Out of the Ordinary

Chapter 9

How drunk are you?

The words seemed to move of their own accord as I focused, then refocused, trying to catch them in their constant shifting game. And the stupid space where I wanted to type back kept moving, too, ducking out of the way every time I tried to hit it with the pad of my finger.

"Ah-hah!" I said triumphantly, when my thumb finally got it. Taking a long pull from whatever-this-drink-was that Julian gave me (was it my fifth? Sixth?), I turned back to the glaring screen of my phone and giggled, squinting against the light.

Typing out my response wasn't any easier than trying to read the initial text, but I managed what I was sure was not only a hilarious and accurate answer, but one that was also (relatively) legible.

Sufficiently sloshed.

I giggled to myself, pressed send, and took another sip from my drink, biting down on the straw as I smiled at my phone, a twisted sense of pride welling up like a balloon inside me.

She was going to kill me.

"Having fun over here?" A voice said, and I felt the couch sink down next to me.

I turned to find David sitting beside me, his beanie clad head tucked against the back of the couch as he smirked my way.

"Too much." I dropped my phone into my lap, still smiling.

"What are you so smiley about?" He said, crossing his arms.

"Why shouldn't I be smiley?" I held a hand out towards the bustle of people around us, "What's not to feel smiley about?" I fought through the slurring of my words, but apparently not well enough, because David snorted with laughter.

I shoved him with a hand, harder than I'd planned to, "Shut up!" I said with a giggle.

"Woah, easy there, slugger." He rubbed his shoulder, "Damn girl. You lift?"

I giggled at his mock seriousness, before twisting my mouth into a straight line, and lifting my arm to flex, "Only on Wednesdays. It's no big deal."

David reached up and pressed on my bicep, and I felt the flab of muscle squish down beneath his fingers, "I can tell." He joked, and I giggled again, leaning over to shove him once more, this time with my shoulder.

"Why aren't you drunk?" I accused, the thought occurring to me when his large brown eyes, their steady gaze fixed on me, seemed to zip back and forth across his face.

"I'm getting there," he defended, taking a sip from his own cup to prove his point, and watching our surroundings with interest.

It was Julian's birthday, and he'd invited mostly everyone from work, along with some of his other friends to his apartment for a night of getting smashed and taking names. The music was just quiet enough that we didn't have to scream to hear one another, but loud enough that I did initially wonder if his neighbors would mind. And the loud whooping calls when someone won a round of beer pong did nothing to calm my fears.

But now, all liquored up, those worries seemed stupid, and I cheered along with the rest of them. I'd adjusted to my new job, raking in enough money to actually cover part of my share of the rent for the month of June. It felt good, and I knew I wasn't completely self-sufficient yet, but with a few more months, I was sure I would be. The job had gotten better, too. Not only had I become friends with all of my co-workers - Julian, Mick (my favorite person ever), Viv, Chris, Ashley, Sam, Conor, Tommy, and Shantal - but I finally felt confident enough with the work itself. I learned how to create a nice rhythm for myself, especially during our busy hours, and found I enjoyed chatting with patrons when I had a minute to spare.