Creatures Of Habit

9 {Margot} 9

Augie left me again which I figured I shouldn't be upset about because she was the hostess and she had to do her rounds, but that left me sitting by myself on the couch and the seats open for everybody to sit down next to me including James who after a second and a glance into my cup asked without preamble, "Vodka?"

"Water," I replied. I wasn't trying to be short with him, I just didn't know how to interact with him. I was never good at making new friends, especially with people who probably didn't want to be friends with me, though I figured he was hanging around because he was in the same boat. He probably didn't know many people here, although I suspected he would fare a lot better at trying to make new friends than I would.

"Huh," he said simply. Was it a surprise that somebody like me didn't drink, or was he disappointed to know that I was exactly what he'd imagined I was and there was no surprise or secret exciting personality trait that would make me interesting. Before I could say anything even though I didn't know if I would say anything to that besides goodbye or I need to go, he said, "That's cool. I shouldn't drink. None of us should. My dad's kind of a..."

"A what?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"An alcoholic," he said into his drink.

"Oh." This actually did catch me off guard. "Mine too." I'd never shared that with anybody knowing full well that nothing but pity would be gained from it. "Well a recovering one at least," I said. "But you know they say you never actually stop being an addict."

"Right, yeah. I know," he said but he had shifted his bodyweight and turned to face me and his eyes were alert and focused on me willing me to go on. So I did.

"He was never violent or anything," I confessed. "He just couldn't deal with some stuff that happened to him a few years ago."

"My dad's the same. He's never like, hit us or anything you know, he just sort of falls into this trance or something. It makes him really sad. I hardly go see him because of that." He rubbed the back of his neck and threw back the rest of his drink.

"I saw your sister, just now. She didn't look too happy to see me. Not like she ever does, actually," I said if only to ease the tension that had built up around us. I didn't know if he wanted to keep talking, but I was never comfortable with comfortable silences.

"Danica is...young," he mused. "She tries to be grown up, to be like my mom, I think."

"She isn't like you," I said, the words spilling out without my permission.

He looked up then. It wasn't a question I'd posed, but he still replied. "No. At least I don't think so. We don't really get along. But maybe that's cause she's a girl and I don't really understand girls, to be honest." He gave a sad little laugh and shrugged, as if he could just shake off the feeling.

"I get along better with my twelve year old brother than with my thirteen year old sister," I confessed. "He's a lot like me. Quiet. Boring."
"I don't think quiet means boring. Sometimes, I prefer quiet."

I didn't know what to say after that, so I sipped my water. Around us the party grew to a swell of music and people talking loudly above the music that threatened to blow out the speakers.

"Sometimes I wish I'd just gone to live with my dad. But I don't know if he'd even want me there, you know?" James said after a little. I looked down at the water in my cup and wondered if maybe he'd had too much to drink because I could see the sadness in his eyes. Nobody spoke so freely to a stranger like he just had. But then again, I'd just done the same thing, so I kept going.

"Why do you think? I'm sure he would have. You're like the perfect son, aren't you? Good grades, never in trouble, football star." My voice sounded a little bitter even to me, but I didn't think James, being so wrapped up in his own thoughts, had noticed.

"You haven't been paying close attention to me, Margot. None of that is true."
I lifted a brow. How could I not have noticed that James was always getting praised for all of his good grades where even I struggled sometimes? Or how at school after every football game, there was always a story about he'd saved the game or scored the winning point.

"Oh, I know it is."

He laughed and shook his head, but I was suddenly feeling a little claustrophobic. I didn't like the calm that had befallen us. It felt like something just outside our bubble was brewing and would soon break, drowning us. My throat started to close in instant panic and before I could say anything else I would regret, I pushed myself off the couch. "I need to go."
"What, now?" He got up and I thought maybe he had started to follow me, but I didn't let myself turn back to find out. I couldn't.