Maisie refused to go out Saturday night, but as a peace offering to Talia, hosted a game night at her apartment. Friends began arriving at seven; she ordered pizza while Talia went on a beer and liquor run. Her five-year old cat, Dashwood, sat atop his scratch post, his beady eyes surveying each new guest as they entered.
"I brought dip," George announced, setting it on the kitchen counter with a bag of tortilla chips. George worked with Maisie at H&L Homes, where she kicked ass as the highest-earning junior sales associate. George managed the accounting department and loved razing her on his ability to fudge the numbers and strip her of her hard-earned title. They had become friends almost immediately after meeting.
Maisie ripped open the bag of chips and tested the cheesy, gooey, spinach dip. "Yummy. I hope you made extra to bring in on Monday."
"There may or may not be a bowl labeled 'George's - do not touch' in my fridge."
"When has that ever stopped anyone?"
"Never, but I have to try." He smiled and walked over to greet Dashwood. After a few seconds of ear-scratching, though, Dashwood flicked his tail and hopped down to the floor. He sashayed into Maisie's bedroom as Talia burst through the front door, arms loaded with alcohol.
"Let me help you with that," George said, quickly relieving her of several bags.
Talia's "thank you," was polite enough, but completely devoid of her normal flirtatious charm.
"Everything okay?" Maisie asked.
"Yeah, why?" Talia was already opening several different beverages and pouring the contents into a large glass pitcher. "I decided to make sangria."
After setting down Talia's bags, George wandered into the living room and shook hands with Phoenix and Everett, Maisie's next door neighbors. Aubrey and Kent, mutual friends of hers and Talia's from college, assigned themselves the positions of game masters and were busy sorting through Maisie's collection to determine which should be played first. A cluster of people she knew by sight, but not names, had taken up residence on the couch to discuss the latest Game of Thrones episode. They had been invited by Talia - friends of hers from work - and Maisie secretly hoped they didn't plan to stay long.
Once the pizza arrived and Talia passed cups of fruity sangria around to everyone, Aubrey and Kent began a round of Cards Against Humanity. Maisie pulled a chair up next to George and he flipped his hand around to show her.
"Decent options," she murmured, so only he could hear. She held her own cards closer to her chest.
"Hey! Now you have to show me yours."
"What is this, an elementary school playground?"
He laughed. "We can help each other," he said softly, eyes darting around the circle to make sure the other players were too engrossed in examining their cards to catch them scheming. "I'll pick yours every time, and you pick mine. We'll hustle everyone."
Maisie raised an eyebrow, but a second later, held out her hand. "Deal!" They shook. She casually leaned forward so he could peek at her cards and the game began a minute later. Unfortunately, it only took two rounds for Talia to catch on and separate them, though Maisie thought both times she had chosen George's pairs for the win that they had been the funniest option.
As no one trusted Maisie and George not to cheat at Cards Against Humanity anymore, Aubrey and Kent moved them on to a new game: Would You Rather.
Talia drew a card and read: "Would you rather marry a person named Hitler (not the Hitler) whom you loved passionately, or have a sexless marriage with Brad Pitt's offspring?"
Starting with Phoenix to Talia's right, everyone gave their answer and an explanation. When it reached Maisie, she didn't have to think long. "Bad name over bad sexlife any day. I'd marry Hitler. I don't plan on changing my last name if I get married anyway."
"Unless you marry Mr. Darcy," Talia pointed out.
"You've got me there!"
The group laughed, but it wasn't enough for Maisie to win the round. Talia liked Phoenix's decision to marry one of Brad Pitt's kids because there was no stipulation that he couldn't have sex with his father-in-law.
Several hours and many glasses of sangria later, Maisie said goodbye to George, Phoenix, and Everett. The rest of the crowd had already left. Talia lay curled up on the sofa once again. Dashwood sauntered into the room, took one disdainful look at Talia's prone figure, and headed off to the kitchen. Maisie chuckled, watching his tail swish back and forth as he turned the corner. Like most cats, Dashwood didn't suffer fools.
Though her head felt fuzzy, Maisie didn't go to bed. Unfortunately, any time she tried to sleep in a tipsy state she imagined falling from a great height and jolted herself awake, so she didn't even lay down. She opened her laptop to pass the time while she sobered up with cat videos, but found herself on a Jane Austen fansite instead.
I found my Mr. Darcy! one headline exclaimed. "Yeah, right," she muttered. "I could find a Mr. Darcy if I really tried." Her alcohol-addled brain moved the mouse and clicked on a different website, images of shirtless Colin Firth swimming in front of her.
Her body jerked; she'd fallen asleep sitting at the breakfast bar. Talia's snores filled the apartment. She squinted at the time on her computer - three in the morning. She couldn't remember exactly when she'd sat down to kill time, but felt sober enough to stumble to her bedroom. Dashwood refused to move off her pillow. No matter, she thought, balling up a blanket and flinging herself on top of the mattress. Her last thought before oblivion was wondering if she'd set her alarm.