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[nine]
[bridgit]
Needless to say, dinner was awkward.
The déjà vu that was running through the room was astonishing. Harry's mom and sister were unexpectedly here, Shane was here, and the tension in the room couldn't be cut even with a steak knife. All we needed was Lola and a roasted turkey and it'd be a replay of Thanksgiving dinner two years ago.
I was happy that Harry wasn't saying anything bad, though that may just be he wasn't saying anything at all. He was borderline drunk.
You see, Harry acts differently whenever he's drunk with different sorts of liquor. For example, he gets very honest whenever he's drinking vodka, loud when he drinks whiskey, and apparently very observant whenever he has rum. It's almost like he's high, which I hope he wasn't because that really wasn't a good look for any of us.
"I think I'm going to become a vegetarian," he told me in a low voice, leaning over. Everyone looked on curiously, not knowing what he was saying but he must've looked like freaking Confucius. "So if animals ever came together and revolted against humans, you and I can say we are on their side."
I pinched the bridge of my nose and tightly pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh.
"Would you like me to pass the baked chicken, Harry?" My Mom asked, raising the platter with one hand. He smiled genuinely and shook his head.
"No thank you Mrs. Mendler, I'm a vegetarian."
It was so hard not to laugh.
"You can drink now, Digit?" My grandfather asked me. I nodded and he passed me the bottle of white wine. "Let's see how sophisticated of a drinker you are."
I was surprised and tried to refuse, but now all of the adults were looking toward me to drink a glass of wine as if I were one of the Upper East Side moms on Gossip Girl. If anyone knew me, they knew I couldn't hold alcohol for anything and I doubt this would be any different. In a couple of moments, I'm going to be just like Harry. And speaking of Harry...
"Check the ingredients for animals," he whispered to me and, I couldn't help it. I snorted in an attempt to hold in my chuckle and everyone looked confused.
Anyway, I poured my wine and rose it to my lips. My eyes locked with Shane's and he began to turn red as he held in his hysterics.
"Don't forget to hold your pinkie out, Bridgit," he reminded me. "Isn't that what the British do, Harry?"
"Actually," Harry began and I clamped my left hand over his mouth and finally took a gulp of the alcohol.
"You're supposed to sip it," my mother corrected.
"Mom, this isn't an episode of Desperate Housewives. I've got a long way to go before I even want to know how to properly drink wine."
"I know how to," Bridgette spoke up proudly and I wanted to gag. She may look like me, but she was proving herself to be really annoying. "It's really easy, Bridgit-wait, that's weird. Bridgette, Bridgit? You know what, you can call me Jessica again. That's my middle name."
While she was babbling on about things no one actually cared about, Harry's Mom spoke up.
"So, Bridgit, Harry, have you guys set a date for the wedding?"
I smiled politely and shook my head. "No, we're just riding the engagement wave for now."
"Well, you guys had better hurry." That came from Greg, Harry's stepfather. I vividly remember Harry's actual father, who was, in fact, a spitting image of his son. I also remember him walking in on us having make-up sex. But never mind that, Greg looked considerably young, no older than thirty-five. He was skinny-like and glasses framed his face. Honestly, he looked like he belonged in a Manhattan coffeehouse as a writer. Or, since he is English, a London teahouse. "After meeting Anne, I knew I just had to."
Mr. and Mrs. Boyd smiled at each other lovingly.
"Spare us."
And surprisingly, that mumble came from Harry's mouth. I looked over at him and, judging by his definitely-not-mellow expression, he wasn't as drunk as before. I've never seen someone sober up so quickly, but apparently it was possible. I never knew Harry felt any kind of resentment toward his step-father. He seemed nice enough in the few minutes I've known him, but he didn't marry my mother.
There's only so few reasons why a stepchild may dislike their stepparent.
Which leads me to ask, is Harry in contact with his father?
---
"Dinner was marvelous," I heard Gemma tell my grandmother in passing. I was trying to find Harry, who had disappeared shortly after cheesecake was served for dessert.
Harry's Dad, Des, was sentenced to five years in prison, a measly choice, but that was as long as the drug evidence against him could hold. My own Dad was who arrested him and I feel like his hatred toward Des and Des's uncanny resemblance to his son is why he's not Harry's biggest fan.
"Bridgit, I need to talk to you," my Dad called, following me into the living room. I huffed.
"Not now," I told him. I picked up the pace and, for some reason, I was the most popular person of the evening.
"Bridgit, can we discuss the wedding?" Mrs. Styles asked from the couch where she sat between Gem and her husband.
"I'd love to, but now is not the best time," I replied, trying to seem the least amount rude. She nodded understandingly and went back to talking to her family.
I set my path to the stairs, and right before I reached them, I was stopped by one more person.
"Bridgit, what's gone up your ass?"
I was glad Bridgette's or Jess's or whatever the hell she wanted to be called's similarities with me only stretched to slight appearance and not personality nor voice. Because she was annoying as hell.
"You!" I exclaimed, surprising everyone in the room, especially Shane. I could feel his accusing, 'Don't yell at my girlfriend,' look, but I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. Now, I need to see to my fiancé.
[harry]
I had let myself into Bridgit's room, favouring a little alone time from everyone downstairs. I could still see her confused stare at me when I muttered against Greg, and I knew Bridgit. She was going to want to know why and I didn't want to talk about it.
Finally, I had sat myself on the floor, my back to her bed when the door opened.
She looked pissed to high hell, and ready to curse someone out. I didn't want to be on the receiving end of that, so I said, "I don't want to talk."
To my surprise, she replied, "Good," and sat next to me. I looked over to her, a slight frown on my face, but she stared forward. Her knees were tucked up to her chest and her hands were out to the side, lying on the dark carpet.
I ran my tongue over my teeth and looked forward too. "I don't like him."
Bridgit didn't say anything, so I continued. I don't know why I did...I thought I didn't want to talk about it. But Bridge was actually pretty easy to talk to, plus she wasn't saying anything in response.
"He's nice, but he looks like he's my age. I get that Mum hasn't had a boyfriend since she and Dad divorced about twenty years ago, but still."
Explaining it out loud made it seem like I disliked Greg for no reason.
After a moment of silence, Bridgit turned her head and looked at me sympathetic eyes, which confused me further for there wasn't anything to be sympathetic about.
"Harry, are you talking to your father?"
I didn't react at first. I looked at her, trying to figure out where she would get that idea, but with years of acting, her expression didn't give way. It was still a stone-cold, yet slightly sympathetic, poker face.
I put my tongue in my cheek, my dimples disappearing as a hard look set across my face.
"Yes."