Late to the Party ✔

10. Look what the cat dragged in

The door fell closed behind her with a thud. She hummed a few words of the song stuck in her head, bending over to untie her laces. For some reason, Jeanie hadn't believed she was still capable of it, insisting that they wake up someone to help her. That hadn't seemed like a good idea. For one, no one in this house would ever let her live it down, and secondly, she was fine.

In fact, with the buzz in her head and her cheeks tense from all the laughing from the past week, it'd been a long time since she'd been this fine.

Smiling to herself, she ran her hand along the wall. The light switch had to be around here, or was it further down the room? The buzzing made it difficult to think, and the warm fuzzy feeling in her core said there was no need to hurry.

"What the hell are you doing, Mary?" a shadow called, and the lamp flickered on, casting the room in a soft glow that was harsher on her eyes than she remembered. She shielded them, stumbling sideways.

George had his fist against the switch. He was squinting at her with bleary eyes, one leg of his checkered pajama pants hiked up, revealing a hairy ankle.

She stifled a giggle. If only Jeanie could've seen this too. They'd be on the floor, clutching their stomachs.

He stepped forward into the light, sizing her up. "Are you drunk?"

Now, she couldn't keep it in anymore; the round, open mouth completed his disheveled look perfectly, and she laughed.

"A little," she conceded, crouching down to make work of her laces, "I reasoned Jesus did turn water into wine, so I'm sure he'd be happy to know I'm appreciating his craft."

The logic was flawless. After all, the folks in the scriptures indulged in alcoholic beverages all the time. She didn't drink, usually, not after the disastrous night that brought her her first child, with the rare exception here and there. Losing control like that made her feel ashamed. Part of her feared what truths or regrets would come spilling out of her mouth once she was over that edge; it was harder to push Jeanie out of her mind then, and one wrong comment could ruin her entire life.

She'd told Jeanie she didn't drink, and seeing as how she'd adapted to keeping her faith mostly to herself, Jeanie had said she would stay away from the alcohol too, in that case, out of solidarity. And she had. But tonight, Mary hadn't.

"A little, huh? That why you seem to be unable to take your shoes off?"

It could've been a joke if it wasn't for the bitter tone in which it was uttered. She abandoned her attempts, glancing up to see him watching her, head down, thumb grazing his chin. Years ago, she sometimes encountered her father like this when sneaking back into the house after doing God knows what with Jeanie, but she'd never expected George to react like this. Granted, she hadn't given him much thought, though this hardly seemed fair considering all of his own boys' nights out during the entirety of their marriage.

The smile slipped from her face. Holding his gaze, she kicked the back of her shoe with the other, sending it flying toward him.

"Jesus, Mary."

She ignored him and knocked the other one off with her bare foot. She'd barely seen him these past few weeks, and still, he managed to sour her mood within a two-minute conversation.

"It's two in the morning. I was considering calling the cops to report you missing."

"Oh, don't be overdramatic," she said, stumbling past him towards the kitchen. Jeanie had told her to drink at least one glass of water before bed, and that seemed far more constructive than arguing with her suddenly overbearing husband.