Page 9 of Flock
“I’m the daughter of the asshole.”
She tilts her head, her clear blue eyes widening slightly before darting past me in the direction Sean left. “No shit?”
“Yeah, and trust me, I’m dreading it.”
“I already like you,” she takes another sip of her cider and glances around the yard. “Same shit, different day.”
“They do this often?”
“Oh, yeah—” she flutters her fingers as if the subject isn’t worth entertaining. “So, where did you move from?”
“Peachtree City, just outside of Atlanta.”
“Why would you want to move here?”
I shrug. “Single parents, and they passed the baton this year.”
“Sucks.”
“It does.”
She looks past me, lifting her chin toward the same guy who summoned Sean from the porch—this time his eyes only for her. He’s got nothing on Sean looks-wise, but there’s something about him that commands attention, especially hers. She gives him a knowing grin and turns to me. “Can’t leave your man alone too long, even with his friends. Well, a man that can’t do without you. And my man doesn’t like my attention divided.” She rolls her eyes as his jaw ticks with impatience. “Do you have a boyfriend back home?”
“No.”
Her eyes are still on his as they pass a look that displays ownership of the other on both parts before she turns to me.
“Well, hopefully you find something in Triple that keeps you entertained.”
“Maybe.” I lift my bottle to sip my cider and find it empty. She plucks us each a new one from the cooler, passing one to me. “I better get over there. Join us if you want.”
“Thanks, I’m going to wait here for Sean. Good meeting you.”
“I’ll see you around, Cecelia.”
She saunters off, retreating onto the lap of her man and wraps herself around him as he plays his hand. He subtly but possessively caresses her thigh with his thumb as she whispers in his ear. I dart my eyes away, a little envious. It’s been a while since I had a steady boyfriend, and I sometimes miss the ritual.
The more I look around, the more I recognize these people are family. I seem to be the only outsider here, which I assume is the reason for the seconds-long glances that are coming at me from all sides. Not the type to mingle, I find myself missing Sean—who’s been gone for what seems like forever—as I stand in the middle of the yard, a fish out of water. Music filters down from an open window on the second floor of the house as I walk over to the fence, overlooking a partial mountain view. I might have moved from the suburbs of Atlanta to the mountains in Bumfuck, Nowhere, but even I can appreciate the spectacular scenery.
Do you party?
No. Though I attended a few in high school, I always opted to leave early. I’m fully aware of the protocol and behavior necessary to blend in at these types of gatherings, but I’ve never really become comfortable in the way Christy is, who’s never met a stranger. Christy is always the buffer for me, and I find myself wishing she was here. I’ve never been the one to dance on a table after taking too many shots, or give in to a random hookup. My record is squeaky in that sense. I’ve always been more of an introvert, an onlooker, bearing witness to the goings-on while too afraid of making any mistakes and losing face.
In hindsight, I wished I’d made a few worthy missteps and been a little bit braver. But weeks ago, I crossed that stage for my diploma unmemorable, the “what’s her name?” girl in the background of a few yearbook pictures. It dawns on me now, here amongst strangers, I can be anyone. Aside from Sean’s easy read on me during our first encounter, no one knows me. Christy’s right in a lot of ways about my role in my relationship with my mom. She’s been begging me for years to loosen up. Maybe it’s not too late to make those notable blunders, make myself more of an “in the moment” gal, and less of a wallflower.
More of a wishful thinker than executioner, I perch against the fence and am halfway through my second cider, lost in the view of the evergreen drenched mountains when I sense I’m not alone.
“Sean desert you already?” A voice rumbles from next to me. I turn to see Tyler standing just feet away, his arms crossed over the edge of the fence, his expression and brown eyes warm.
“Yeah,” I wave my bottle. “No complaints, I’m a fan of whoever’s playing DJ, and I’ve got a drink and a view. Tyler, right?”
His answering grin reveals a dimple. “Right.”
“Do you work at the plant, too?”
“Nope, I work at a garage for now, just got back from Greensboro—had a job out there the last four years of my reserves.”
“Really?”
