Charm and Consequence (Novella) - By Stephanie Wardrop Page 0,19
there.
“I’ll take you home,” he says quietly.
“Endicott, you don’t have to play rescue hero here. Georgiana’s a big girl.”
“Georgiana’s a drunk girl,” Michael corrects as he helps me get fully to my feet.
Jeremy rolls his eyes and picks up the drink I had refused. “Whatever,” he says as he watches the drink slosh around in the cup he keeps tilting left and right.
“What about Tori?” I ask Michael as he guides me through the maze of partiers.
“Trey will take her home.”
“Trey’s here? Yea!” I point to the fifth coat that Michael has pulled out of the pile on a ladder back chair by the front door and he hands it to me. But I have a hard time figuring out where the sleeves are. “How did he know she was here?”
Michael helps me wrestle into my sleeves and says, “I saw him in town. He lost his phone while he was away, and he just got back today.”
We walk out into the cold and down the steps and the sidewalk to Michael’s car. He gets in after me and pushes a button and soon my butt is no longer feeling like it’s sitting on an iceberg and I smile at this luxury technology. He pulls out his phone, texts somebody, and snaps off the radio when a blast of Bob Marley hits my ears.
“I like reggae!” I protest.
“Yeah?” he asks as we inch out onto the icy street. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. I mean, I feel stupid, but I’m fine...”
“Well. Accepting a drink from Jeremy Wrentham is kind of stupid, but you couldn’t know that, I guess. It’s not like somebody warned you.” He looks over at me for a long moment as we pull up in front of my neighbor’s house to sit with the motor running so I can sober up without freezing to death. I look around at the interior of the car, with its light tan leather seats, and note that there is not a speck of dust or a crumpled up chip bag or a stray drink cup anywhere. It is pathologically clean.
“You could perform surgery in here,” I remark, and Michael looks at me funny, then turns his head away but not before I can see him smirking with amusement.
A light snow is falling in big fake looking flakes like the ones in cheap movies and the soap operas my mom used to watch. The lights of the streetlamp and our porch cast shadowy gold halos.
“It’s pretty,” I say without thinking. “I hate the cold, but snow is really pretty when it first falls.”
He doesn’t say anything for awhile but it doesn’t feel that awkward. We just watch the snowfall and listen to the end of “Could You Be Loved” on the radio real low.
“Thanks for letting Trey know where Tori would be,” I say finally. “She was worried when he didn’t IM or call or anything all vacation long.”
“He was pretty frantic, not talking to her that long.”
“I knew he was still devoted,” I say. “Must be nice, having someone devoted to you...”
“No. No way, Georgia. You are not going to become a morose, weepy drunk on me. It was actually better when you thought you were funny.”
“Other people think I’m funny.”
“And so do I. Just not right now.”
We’re quiet then as I digest this and the song switches on the radio. I contemplate Michael’s finding me funny sometimes and having his car radio tuned to the Hartford reggae station. Both are surprises.
“Do you think you can go in your house now without embarrassing yourself in front of your parents?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He opens his door. “I’ll walk you.”
We trudge through the snowy sidewalks to our porch and when I see our footsteps behind us, I stumble a little against his arm and cry, “Oh! We’ve ruined the perfect snow!”
“Can’t be helped,” he assures me and guides me up the stairs. He opens the door for me and Mom appears in the entryway, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Georgia? You’re back?”
“Yeah, Mom, Michael brought me home. Tori decided to stay because Trey’s there.”
“Oh good!” she says but she is looking at Michael uncertainly.
“Thank you for the ride,” I say to him.
“Happy New Year, Georgia,” he says with his bemused smirk.
“And Happy New Year, Michael,” I say as he waves uncertainly and closes the door behind himself.
Dad appears behind Mom, his hand on her shoulder.
“How was the party, George?”
“Okay. Too many people in one place, though... G’night!”
I start up the stairs and I can hear Mom say