Page 16 of A Country Kind Of Love
“I’d like my hairband back.”
She’s thirsty for apple juice, so she grabs a drink from the fridge before she collapses on the blue two-seater sofa that has no business being in the living area. No interior designer would’ve ever coupled it with the brown leather frat house sofa, but it’s her preferred choice and the one less likely to give her rabies. Peyton finds it surprisingly comfortable for a sofa that looks like it came free with the apartment. Jesse jumps up to sit on the kitchen counter.
“So... howdid it go?”
“Terrible.” She sighs.
Peyton toys with the ring that now has a home on the silver chain around her neck. Is that odd? She isn’t sure. What else is she supposed to do with it? She doesn’t wear rings; they make her fingers feel suffocated. She can’t just throw it away; that’s rude, but to put it on her chain that holds her mother’s wedding band, maybe that is weird. She can remove it later.
“I don’t believe that.”
“Trust me.” She could tell him about the encounter with Cleo, but what was there to tell? A charismatic woman with a velvet Tennessee accent offered her a cigarette, gave her a few words of wisdom, and a ring; that’s normal. It’s totally normal. Did she think about her all the way home, maybe. So what?
“What’s next?”Jesse asks.
“I don’t know; tomorrow’s another day.”She shrugs.
“That’s the spirit.” He jumps down from the counter. “By the way, there are a few more people coming tonight than I anticipated.”
Peyton bolts upright. “How many is a few?”
“Maybe ten.”Jesse grins.
“Ten!” Peyton gulps. Her palms begin to sweat. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m nervous.”
“Don’t worry. They’re super chill.” He reaches in the fridge for a jug full of unidentifiable liquid; she assumes it includes tequila. “Liquid courage?”
“Yes, please.”
There’s a knock at the door. Peyton freezes; her eyes widen. “Already?”
“It’s gone seven.” Jesse laughs.
“I’m going to freshen up.” She runs tothe bedroom.
The last time she was in a social situation with ten people she didn’t know, she’d been forced to go to Dylan’s now ex-girlfriend’s twenty-fifth birthday party. She remembers getting blind drunk, eating more chocolate dipped strawberries than necessary, and partaking in an impromptu karaoke sing-along to “Single Ladies” by Beyoncé. That part would’ve been fun had she not run to the bathroom to throw up halfway through.
She doesn’t hate social situations; she just finds them unnerving. There’s a chaotic element to them. She doesn’t know who’s going to be there or what’s going to happen. They can be grand or intimate; Peyton is scared of the former. She quickly discards the hat and ties her greasy hair up in a bun. The lace tank top is replaced by a tight white T-shirt.
She wants to look appropriate for the evening, but she’s conscious of not drawing attention to herself. She peeks around the bedroom door. She sees a guy she assumes is Christian, due to his gangly tattooed frame. The woman on his arm wears a tank top and a pair of denim shorts.
Casual, perfect.
There’s a smell of sandalwood making its way down the hall. It’s a familiar smell. “Is that my incense stick?” she mutters to herself. It only took her four days to realise that Jesse has no boundaries. He ate the remainder of her sandwich from the fridge, he read her songs, clearly labelled on the notebook as,private, and he’s now wearing her hair band and burning her incense, but he is sweet. He’s like an annoying little brother, even though he’s twenty-six years old, which makes him three years olderthan she is.
The noise in the apartment goes from zero to ten. She contemplates turning back as she edges closer to the living room. No one’s looking; there’s time to escape. The front door is only a few metres away. A creak in the floor gives her away. Damnfloorboard.
Silence.
Everyone turns to look her way. Her hands tremble. She feels exposed.
“There she is.” Jesse beams. He’s now wearing a T-shirt, which is the most clothed she’s seen him since she moved in. There are three jugs of mixed cocktails on the worksurface, a bowl of Ruffles, and another one filled with Cheetos.
“I’m nervous,” Peyton whispers.
“Don’t be. Here, let me get you another drink.”
Peyton surveys the room; there are eight people in total, nine if she includes herself. She notices a jacket, a drink, and an empty seat on the sofa; someone else is here too. That makes ten.
