A voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“Probably gonna regret this later.”
He looked up. The woman in the trench coat had turned her gaze toward him, a half-smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she poked at the mess of food in front of her. Her voice was smooth, tinged with something dry—amusement, maybe.
Jacob chewed, swallowed, and leaned back in his booth. “Yeah? What part? The poppers or the chili fries?”
“Take your pick.” She popped a jalapeño into her mouth, chewing with slow deliberation. “I usually don’t eat like this. Figured I’d make an exception.”
Jacob shrugged. “Nothing wrong with treating yourself.”
She studied him for a moment before taking a sip of her drink. “First time here too?”
“Yeah,” Jacob admitted. “Usually find myself at a bar by now.”
“And yet, here you are.”
“Heh, one of the only two Huddle Houses in Northern Indiana. Come here for the burger, I assume?”
"Heh, I was just . . . passing through."
The conversation unfolded in easy steps. Names were exchanged as Jacob and Elle introduced themselves. He was intrigued by the way she spoke—measured, deliberate, yet with an undercurrent of something unspoken. They lingered on their names for a moment, repeating them with quiet amusement as if trying them out on their tongues.
They talked about life. About places they had been, things they had seen.
Jacob, a former felon, had turned his life around after a few years in prison, and swore off on alcohol for the rest of his life from that point onwards - the only time he had touched a bottle was to light it on fire and throw it at a group of bandits trying to break into his house during the weeks of chaos. Elle took in his appearance and demeanor as the conversation picked up - 5'7ft. tall, Caucasian by appearance, Armenian by blood. Somewhere between 35 and 45 years old, she guessed - Jacob would never say but he really was almost 50. Far more friendly and talkative than his outwardly grizzled demeanor and appearance would otherwise suggest. Tanned skin, decently fit, brown hair and a stubbled dark beard. He had gotten off his work as a garbage truck operator shortly past sunset, and after managing some finance at his house, left to catch a late-night meal.
Elle's attire didn't leave too much to Jacob's imagination, but her demeanor and their conversation did. She was taller than him at 5'8, probably about 30 years old, of Thai descent. Stunning, radiating with beauty, wonderful curves, perfect face, flawless skin. Large, voluptuous breasts that Jacob forced himself not to look at. Lightly applied but dark and classy makeup. A very form-fitting pitch-black mini-dress that showed plenty of skin in all the right places, with a large black trench coat over it. Elle told Jacob that she didn't normal wear something so . . . exciting, but a now shattered opportunity had called for it earlier in the day. She just wanted good, comforting food.
Inevitably, the conversation shifted to the Fusion Wave.
Jacob had been lucky. New Haven, Indiana only saw 25% of its population transformed. He had seen the changes, though. Fused people, Furs, conjoined and taurs, and many stranger still. The world had adjusted, but not without struggle.
Elle dropped the bombshell abruptly - she had been changed by it. This revelation shocked Jacob, and he struggled to stifle a good-natured chuckle as the both of them blushed, him in shame, Elle in embarrassment. Her? A mutant? There wasn't a visible change in sight!
She spoke about it carefully, measuring her words. She had been in a city where the Wave had hit hard. She had lost things—people, a life she had built. After surviving half of the time running, she weathered out the final weeks of the chaos in a government-run refugee camp.
When "life returned to normal," things began to fall apart. Her marriage had crumbled, along with her relationship with her family. She had been laid off as well, from one of the many companies that "could not meet the needs of transformed individuals." After angrily and abruptly gathering everything she had, Elle got into her sedan and drove westward in a daze for 6 hours. The conversation grew heavier, the space between words stretching longer. Silence settled over them. Elle's eyes turned downward, and the look that fell over her face was one that Jacob knew she had been making often.
"You got hit on all sides, huh?" He exhaled, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw. "Life has a way of kicking people when they’re already down. And when it happens, everyone acts like they know how to deal with it—like there’s some right way to pick up the pieces. Truth is, there ain’t."
He leaned back in the booth, staring at his half-empty coffee cup before looking at her again. "People walk away when things get complicated. Jobs, lovers, even family. Some of 'em never come back. Some do, but not as the people you remember. And it sucks, Elle. It really does. But it ain't because of you. It’s because they couldn't handle what life threw at them—so they threw you away instead."
A beat of silence. Rain drummed lightly against the window.
"You still here, though." He nodded toward her. "Still breathing. Still cracking jokes. Still craving greasy diner food at ass-o’clock in the morning. That tells me you’re stronger than you think. And if those people couldn’t see that? If they couldn’t stand with you when you needed ‘em?" He met her eyes. "Then they didn’t deserve you in the first place."
Elle didn't respond. She didn't even look over, as she stared at her food silently, processing what he had said.
After a pregnant silence, she slid out of her booth and into his. Jacob was pleasantly surprised, and the two of them chuckled as they continued to eat.
They spoke again of life and love. Of struggles old and new they had weathered in this changed world. Then like a shift in the wind, the mood lightened, and the two of them began to laugh on shared feelings and irritations. A joke here, a teasing remark there. Elle’s lips curled into a smirk as she leaned in just a little too close, and Jacob, feeling the warmth of her proximity, played along.
“So, Jacob,” she said, tilting her head. “What’s the most reckless thing you’ve done lately?”
Jacob smirked. “Aside from ordering mozzarella sticks this late at night?”
She laughed, low and genuine. “Daring.”
“You?”
Elle took a slow sip of her drink. “Sitting in a booth, talking with a stranger I just met about all of my troubles.”
He grinned. “Dangerous habit. I wouldn't recommend.”
“I don't like danger - but you're a pretty safe, interesting, earnest guy.” She winked. This conversation had turned into something neither of them had anticipated, but they both like it, and continued to play along.
His eyes flickered over her dress, and he grinned. “I didn't know when to say this, but my, my your dress is . . . exquisite.”
She rolled her eyes and blushed. "Thanks . . . I tried visiting an old . . . acquaintance with this on and they still wouldn't see me knowing that I've been changed."
Jacob finally exclaimed. "Changed? How? No offense, but that dress showcases as much of your perfection as possible."
Her smirk deepened. She held his gaze for a long, unreadable moment before finishing the last sip of her drink. Then, with slow deliberation, she set the glass down and leaned in just a little more.
"So you're saying . . . it doesn't leave anything to the imagination?"
Jacob blushed. He hadn't really meant it like that. "I . . . guess."
Elle giggled at his reaction. “. . . Wanna bet?”