Page 34 of False Start
“Happy for you to give me a sleep aid any time,” she said, and cracked an eyelid.
“You just have to ask.”
Once we’d disembarked, we fought our way through the crowded airport to the baggage claim, grabbed a taxi out front, and were on our way to our belated Thanksgiving celebration.
“There’s still time to bail, you know,” Georgia said in a small voice, wringing her hands.
“Not going to happen. I’m in this with you. I’m shooting for the best fake boyfriend ever award.”
My joke fell flat, if the way her shoulders curled in was any indication. I felt powerless to help as she pulled into herself in a way I hadn’t seen since the first day we met.
Georgia was a big personality. Selfless, despite the circumstances we found ourselves in, and impulsive in a way that kept life exciting. But when she felt uncomfortable, the voice in her head that told her she wasn’t good enough was loud.
We pulled up to a beautiful two-story craftsman in the suburbs sometime later, and while I appreciated the architecture, Georgia pulled further into herself.
“Are you sureyoudon’t want to bail?” I asked, giving her hand a squeeze.
She shook her head and thanked the driver as she slipped out onto the curb.
“Let’s get this over with,” she muttered, straightening her dress. With every step she took toward the door, the Georgia I knew seemed to recede. Her shoulders were squared, her stride long, and by the time we reached the door, she looked ready for battle. Without bothering to knock, she strode inside, pausing at the sight of a huge golden retriever who lifted its head from where it lay in the front hall.
“Bessie.”
At the sound of its name, the dog lumbered to its feet and trotted over to Georgia who immediately dropped to the floor. Golden strands of fluff floated through the air as the beast crawled all over Georgia’s prone form, licking and nuzzling my giggling fake girlfriend.
I leaned against the wall wearing a small grin as I watched her greet the one family member she clearly missed. The moment was broken up by the arrival of a petite woman in a black dress and apron who took one look at the beautiful scene in front of us and clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Get off the ground, Gia. You’re an absolute mess. I wish you’d think things through just once. Now you’re going to be covered in dog hair for dinner.”
As Georgia scrambled to her feet looking chagrined, my presence must have registered for the woman because her demeanor flipped immediately to gracious host.
“You must be the football player. Aren’t you handsome? I’m Gia’s mother. I know, hard to believe. People always think Gia and I are sisters. You can call me Angela. Come, come. Let me introduce you to my husband. Can I get you a drink?”
I glanced back at Georgia as her mother ushered me through the kitchen and out to the back patio. Her face was a blank mask. It hurt my heart to see that despite the fact her body was with us, her mind had taken off for somewhere else.
Where they couldn’t hurt her.
Gia
I pickedat a piece of dog fur on my dress as I sat beside Weston on the back deck. One of the few silver linings of the visit was being able to sit outside for a meal. We’d left a 25-degree day behind in Chicago in favor of a much more pleasant 60-degree day here.
Look at me discussing the weather with myself to avoid thinking about the proximity of my family.
I rolled my eyes at myself and tried to tune in to Dad showing off his football knowledge for Weston.
“I can’t say I particularly follow Chicago, but I was watching when you injured yourself last season. Good to see you back on the field this year, son. It’s important to pick yourself up and keep going.”
“Thank you, sir. Honestly, I’m just happy to be back playing with my team. You never know what life is going to throw at you.” He reached under the table and squeezed my thigh. “Sometimes the best things have nothing to do with sports.”
A clatter and the sound of claws on floorboards announced another arrival, and I braced myself for the coming unpleasantness.
“Sounds like Blair’s here,” Dad announced, like the party could finally begin.
In a riot of curls, towing a dark-haired man who was several inches shorter than Weston, my sister burst onto the back deck and destroyed any semblance of peace we’d had.
“Holy shit! Cian O’Leary!” Dad pushed out of his chair in a rush, his hand leading the way for a firm shake.
“What are you doing here? Duckie, you didn’t tell me you were bringing Cian O’Leary to the house. How’s the head, son? That was one hell of a knock you took last night.”
Weston and I were forgotten in the excitement of Blair’s arrival and some accident Cian had apparently been in recently.
