06-21-2018, 06:55 PM
The blonde woman laughs, sounding almost as nervous as I feel. That realization is rather comforting, and I take an emboldening sip of the bright orange drink that Nick has put in my hand. It tastes like a combination of Christmas Trees and Oranges, and I turn to look at him in disgust. ‘Gin and Juice’ he mouths, and I wonder why anyone would ever like this enough to reference it in a song.
I know better than to waste free booze though, so I swallow the rest of it quickly after saying: “Me neither. At least not as an attendee. I’m Merrik, by the way.” I’m about to extend a hand to her when someone elbows me in the side. I don’t recognize the redhead that approaches us, but he seems friendly enough and I smile back. The better part of the party?
“Lead the way,” I reply, making note of his mention of pictures and the camera around his neck. It is second nature to look for Mr. Casia as we leave the room, but my boss in engaged in conversation with a few of the vice presidents, and he won’t notice me slip away. I follow both of them upstairs, and hold the door for the red dress woman. I’m distracted by the sight of the pool, and she manages to slip away, leaving me with the red-headed stranger.
“So are you the official party photographer?” I ask him curiously, gesturing toward the machine around his neck. I hope he is; I always have more in common with those working these parties than with the guests. “And if you are, does that mean you know everyone?” I look around the open pool area, and find a dark-haired girl in a peach dress reading a book, who seems to be oblivious to the party going on around her. “What do you think her deal is?” I ask him, my tone curious. “Does she look like she’d yell at me if I offered her a drink? I think I’ve been yelled at enough for one party and don’t want to risk it again.” Despite what I’ve said, I’m still smiling. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose again; being yelled at by Mr. Casia is a regular part of my day by now, but I’d rather not be yelled at by a stranger.
I know better than to waste free booze though, so I swallow the rest of it quickly after saying: “Me neither. At least not as an attendee. I’m Merrik, by the way.” I’m about to extend a hand to her when someone elbows me in the side. I don’t recognize the redhead that approaches us, but he seems friendly enough and I smile back. The better part of the party?
“Lead the way,” I reply, making note of his mention of pictures and the camera around his neck. It is second nature to look for Mr. Casia as we leave the room, but my boss in engaged in conversation with a few of the vice presidents, and he won’t notice me slip away. I follow both of them upstairs, and hold the door for the red dress woman. I’m distracted by the sight of the pool, and she manages to slip away, leaving me with the red-headed stranger.
“So are you the official party photographer?” I ask him curiously, gesturing toward the machine around his neck. I hope he is; I always have more in common with those working these parties than with the guests. “And if you are, does that mean you know everyone?” I look around the open pool area, and find a dark-haired girl in a peach dress reading a book, who seems to be oblivious to the party going on around her. “What do you think her deal is?” I ask him, my tone curious. “Does she look like she’d yell at me if I offered her a drink? I think I’ve been yelled at enough for one party and don’t want to risk it again.” Despite what I’ve said, I’m still smiling. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose again; being yelled at by Mr. Casia is a regular part of my day by now, but I’d rather not be yelled at by a stranger.