R.L. takes note of Rosie's preference for taking the lead on things. It's... well, it would be novel, frankly. Flirting is fun, but R.L. spent much of her life surrounded by people who seemed content to wait for her to pull the fucking trigger. Maybe they just knew they could count on R.L. to do it first, whatever "it" was. Or maybe she's being unfair to people she hasn't seen in years, years spent convincing herself she didn't need them.
And maybe that course of thought--the novelty of being led, lest through digression we forget the topic--would seem premature, but Rosie answers her suggestive salvo in kind. R.L. hides her relief so well that it can't even be called admirable, because nobody could possibly admire it. She starts thinking of counter-counter-flirts ("I can see some of what you have on offer, but maybe a closer look..."), wordplay (something about getting along like a house on fire...? R.L. isn't sure why that phrase came to mind), compliments (Rosie's plenty is quite noticeable, in fact), questions (what's with the flowers, anyway?)...
...and that all gets shoved to one side with Rosie's choice of song.
R.L. recognized that this was a record shop, of course, but she hadn't thought much about it. She hadn't expected to hear a song she recognized, let alone watch a bubbly blonde make a daiquiri while drunkenly humming a Top 40 hit from shortly before R.L.'s thirteenth birthday...
R.L.'s the first to recognize (though not admit) that some of her motivations in this scene might fall under the category of "mommy issues." She's even fine with that, sort of. But there's "looks kind of like my hot mom" and "recreated a scene directly from my thorny childhood relationship with my mother," and the latter is just a little too surreal to easily bounce back from.
When Rosie looks R.L. in the eye again, the newcomer looks shaken. All she can think to say, in an embarrassingly-tremulous tone, is, "You know Coldplay?"
no subject
And maybe that course of thought--the novelty of being led, lest through digression we forget the topic--would seem premature, but Rosie answers her suggestive salvo in kind. R.L. hides her relief so well that it can't even be called admirable, because nobody could possibly admire it. She starts thinking of counter-counter-flirts ("I can see some of what you have on offer, but maybe a closer look..."), wordplay (something about getting along like a house on fire...? R.L. isn't sure why that phrase came to mind), compliments (Rosie's plenty is quite noticeable, in fact), questions (what's with the flowers, anyway?)...
...and that all gets shoved to one side with Rosie's choice of song.
R.L. recognized that this was a record shop, of course, but she hadn't thought much about it. She hadn't expected to hear a song she recognized, let alone watch a bubbly blonde make a daiquiri while drunkenly humming a Top 40 hit from shortly before R.L.'s thirteenth birthday...
R.L.'s the first to recognize (though not admit) that some of her motivations in this scene might fall under the category of "mommy issues." She's even fine with that, sort of. But there's "looks kind of like my hot mom" and "recreated a scene directly from my thorny childhood relationship with my mother," and the latter is just a little too surreal to easily bounce back from.
When Rosie looks R.L. in the eye again, the newcomer looks shaken. All she can think to say, in an embarrassingly-tremulous tone, is, "You know Coldplay?"