[ the next time she sees him, she's forgotten about him.
convinced herself she has, anyway. because she'd gone home, showered, slept, gone out to lunch with allison the next morning, gone shopping, gotten her hair done, studied, had sex with jackson on top of their kitchen table, taken prada to the vet, and very easily fallen into her regular routine in which random memories of random prostitutes (sorry, escorts) from random parties had no business popping up and distracting her. when she doesn't notice any familiar smoking room buddies at the next charity event she attends, the whole 'forgetting' idea is finalized, stamped, and approved by all parties lydia and she moves on with her life.
which is very easy. she's very busy; narrowly manages to rearrange her schedule to squeeze her uncle's cooperate christmas party between the days of her paid internship, buy a dress, and talk danny mahealani into being her date when jackson can't. they make it, however, and even though he color coordinated his suit to match the maroon of her dress, danny doesn't spend much of the evening by her side. he's pretty, which makes him instantly popular with everyone, and lydia doesn't much mind until later that night. she gets to talk about herself, gets to brag, and people listen and seem to genuinely care - at least until they're completely drunk and unintelligent. she's too smart for even smart company, it would seem, and while there's no convenient smoking room to escape to, there's vacated meeting rooms with leather spinny chairs she'd discovered when she was seven and is seriously considering seeking out again now.
but not without food, and something to drink for herself. she has a little paper plate laden with chocolate strawberries and and over balanced with festive cookies in one hand, a thin flute of champagne in the other, and when the rebellious fruits start to roll this way and that, she momentarily engages in a juggling act which just leads to a harsh shoulder collision with another body. two strawberries fall - two of the thousand of foodstuff casualties that will be meshed into the carpet by the end of the night - and lydia squarely steps on one, snapping a rather unapologetic apology without looking at whoever she collided with. ]
Sorry.
[ lydia lifts her shoe and peers at the underside. gross, that's going to make her heel sticky. ]
yeeeeees fucking timeskip~
convinced herself she has, anyway. because she'd gone home, showered, slept, gone out to lunch with allison the next morning, gone shopping, gotten her hair done, studied, had sex with jackson on top of their kitchen table, taken prada to the vet, and very easily fallen into her regular routine in which random memories of random prostitutes (sorry, escorts) from random parties had no business popping up and distracting her. when she doesn't notice any familiar smoking room buddies at the next charity event she attends, the whole 'forgetting' idea is finalized, stamped, and approved by all parties lydia and she moves on with her life.
which is very easy. she's very busy; narrowly manages to rearrange her schedule to squeeze her uncle's cooperate christmas party between the days of her paid internship, buy a dress, and talk danny mahealani into being her date when jackson can't. they make it, however, and even though he color coordinated his suit to match the maroon of her dress, danny doesn't spend much of the evening by her side. he's pretty, which makes him instantly popular with everyone, and lydia doesn't much mind until later that night. she gets to talk about herself, gets to brag, and people listen and seem to genuinely care - at least until they're completely drunk and unintelligent. she's too smart for even smart company, it would seem, and while there's no convenient smoking room to escape to, there's vacated meeting rooms with leather spinny chairs she'd discovered when she was seven and is seriously considering seeking out again now.
but not without food, and something to drink for herself. she has a little paper plate laden with chocolate strawberries and and over balanced with festive cookies in one hand, a thin flute of champagne in the other, and when the rebellious fruits start to roll this way and that, she momentarily engages in a juggling act which just leads to a harsh shoulder collision with another body. two strawberries fall - two of the thousand of foodstuff casualties that will be meshed into the carpet by the end of the night - and lydia squarely steps on one, snapping a rather unapologetic apology without looking at whoever she collided with. ]
Sorry.
[ lydia lifts her shoe and peers at the underside. gross, that's going to make her heel sticky. ]