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“So you’re Greyson…”
“God, where’s that sinkhole?” I hear Indie groan to Yoshi before adding, for my benefit, “And this is Harris. He’s Marilla’s brother. All three of them live together between Loch Fyne in Scotland and Washington where Orpha’s from.”
“That sounds like an interesting life,” I suggest as the barman places Harry’s beer onto the table.
“Interesting?We live on a fucking farm in the armpit of Scotland. It’s sheep, sheep and more fucking sheep, all day long. And if you get sick of that, there are cows, cows and more fucking cows.”
Indie drops her forehead to her hand for a moment as Harry lets out a mighty guffaw, taking a deep swig of beer. “Onepub,” he continues. “When it’s open. One shop. One crabby old bat who runs a post office.”
“As old and crabby as you?” Indie barbs, making Harry chuckle broadly.
“Ah, no one’s as old and crrrabby as me,” he shoots back with a good-natured grin. “You know that, girl.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” she responds, managing a chuckle that feels like warm spiced mead sliding down my throat.
“Apart from your sister,” Yoshi whispers with a cheeky smirk, making Harry tumble into drunken laughter which booms from his chest. I tilt my head to see Indie’s chin resting on her palm as she watches him, unable to stop a grin from spreading across her breathtaking face.
“Though don’t tell her I said that,” chuckles Harry. “We’ve all seen what she does to bulls’ bollocks. Once the vet’s chopped them off, what does he do?” he asks, turning to me. “Deliver them to her so that she can make them into stew!” he laughs raucously. “Fuckingballstew.”
As he picks up his pint and slams down another mouthful, all three of us stifle grins at his delivery.
“She doesn’t want them to go to waste,” Indie retorts.
“Like hell, she doesn’t!” he bites back. “She just likes massacring testicles! Chomps on ‘em like they’re freaking Tootsie Rrrolls,” he bellows, making Indie groan despite the laughter escaping her.
“He’dbetter watch out,” Harry chuckles loudly with a tip of the head towards me as I smile at the warning, my eyes wandering over to the bar where Marilla and Orpha sit, conversing animatedly with a man and a woman to their left. I’m not unaware that Marilla has glanced over at me several times since I've got here, her piercing eye contact not warming up by the slightest degree from what I can tell.
“Stop,” responds Indie, biting down her smile.
“So,” Harry says, turning to me. “Tell me about yourself, Greyson. I’d like to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”
“Oh God, I need more beer,” gripes Indie loudly, waving over to get the barman’s attention.
34
Greyson
The next two or so hours pass by in a blur of chatter, laughter, more beer—I’m definitely getting that cab home tonight—and introductions to new people who stop by our table. Not to mention a rather amusing drunken karaoke session on a low stage consisting of nothing but a standing microphone, and involving Harry, Orpha and some very drunk but very committed middle-aged friends of theirs, the entire show topped off by a rendition of Gloria Gaynor’sI Will Surviveby the birthday girl herself, Marilla, who I couldn’t help but think had picked the song out for my benefit, seeing as she seemed to glare at me during each of the choruses.
Indigo shook her head in amused embarrassment as she did so. She was pestered to get on stage by Yoshi who also took his turn. From what I gather, she’s usually one of the first ones up there, but tonight, she explained her reticence on not being in the mood.
Although we’ve exchanged a few words here and there, mostly in response to what others have said, we haven’t spoken in any depth, nor have we looked each other in the eyes while sitting. We did briefly when I went to use the washroom, and later when she did, but sitting, no. As much as I hunger to look at her, at times I feel the charge fizzing between us so strongly that I wonder if making eye contact in such close proximity would set off some detonation that would shake the earth from under us, leaving debris scattered all around and our bodies in a state we couldn’t yet predict.
Or maybe, once again, that’s all me, and all she’s thinking is, how do I get away from this asshole…
But…
I don’t think that’s it.
She seems afraid to look at me, or too angry to maybe, and she’s as careful not to brush against me as I am her, despite people joining us at the booth, forcing us to sit closer together. Her gaze seems to seek out my hands, as if checking to see where they are in relation to her, and at several points, I’m sure the hairs prickled on the arm exposed below the sleeve of her black dress…
My eyes fix on Marilla who is making her way towards us from a couple of tables away. As she arrives, she taps Harry on the shoulder. “That’s enough hogging our girl. Go bother someone else.”
Harry chuckles, groaning loudly as he lifts his bulky weight onto his feet to the sounds of seventies music playing over the pub’s speakers and the subdued late-night chatter of Marilla’s guests. “Yes, sir. Orders from the general.”
“Goodbye, brother. Try to behave.” Marilla pulls her chair out and takes up his seat—the one directly opposite from me.
She sits down with purpose, squaring herself to face me. The eye contact she makes is unusually bold. She doesn’t flinch nor fidget, nor even look at her daughter. It’s only the arrival of Orpha who comes to sit down next to her, opposite Indie, that makes her look away for a moment before pivoting her head back to me.
