Ethically Speaking

1.7

•- Quincie Jackson -•

I hated social events.

The semi-formal clothes, the pound of makeup layered onto my face, the unnecessary mingling, it was all but a ruse. My father loved to flaunt himself in many ways. His socialite parties were just one of those.

I step into the sunroom where my siblings found themselves invested in their tasks for the evening. Lucy sat at the grand piano tickling the ivories at my father's request.

Men and women dressed formally stand around her as she wears her prize-winning smile.

Junior sat on the floor, a set of educational toys well above his years at his grasp as he showed my father's guests his skills.

We all had a role and we played it well.

Grace was scouring the room for potential snobs with wallets the size of a luxury mansion. My mother introduced herself to those she did not know while mingling with her PTA friends, while my father was around greeting guests and encouraging them to hear his brilliant daughter play the piano.

And me?

Well, I was simply there to debate my knowledge when asked. I was a few conversations in when I decided to join the crowd of music fiends in listening to my younger sister play the piano.

Lucy peaks up over the crowd spotting me with my new height due to the pair of heels my mother insisted I wear for these events.

She smiles brightly at me and I can't help but return the action. I was about to relieve her of her duties when the caterer passes with a flute of champagne.

While I did rarely drink, these events were an exception.

And trust me, I needed the alcohol as little as it was would do me wonders.

I take the flute from the tray and thank the server. As the glass meets my lips I feel the pleasurable sting of alcohol hit my tongue.

"I thought you didn't drink?"

I nearly choke on the liquid in my mouth as I turn towards the large and open French doors where I had heard the voice.

"Dr. Fields! Hi!" I clear my throat and straighten my posture.

"Hello, Miss. Jackson," he smiles kindly.

I fall silent as I was shocked by his appearance.

It had been radio silence for the last few days. We'd talk over email mostly and he'd keep me up to date on his mother per her request. She was a kind woman and had even resorted to friending me on Facebook and sending me recipes she thought I would love.

When Elijah wasn't informing me about his mother's wellbeing, we were working hard on our project finally making headway despite doing it by ourselves. It was probably better this way as it felt like Elijah and I could never get work done while in the presence of the other.

I glance at my flute of champagne and suddenly wish for something stronger.

"Social events," I state, "Can't survive them without the help of alcohol."

Elijah laughs at this before his eyes look around my home with a kind yet intrigued smile.

"You have a lovely home," Elijah speaks softly but his voice was just above my sister's piano playing.

"Thank you," I smile as my eyes look around the sunroom, "I built it myself."

His eyebrows raise and he holds a humored smile.