Wesley and I agree on a restaurant. As soon as the plans are made, I already feel guilty. He knows I’m married… I think.
The next day, I search the internet on the age-old dial-up connection in the motel lobby for a bicycle. It’s the next best thing to a car. The nearest one I can find is a vintage banana seat bicycle, pink with a white seat, decorated with retro daisies. I hate pink. The woman asks $100 for it. I offer $75 and we have a deal. I ride my new bike back to the motel, surprised at how smooth the ride is and how comfortable the banana seat is.
Saturday night, I ride my bike to Chris’s house, a tiny home on stilts at the water’s edge. I prop my make-shift vehicle against the garage door which is under the house, straighten my yellow shirt and khaki capri’s and head towards the stairs. I have to walk through the eerie, dark stilts to reach the them. I’m not pleased. I wonder how the house stays up, and I can easily imagine it being knocked over with the force of one wave.
Standing at the front door, I see a distant glow inside and hear the chatter of a small group of people in the distance. Four cars are parked in the driveway so I estimate about eight people. The door bell echoes through the house and sifts out the open windows. Ashley answers the door, looking appropriate for the season in a short cotton summer dress.
“Hi Mollie! Come on in.” She makes room for me to pass her. “Everyone’s out back on the deck. Go ahead out. I’ve just got to get a few more drinks.”
I feel like a fool walking into this crowd even before I’m halfway there. We pass through the small living room towards the kitchen at the back. “Let me help you with the drinks,” I practically beg.
“Oh, sure,” she says with a bright smile. “I need three beers from the fridge, and I’ll grab this pitcher.” With the pitcher in one hand and a stack of fancy plastic cups in the other, she pushes the back door open and lets me pass.
“Hey, you made it,” Chris says, standing up to empty my hands of the three beers then distribute them to the guys.
I stand next to the glass table while Chris introduces me – two couples, a single guy and two single girls. No way I’ll remember their names.
“Do you like pina colada?” Ashley asks me, pouring some of the white fluid from the pitcher into a cup.
“Sure,” I say, looking for a seat without appearing to look for a seat. There aren’t any except for the cooler behind me against the outside wall of the house. I take the drink from Ashley and make a swift move back to sit down.
“Oh, Chris, go get Mollie a chair. I thought I had enough,” Ashley says.
“My fault,” one of the girls says, shrugging. “I crashed. Sorry, Mollie. I took your seat.”
“It’s okay,” Chris says, grinning. “She can sit right here.” He patted his thigh and the guys bellowed with laughter.
“I’m fine here,” I say, tipping the cup up to hide behind its brim.
“Come on, Chris. Go get a chair,” Ashley says, stretching over the gap between them to swat his arm.
“Fine,” he says, getting up. Then points a finger at me and says, “But you owe me,” and laughs.
Ugh. I hate every minute of this. It’s not funny. I don’t like him. I don’t want to drink. I don’t want to be social. I want to go home and slip into Bosley’s arms and –
Crud. I have to stop doing that.
Chris returns with a flimsy chair, opens it roughly and plops it down next to himself at the table.
“Thanks,” I say and transfer seats.
An hour later, after the best grilled brats and sauerkraut I’ve ever eaten, the girls stand together at the far rail of the deck, bobbing slightly to the music playing in the open window. The guys chill out at the table, lighting cigs and tipping back beers. I wonder if it’s safe to leave yet. Have I put in enough time here? If I stay good and long, will it make it okay to decline next time? I don’t exactly fit in with the girls but the guys… ugh. I slip into the house, using the bathroom as an excuse to escape.
Taking my time, I make note of their décor, pics, furniture. Passing through the micro kitchen and towards the hall, I stop to check out the living room. An open frame sofa with cream cushions and light wood sits against the left wall. A flat panel TV hangs on the opposite wall, sleek and almost unnoticeable. The coffee table is expertly decorated with a stack of three books lying on their side, each getting smaller as they go up. An electronics cabinet is tucked into the corner by the sofa and is loaded with equipment. I notice at least five machines. What could they all be for? Here and there on small tables and window sills are average beach decorations; shells, fish, etc. The hardwood floor is mostly covered by a white shag throw rug.
As I head down the short hallway, I peak into each door I pass. A bedroom. Looks like a spare. Light décor just like the living room. Across is … the basement. Yuck. Dark and musty. And the bathroom. I step ahead to peak into the last room, which I assume is their bedroom. I’ve never been more driven to snoop in anyone else’s house. Before I get a peak, I hear the back door creak open, and I scoot quickly into the bathroom.
After leaving what I think is plenty of time to rid the house of its recent guest, I head out towards the back again, but I’m surprised to find Chris waiting in the kitchen, leaning against the counter in the dim light, arms crossed over his chest.
“Hi,” I say with a fake smile, heading for the door.
He meets me midway, throwing his arm around my neck and tugging me into his chest. “How’s it going?” he says. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Yeah,” I say, wondering why he always has to touch me and when he’s going to let go. My gaze shoots toward the back deck to check Ashley’s location.
“Good. I knew you would.”
He keeps me in a headlock hug, holding my gaze. It’s definitely awkward. I’m not sure what he wants. A kiss? Please don’t kiss me, I think.
With his arm still around me, he walks me outside where the guys are now sitting on the railing by the girls, whooping and yelling, laughing and playing. One of them is now in the middle of the girls, shaking his money maker.
“Alright,” Chris says, getting everyone’s attention, and I blush. “Let’s show Mollie how to party.”
Party? What does he mean? I thought we were partying.
He finally releases me, smacking my ass as he whoops and hip butts one of the girls. In shock, I stand still for a moment, trying to determine what will happen next. Is it just a bit of wild dancing? Or is it more?
~~ Should Ana/Mollie try to leave or stick it out? ~~
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