“Oh. Does she?”
“She wears flannel, eats local, and would never smoke,” Richard said, immediately sorry he’d taken the bait. He wasn’t superstitious, but for some reason he hadn’t wanted to jinx their relationship, or whatever it was. Hadn’t wanted to expose it to the brutality of his friends’ conversations. The whole thing felt as fragile and random as a bubble to him: one wrong move and it’d pop.
She was the one you always noticed who never noticed back. The type who couldn’t quite disguise her curves inside oversize clothes—overalls and plaid shirts, soft dresses brushing the tops of scuffed Carhartts—this girl--woman--goddess with untamed hair, half held in place with a fist--size clip.
He still couldn’t get over that she’d chosen him. Neither could Jordan.
“Way above your pay grade, don’t you think?” Jordan had teased.
Richard forgave the dig. Jealousy was the highest compliment. He’d rewarded Jordan with a wink and no comment. Let him imagine.
The bathroom, where he goes to fill a glass of water for Carrie, is shrouded in mist. Hot air from the shower mingles with frosty air from the wide--open window, creating a mini meteorological event. Moisture drips from the ceiling, like it’s raining indoors. How is this environmental?
He slips out before the someone who has created their own personal rain forest emerges from behind the plastic curtain. Gotta be the Witch. Hypocrite of the highest order. Her dad, a VP for some oil company, pays her tuition so she can stick it to him by growing her red--blond hair into white--girl dreadlocks and organizing protests against the college’s portfolio of investments in climate change – related industries.
Hell, what’s not a climate change – related industry? If the Hippie Witch had her way, exhaling would be outlawed.
Carrie has shifted to a half--sitting position, a pillow rolled behind her neck, cradling her head. While he was in the rain forest, she had retrieved the dragon robe. She lies atop the covers now, arms folded across her chest, robe wound tight across her body. He holds the glass out to her and slides beneath the comforter.
“Thanks,” she says. She drains the glass, hands it back to him.
“More?” he asks.
She closes her eyes and presses her head back into the pillows. “I’ll get the next one myself.” It’s an effort for her to remain inert like this. She is seriously hungover. “Wow,” she says. “Why did we drink so much?”
“I had no idea you were drinking so much,” he replies. He’d pregamed with Jordan and the guys at their place, Taylor House, before arriving late to the bonfire at Out House. The guys had given him a hard time about leaving for Carrie’s.
Earlier in the semester they’d been cited for damage at Taylor. Their parents were all sent fairly hefty bills covering a broken window, a smashed couch, and a hole--punched wall. In addition to the fine, they were also banned from hosting parties. So Jordan and Co. had come up with the brilliant solution of getting the house next door, Conundrum, to host for them. With them. Whatever. Taylor supplied the booze, Conundrum the location.
Richard had wanted no part of this plan. For one thing, his parents couldn’t afford the fines. He couldn’t afford the fines. His mother was in tears when the bill from the college arrived; his father furious.
“How bad is it?” he’d asked his kid sister, Ellen, over the phone. A junior in high school, Ellen got to witness the parental reaction firsthand.
The hesitance in her voice as she carefully chose her words with him was more upsetting than his dad’s anger. “They keep saying, ‘What’s gotten into him? This is so out of character,’”Ellen said. A pause. “I mean, you never drank when you lived at home, Richard.”
“That’s because I was always in training for cross country,” he said. “Not anymore.” When he’d arrived at MacCallum, he quickly learned his high school times weren’t good enough for the team.
“Still.” That was all she said. All she needed to say.
Jordan had been pissed when Richard said he was heading to Carrie’s instead of the party at Conundrum.
“Seriously? You’re blowing off the best party of the fall to sit around singing ‘Kum Ba Yah’ with a bunch of eco freaks?”
Richard laughed. “I plan to spend very little time with the inhabitants. Except for one.”
By the time he arrived at Out House, the campfire was already dying down. Couples were peeling off and small groups were moving on to the next party at another location. Carrie, seated in an Adirondack chair at the edge of the fire ring, jumped up when she saw him. In front of everyone there she planted an enthusiastic kiss on Richard’s mouth.
She was always more aggressively affectionate after a few drinks.
“I kind of got the sense that you’d been drinking more than usual,” Richard says. “Then, when we came to bed, it was obvious.”