Chapter 11 #2
‘Aha!’ Chrissie cried, brandishing a bottle of champagne. ‘Shall we?’
Ethan sighed. ‘I mean, I’d kinda been saving it…’
‘Ricky’s getting married in three days; I think this qualifies as a special enough occasion, don’t you, Saul?’
‘If you say so, honey. I’m gonna go take a leak.’ Saul heaved himself off the sofa, leaving me and Ethan sitting together while Chrissie searched for some glasses.
‘I wouldn’t have taken you for someone with champagne in their fridge,’ I said to him quietly, making a lot of effort to ensure there was plenty of air between every part of our bodies.
‘My friends bought it for me the time my cartoon got selected for the contest.’
‘The ones you’re meeting later?’
‘Yeah. Listen, I’m sorry about all—’
‘What are you two whispering about, hmm?’ Chrissie set down the bottle on the coffee table along with four mismatched glass beakers.
‘Oh, I was just telling Flora about who gave me the champagne. Check out the label.’
She peered at it. ‘It’s got one of your cartoons on it, sweetie!’
Chrissie passed the bottle to me for a look – I recognised the cartoon from the contest instantly.
It depicted two chickens playing tennis in a packed stadium while a pair of humans dressed in tennis gear watched on from the side of the court, judgementally, one of whom was speaking to the other.
The caption I’d submitted at the time had been ‘“That’s a poultry serve.”’ It hadn’t made the final of that week’s contest, and rightly so.
I handed the bottle to Ethan. ‘Probably best if you do the honours.’
He popped it open and began to pour the frothing, golden liquid into the four glasses.
‘Just a small amount for your father, Eethy. He’s driving.’
‘Mom, please don’t call me that,’ Ethan pleaded through gritted teeth. Chrissie rolled her eyes as she swiped the bottle from her son’s hand and topped up three of the glasses now the bubbles had settled.
Saul returned from the bathroom, sitting down in the spot he’d vacated, leaving Chrissie standing without a seat.
‘You sit here, Mom – I’ll grab that beanbag in the corner.’ Ethan made a move to stand up but I nudged him back down.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll sit on it!’ The thought of sharing a sofa with both parents of a man I’d been about to sleep with was too much for me to bear.
‘That’s kind of you, hon,’ Chrissie said, sitting down in my newly vacated spot. It was hard for me to figure out if she was being genuine or not. ‘I think this is probably the most people that have ever been in this room at once!’ she added.
Cosy for two.
He wasn’t wrong.
I set the beanbag down opposite the sofa and descended onto it, still clutching the glass of champagne.
More accurately, I descended into it, as it was much less full of ‘beans’ than it ought to have been and pretty much collapsed beneath me so I could feel the hardwood floor against my bum.
As if that weren’t embarrassing enough, I sloshed half the champagne into my lap during the manoeuvre.
A single polystyrene ball popped out through a straining seam to add a final note of farce to the entire scene.
‘You okay down there?’ Chrissie asked, the three of them peering down at me. I was more eye-level with their knees than with their faces. I couldn’t tell if Ethan was biting his lip to stifle a groan or a giggle.
How is this happening?
‘All good! I might need some help getting up in a bit, though.’
‘I’m sure Ethan would be happy to provide his services,’ Saul said with another wink. Shit, was his dad a creep?
‘Saul! They’re colleagues.’ Now it was Chrissie’s turn to wink at me. There were so many winks flying about I didn’t know where to look. I settled for staring at Ethan’s legs, one of which was bouncing up and down relentlessly, as if he were trying to generate enough vibrations to self-combust.
‘So then, Flora. Are you another graphic designer?’ Saul asked.
OMG, this felt like an anxiety dream version of a job interview.
‘No, I’m a… copywriter.’
‘A wordsmith! I guess that explains why you’re helping out with the speech.’
‘Yeah, exactly.’ I took a sip of champagne, assuming someone would pick up the conversation baton, but no one did. ‘So, are you, er, looking forward to the wedding?’ I asked.
‘Oh, we are. It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it, Saul?’ Chrissie responded.
‘Sure has.’
‘They’ve been together for a long time, then?’ I asked.
‘Oh, long enough,’ Chrissie said vaguely. Why did I get the impression there was a whole sub-layer to this conversation that I wasn’t party to?
‘Cute overalls, hon,’ she said after another uncomfortable beat of silence, looking at my alcohol-soaked dungarees. Despite her immaculate tailored camel co-ord, she didn’t appear to be being sarcastic.
‘Flora’s a fan of the caption contest, Dad.’ Ethan sounded keen to change the subject.
Saul sat to attention. ‘You are?’
‘Yep, I made the final once.’
‘You’re kidding? I haven’t made the final in the twenty-five years I’ve been entering!’
While Saul and I connected over captions, comparing our submissions for the latest cartoon, Chrissie’s phone rang and she shut herself in the bathroom to answer it. Ethan just sat there, sipping and shellshocked.
Chrissie re-emerged after a minute or so. ‘Saul, we’ve got to go. Sorry, Ee-than, Ricky’s got a situation with his suit and we need to head off.’
Ethan jumped up. ‘I’ll see you guys out.’
‘It was lovely to meet you,’ I said, trying – and failing – to extract myself from the beanbag.
‘Don’t get up, hon. It was very nice to meet you too.’
I collapsed back into it, admitting defeat with a limp wave.
‘Good luck with the next caption contest!’ Saul said, as the three of them exited the apartment. Ethan turned to me before he shut the door, pressing his hands together in an apologetic gesture. I downed my remaining champagne in response.
Once the door was closed, I placed the glass down next to me, shifted my weight to the opposite side and rolled out of the beanbag like a limbless walrus, landing with a bump on the floor.
I stood up and brushed off a few more rogue polystyrene balls, looking around the room properly for the first time.
It was a single open-plan space – much airier than my flat in Bath – with high ceilings and two long windows I could well imagine would normally flood the space with light, if it weren’t approaching four o’clock on a murky December afternoon.
The walls were painted neutrally, but were full of artwork, illustrations and posters advertising exhibitions, gigs and comedy shows.
Judging by the style of them, most of them – if not all – were Ethan’s own handiwork.
A giant yucca plant looked very happy in a corner next to one of the windows, adorned with a simple strand of festive fairy lights and a selection of 2D felt baubles that looked handmade.
Two full-height shelves filled with books framed an enormous bed, which was made neatly with white linen and a patchwork, waffly throw artfully draped over the end.
Opposite the sleeping area was a mid-century modern desk, the surface of which was almost completely full of screens, sketchbooks, pens and pencils – everything seemed to have its place.
A classic Eames office chair was snugly tucked in between two drawers that clung to the underside of the desk.
That bloody beanbag hadn’t been needed after all.
I could well imagine the drawers were full of cartoony treasures, but I resisted the urge to have a look.
In the corner next to the home of the offending beanbag was a small cupboard in the mid-century style of the desk, on top of which was a vintage record player.
I opened the cupboard door and peeked inside, discovering – as expected – a decent vinyl collection, all meticulously organised.
On every available surface were quirky, mismatched table lamps; I just knew that Ethan rarely used the Big Light.
I exhaled with a combination of contentment and envy; the place was perfect, and I wished I could live in it.
By the time Ethan came back, I was sitting on the sofa, my glass topped up with booze to numb my embarrassment about everything that had just occurred. He pressed the door closed behind him quietly, and leaned against it, covering his entire face with his hands.
‘Urrrgghhh!’ If cringes had a sound, his guttural groan was exactly it.
I passed him his glass, which I’d also topped up. ‘Here, I think you need this.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said keenly, taking the vessel, downing the liquid in one and filling both glasses back up with the final dregs of the bottle.
He finally sat on the sofa next to me, but with enough of a gap between us that one of his parents would have fitted in it with space to spare.
‘I can’t believe that just happened,’ he said, not able to look at me.
‘Me neither,’ I said. And, after a few more beats of psychological recovery, ‘I got stuck in the beanbag.’
We collapsed into fits of laughter, recounting every element of the comedic scene that had just played out.
‘What did they say when you saw them out?’ I said, between gasps of hysterics.
‘Mom was a bit distracted by whatever’s going on with Rick’s pants, but Dad was very much impressed by your captioning prowess. The way he was talking about your status as a contest finalist, anybody would think he’d just met a celebrity.’
‘And we should probably give an honourable mention to… “Eethy”, was it?’
He made the cringing sound again. ‘I’m never gonna get over this.’
‘I get it; my family calls me “Flo-mo” and other equally annoying rhyming variations.’
‘Cute. Seriously, though, I’m so sorry about all of this. I can safely say this is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me.’
‘Even more so than Rick thinking your boss was your date?’
‘A million times worse. A billion times.’
‘Well, I feel honoured to have witnessed it. Well, to have caused it, I guess. Sorry about that.’