure how flirting works, but she's pretty sure he's supposed to check for a ring and if he doesn't see one, he should ask if Sarah is married. Peter doesn't ask. Maybe he's not flirting with her.

"Well, that's what I told the music teacher. Music is useless in the long run."

Peter lifts an eyebrow again. "I don't think so," he says. "I think it's important."

Sarah tells herself not to blush. "Well, that's good to know. Sheet music is the only kind of thing I can even read."

Stupid, Sarah tells herself. You're not supposed to tell the handsome bartender that you can't read. Stupid.

He doesn't flinch. "Why don't you teach your daughter, then?"

Sarah shrugs. She's almost half done the drink. "I tried. She just doesn't get it. I don't really know how to make her get it. How would you problem-solve that?"

Peter glances to his left, where Eris has stopped behind the bar to speak to one of the bartenders.

"I'd ask someone smarter than me," he answers. Eris catches his eye. "Come here, boss," he says. He wants to know what she'll do, how she'll act if she sees this conversation.

Sarah clears her throat. Eris looks better than her. She has that impossible-to-get hairstyle with the little flip at the end and a dress Sarah could never pull off. Why did the bartender have to call her here?

Eris comes over and places a hand on the counter and the other on Peter's back. Sarah watches it. Has this woman marked every man in the city?

Peter nods to Sarah, wishing Eris would take her hand away. "How do you teach a planet-obsessed five-year-old how to read music?"

"I can't read music," Eris says. Her face is expressionless, her voiced monotoned. For some reason, Sarah feels a little better. She can do something Eris can't. She's talented in a way Eris isn't.

"Right," Peter says. "But you're a savant in learning theory. Fix the pretty woman's problem."

Eris takes her hand off his back and glances at Sarah. "Music is harder to learn at first than any other language because there are no quantifiable equivalents. Find an equivalent that your daughter understands and relate it to music."

Sarah doesn't even know what some of those words mean. She looks at Peter. She could smile, say that's a great idea. He'll think she's smart for understanding whatever it was that Eris just said.

Sarah lifts her chin. "I don't know what that means," she says.

Peter looks at Eris. "Me either, boss."

So Sarah isn't stupid. Eris is just smart.

"Tell your daughter that the atmosphere and the materials on other planets are different," Eris says. "Tell her that different planets make different sounds because of that. Put stickers of each planet on every different note so she can visualize it for a while. Make Earth middle C, because that's a neutral note. Make Mercury and Venus A and B, respectively, because they're closer to the sun than Earth. Make Mars D, make Jupiter E, on and on. You'll have to leave Neptune out, because there's no H in music. Tell her Neptune comes later, when she learns the sharps. She'll pick it up in less than an hour."

Peter looks at Sarah. Sarah watches Eris. Did she just think of that? Did she just know that? Does her brain really just work so much quicker and so much faster than Sarah's?

"I thought you said you couldn't read music," Sarah says.

Eris holds her gaze. "I can't," she says. She moves past Peter, down the bar. She can speak countless languages. Her mind picks up new things faster than others can think of them. While she might not have the patience to play, of course she can read music. But Sarah doesn't need to know that.

Peter turns back to Sarah. "Problem solved," he says.

Sarah watches Eris disappear into the staff room. If Daphne had her for a mother, she'd turn out to be brilliant.

"Am I supposed to ask your boss for help every time my daughter struggles with something?" Sarah feels slightly demeaned. Eris thought of that so fast. She holds tightly to the fact that she can read music, and Eris can't. It's something.

Peter smiles, then takes her empty glass. He knows what Sarah is thinking. "I'd rather be asking for help than providing it. It's a much simpler life."

Sarah never heard someone say they wouldn't want to be a genius. She didn't think geniuses had any problems.

"What's next?" Peter says. He barely put half a shot in the last drink, because he figured Sarah only asked for the alcohol because she didn't want to drink a virgin drink in front of him.

"Oh, that's okay—"

"Wrong answer," he said. "You're supposed to be mooching."

Sarah looks over at Eris, back behind the bar. She's holding one of those classy-looking drinks with the olive. It seems to match her.

"Can I have one of those?" Sarah asks, pointing to Eris.

"Of course you can. Vodka or gin?"

"Vodka," Sarah replies. She has bad memories of gin.

Peter makes the martini, stabs the olive, then holds the drink out in front of her.

"I'm going to give you this either way," he says. "But I'd prefer if you'd let me take it to that couch over there for you."

Sarah feels her heart mush with nerves. She gets a little tingle up her neck. "Sure," she says.

Peter takes the drink around the side of the bar. He walks like a confident man, nonchalant, simple. He waits until Sarah sits, then gives her the drink. He sits next to her. He does that thing with his arm over the back of the couch. Sarah doesn't know what to do. Does she just jump on him right here? Does she lean in? Is she supposed to put her hand on his leg? Eris probably does that, but Sarah doesn't know how to get her hand over to his legs without making some awkward shuffle over. She swallows. He said something. She doesn't know what he said.

"Sorry?" she asks. She thinks she might break the glass she's holding.

"I asked if you worked," Peter says. Someone comes over and gives him a glass of whiskey, sent by Eris. She knows he likes to do something with his hands when he's talking.

"Oh," Sarah says. "Yes. I just do inventory at the library downtown."

Peter doesn't answer. He's inspecting the whiskey. He wonders if Eris put the leftover aphrodisiac in here. He wouldn't put it past her. He gets a text, and he glances at it.

The supply closet is free if you want it.

Peter looks over at the poker tables, where she's leaning. He'd give her the finger, but he doesn't want Sarah to see it.

"Do you just bartend?" Sarah asks. She isn't sure why she's suddenly lost his attention.

Peter looks over at her. "Among other things," he says.

"Well, that sounds mysterious. What other things?"

"Break into houses," Peter says. "Drain the gas from cars." He takes a sip of whiskey. For some reason, Eris' text bothered him. It's just Eris, being Eris. She doesn't understand the concept of not hooking up with someone in a supply closet the second she meets them.

Sarah blinks. "Oh," she says.

Peter looks at her again. He glances out at the room, alive around them. He doesn't say anything.

"I'm—" Sarah cuts off. She doesn't really like the taste of the martini. She much prefers the Shirley temple. She can't believe that the kind man with the quick hands was the one in her house.

"You don't like it?" Peter nods to the martini.

"Oh, it's fine." She doesn't know why he'd tell her that.

"I'll get you something else." Peter takes it from her. Walks over to the bar. Dumps the martini out. Eris is on him in a second.

"I'll give you the penthouse, if you want," she says, leaning against the counter, watching him spin the grenadine. "You can have it all night. Just wash the sheets, please."

"Stop," Peter tells her. He takes the cherries out.

"Bring the cherries," Eris says, nodding to the bowl. "You can pop a couple for her."

Peter sets the glass down on the table loudly and looks over at her. "Stop."

"I'm serious. After, her and I can compare you and Adam. We'll make pro-con lists. I could tell you who's better now, but I'll wait for her to crown the winner."

"No wonder he beat the shit out of you," Peter tells her. He puts the lime on the side and pushes past her.

Eris steps in front of him. Her expression has hardly changed, but Peter knows that look. "Watch it. Don't talk to me like that." Her voice is simple, smooth.

Peter breaks her gaze. She can shamelessly mock and make fun of him, but he can't fight back. He wants to say or what? What can you do? He keeps his mouth closed. Fire him. Send him to jail. Those are the kind of things she can do.

He knows why she's acting like this. He knows her better than most. She's not jealous of Sarah, really, but she doesn't like that she's losing her control over Peter. She's not and has never been in love with him, but it bothers her to know he might not be in love with her, either.

"Understood, boss. Now move," Peter says.

Eris steps out of the way and goes back to the pool table, where the man who's been flirting with her all night is waiting for her to play a round. She's jittery, unable to remain still even long enough to keep up with his game. She taps him on the shoulder to get his attention, then excuses herself to go to the bathroom. She meets his gaze as she reaches for the door, and he gives her a knowing smile, tossing the pool stick to someone else as he goes to follow her.

In the bathroom, Eris turns around to wait for him.

Sarah bursts through the door instead. She locks it behind her.

"Oh, come on," Eris says.

"I don't know what to do." Her face is panicked.

"Get out of the bathroom. Try that," Eris says.

"I don't know what to do," Sarah insists. "I have no clue how to act. How do I act?"

"Don't ask me for advice."

"Please. Please help me. I know you know what I should do. You know everything. I know nothing. I'm awkward and weird. I've only ever been with one man, and you did that better than me, too."

Eris glances at her reflection in the mirror. It's probably true.

"Your bartender is nice. I like your bartender. Please tell me what to do, because I think he's going to take me into some closet and I don't know what to do."

Eris sighs, long and annoyed. A knock comes on the door. Poor guy thinks she led him on. "He isn't going to take you into some closet," she says to Sarah.

"But aren't you waiting for that man in a bathroom? Isn't that what you do at clubs?"

"Okay first of all, I'm in this bathroom because it's fun. Second of all, Nyx has rooms. If anything, he'll ask you into one of those. And if he does, just tell him that's not your thing. He won't care."

"I want to do it," Sarah says firmly.

Eris scrunches her nose. "Then ask him into one of the rooms. This isn't that hard."

"For you. What do I do? How do I ask? How do I make him like me?"

A knock comes at the door again. "Just wait for him to ask," Eris says.

"But I want to be wild. I want to be brave and confident. Just for tonight."

Eris spins around in a circle, as if looking for an exit. She looks back at Sarah, whose face is full of utter panic. She sighs.

"Fine," Eris says. "Go back in there. When he says something, look confused and lean forward a little. Ask him to repeat it. When he does, lean forward, put your hand on his knee, and tell him it's too loud in there. Ask him if there's a place you can go where it's less loud. He'll take you to a room."

"And then?"

"Please don't make me keep going."

Sarah crosses her arms. "And then?" she repeats.

Eris sits on the counter. She knows it's not dirty, because she has it cleaned every hour. "Make sure he sits down first. Sit down so your legs are touching. While he's talking, reach out and play with the buttons on his shirt. He'll do the rest."

"But how do I...know where to...you, know...where to touch so he'll like it."

Eris leans forward, a sly smile growing. She doesn't ever talk about this kind of thing, not in years. But she remembers when she did, when it was fresh and confusing. Considering Sarah lives with the thirty-year-old father of her child, Eris thought she'd know her way around a man. But maybe she doesn't.

"Ask him," Eris says.

"But I want to be all...sexy."

Eris sputters out a laugh. Sarah has never heard her laugh, but it's pretty.

"Like I said, ask him," Eris says. "Ask him where he wants you, ask him if he likes what you're doing."

Sarah blinks. "Really?"

"Really. Please get out of my bathroom."

"I just have to ask? That's all?"

"Yeah. That's it." Eris makes a gesture. "Feels good? Say it feels good. You don't know what he's feeling? Ask him. Get out, now. I'm begging you."

Sarah thinks on this for a moment. She never even thought to ask. She didn't think men would like it. "Okay," she says. "I can ask."

Eris points to the door.

Sarah looks at her. "Thanks. For the help with my daughter. And for the...tips."

"You are very welcome," Eris says.

Sarah reaches for the door, then pauses. She glances back for a moment, the haze of the club and the feeling beginning to drain her.

"I think he's depressed," she says. "Adam."

Eris glances at her. She doesn't say anything.

"I don't know why," she says. "But I think something happened at work that reminded him of his mother. She went to the hospital for a week when Adam was sixteen. Broken jaw, broken nose. Adam felt like it was his fault."

Eris doesn't say anything.

"I don't know why I feel like I have to tell you," Sarah says. "But I know you're a part of whatever he's going through. Maybe you can help him."

"It's a little more complicated than that," Eris replies.

"Right, well. It was worth a try." She unlocks the door, shuts it behind her.