“Come on, Talia. You’re drunk.” I’m trying really hard not to hit Robert. I’m in enough trouble without coming home with a black eye I got at some party.
“I’ nodrunk,” Talia slurs. “Ihadtreebeers. Wehad wine ev’y nighat home.”
“See that?” Robert says as Talia falls on the floor. “She’s not drunk.”
“Well, she’s going home, anyway. I’m taking her home.”
“Home!” At the word, Talia begins to sob. “Idonawannagohome!” She clutches at the patio chairs.
“See?” Robert says. “She doesn’t want to go home.”
“You really know how to pick them, don’t you?” Amber comes up behind me. “What a ho.”
“Shut up.” I look at her. “You honestly think this is all about you?”
She shrugs. “Who else?”
I get down on Talia’s level and start to pry her fingers off the chair. “I don’t mean home-home. I mean home with me, my parents’ house.”
“She’s staying at your house?” Amber screams.
“What do you care?” I say.
“Buthey haaate me. Theymakemesleeponairmattress.”
Finally, I manage to get Talia up and headed toward the door. A bunch of people are standing around, drinking Jell-O shots, and Talia says, “Ooh! I want another one!”
“Another Jell-O shot?”
“Yes. Hungry.”
“Did you have one before?”
“Three,” she says, reaching for the girl who’s carrying them.
Well, that explains that. I do a quick calculation—three beers plus three Jell-O shots. I try to remember the movie we saw about alcohol poisoning in health class. “I’ll get you something to eat.” I pull her away from the group and toward the door.
“If you walk out of here, it is over between us!” Amber screams after me.
I turn on her. “It was over a long time ago!”
I put my arm around Talia and lead her out the door.
I’m feeling pretty sober myself, considering I spent most of my drinking time with Amber’s tongue down my throat. Still, I drive through McDonald’s.
“What are we doing here?” Talia says. She’s not slurring so much anymore, but she’s really, really loud.
“It’s called a drive-thru. You get food here.”
“You get food in the car?” She screams it so loud that the drive-thru guy asks me to repeat my order.
After I do, she starts screaming again, “You can drive your car up to a window and get food? We have nothing in Euphrasia! Nothing! It sucked! Sucked, I tell you!” I reach the pickup window, and when the guy hands me my burgers and fries and two large, black coffees, Talia begins to jump in her seat. “This is so cooooool! Did you like how I used an American word? Coooooool! And sucked, too.”
I laugh. She’s so cute. “Yeah, you’re a real American. Have some coffee.”
But she’s already eating fries. “These are so cool, too! What are they called?”
“French fries.”
“They definitely do not suck.”
By the time we get home, she’s eaten her way through her fries and my own, sticking me with just the burgers, and she’s fast asleep.
I’m in luck because my parents are asleep, too. I try to help her onto the air mattress.
Good to know: It’s not easy to get a trashed person onto an air mattress, especially when it’s not blown up enough. But finally, I get her onto it and tucked in. She closes her eyes again, and she looks so beautiful and innocent, like a little angel, and not at all like a girl who just had three, count ’em, three Jell-O shots and quite a bit of beer. I stand there for a minute, just looking at her. Then I start for the door.
“Jack?” Her voice follows me to the door.
“Shhh,” I say. “Don’t wake my parents.”
“Sorry,” she whispers, a really loud whisper.
“What is it?” I say, coming closer to her so she won’t have to yell.
“I am sorry,” she whispers again.
“You said that already.”
“No. I mean about tonight. About drinking too much and going off with that boy, Robert, and allowing him to…almost allowing him…”
“That wasn’t your fault. He’s a sleaze.”
“And what sort of party was that, anyway? There was no food, no dancing! When Father gave parties, there was a feast! I do not like your sort of parties.”
I laugh. “Me neither.”
“But I like your French fries. Are they really French?”
“I don’t know.” I lean to kiss her on the forehead. “I’m sorry about tonight, too.” I start to leave the room.
“Jack?” She stops me again. “Do you love Amber?”
“No.” I know that for sure. “No. I am totally over the Amber thing.”
“Good. She is not a nice young lady.”
I open the door, then start to close it again. That’s when I hear her voice, real small, like she’s trying to be good and not wake my parents. “Do you love me?”
But I pretend not to hear her, because I really don’t know.