Cheeky

№ 19. George's House

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We were heading to this small town named Brighton. I've heard of it before and supposedly it was supposed to be quite beautiful. Quaint, quiet and small; a storybook kind of setting. After an hour of driving we took a break at a rest stop and split some chicken nuggets. We had peeled off our layers and cranked up the heat, passing around bags of McDonald's. We peered outside at the wet, muggy night as we sat in the car, munching greasy, processed food in silence. I decided to make conversation.

"So you said you were born and raised in London, but your family lives in Brighton?" 

George scarfed down two more nuggets before taking a gulp of Coke. He looked like a chipmunk, a cute chipmunk, with his cheeks stuffed full of chicken. He wiped his hands on a napkin and raked his fingers through his hair.

"My mum moved to Brighton about two years ago. I stayed in London."

Chelsea hastily leaned forward and turned on the radio, filling the car with decade-old pop music. She hadn't spoken during the whole duration of the trip thus far.

"Why'd she move?" I brushed the crumbs off my knees.

"She didn't like the city anymore and she always wanted to be near the water. I had already moved out so she went and bought a small place right near the ocean."

Chelsea jabbed the volume button on the radio higher, but George turned and swatted her hand away quickly.

"Oy!" She whipped her mane of curls towards George.

"I told you no touching the radio."

"I can't hear anything with you two blabbering so loudly," she retorted.

George rolled his eyes and switched to some band station. I crumpled up the fast food bags and he jammed his keys into the ignition, starting up the engine. He and Chelsea continued to fight over the radio and after a while I dozed off. I still felt out of the loop, and that maybe I wasn't meant to go on this trip. I wasn't exactly friends with George, and I didn't know his family at all. Chelsea has been a part of George's life exponentially longer than I've been, and maybe that was the reason why she was upset.

Maybe she felt that I was intruding. I didn't want to push either of them away, so I decided that I would keep a distance of sorts, not getting too familiar around George's family, but not exactly sleeping outside. I just needed Chelsea to see that I wanted all of us to have a good time - together. It may just be me, but I'm starting to sound like the Brady Bunch. I had practically passed out , and was woken by a harsh shake against my shoulder.

"We're here," Chelsea's voice carried. Her hand left and instead the car door was opened, welcoming a gust of icy wind that blew into the car.

I woke groggily, blinking to see just how dark it was outside. We had pulled up in front of a tall, yellow cream colored house that was connected to a row of many others, identical in style with the only difference being the color on their facades. It was decorated in green lights that outlined the perimeter of each small window and a flag of a shamrock hung daintily from the front door. I slipped out of the car and rearranged my backward hat and wrinkled coat. As I looked around, I smiled faintly, admiring the rainbow colored street of homes, and the dim streetlights that cast a lazy glow.

It just felt homey,  and for the first time since I had arrived, I felt certain. Certain that this wasn't a mistake.

"Well come on it's freezing!" Chelsea called. 

I obeyed silently and followed her and George to the front door of the yellow home. He plopped down his suitcase on the stoop and rapped three times on the door; hm, no doorbell. After a moment of awkward breathing, the door flew open and to reveal a small woman with a wild mane of chocolate brown curls.