The Christmas lights flicker on and the front door opens before we’ve made it to the porch. Her parents crowd in the doorway, their smiles beaming at their daughter.
“George,” her dad says. The nickname is funny and suits her, in a way.
Her dad is older than I was expecting, probably in his late sixties, with silver hair and a kind face. Her mom, on the other hand, can’t be older than early fifties, with long dark hair and streaks of blond that twist up in a bun. Maybe the age difference between me and Georgia won’t be an issue, since it’s clearly the same situation as her parents.
“And you must be Loche,” her mom says with outstretched hands. I take her awaiting hands and she gives mine a squeeze.
“So nice to meet you, Mrs. Brightly,” I say.
“Please, call me Angela.”
“Come on you two, let’s go in before the food gets cold,” her dad says.
It’s probably already cold. We were supposed to be here and hour ago, but with our delayed flight, there was nothing I could do.
Inside, the house is exactly how I pictured it would be: cozy, lived in, pictures of their family covering all available surfaces. We go into the dining room, where the table has been set. The rest of her family has already taken their seats and are waiting on us.
It’s a large table with an elegant lace tablecloth and gold runner down the middle. Large clear vases filled with cranberries and dried flowers in fall colors make up the centerpieces, and the entire room is lit with candles. It’s comfortable and homey, filled with tvoices, laughter, children, and memories being made.
“This is my oldest brother, Cameron, his wife, Jenny, and their two kids, Marley and Trixie,” Georgia says, introducing me. Cameron is well groomed, a kind of nerdy looking guy, his wife a bit overweight but pretty. Their two small children, neither of them over five, keep reaching for the candles, their mother patting at their hands.
The middle brother’s name is Blake. He eyes me skeptically, but it’s a bit over-rehearsed, like he’s been practicing at being intimidating. If he wasn’t nearly a foot shorter than me and about seventy pounds shy, it might’ve had the desired effect. His wife has a terrible case of resting bitch face and looks as though she’d rather be anywhere but here at the moment with her young children arguing over silverware at the table.
The youngest, London, sixteen, has sort of a goth thing going on, wearing eyeliner and black clothes. He wears headphones and plays a handheld video game. I feel like I already know these people from everything Georgia has said about them.
“Hi, everyone. It’s good to finally meet you,” I say.
I go around the table, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries until I get to London, who ignores me. We sit down to eat. Mrs. Brightly brings out a large turkey, and there’s every side dish I can imagine. They go about the table and say what they’re grateful for. The two older brothers say their jobs and family. Georgia’s parents say the same. London says “tits” and his dad threatens to send him to his room, and the younger kids who know what tits are laugh.
This causes enough of a distraction so that the family forgets that Georgia and I haven’t said what we are thankful for, but I lean over to her and whisper, “I’m grateful for you.”
“Funny, I was gonna say the same thing about you,” she says, nudging my arm with an elbow.
We start eating. I’m in and out of different conversations with the older brothers when Georgia’s mom asks, “Will the two of you be staying in Georgia’s old room tonight?”
Her dad’s eyebrows rise as if it just now occurred to him that Georgia and I might be sleeping together.
London looks up for the first time, his black eyeliner gooped up in the inner corners of his eyes.
“I better not hear you going at it tonight,” he says.
“London!” cries Mrs. Brightly.
Cameron slaps him on the back of the head and tells him not to talk like that in front of the children.
Georgia’s dad just shakes his head like he’s used to this kind of behavior.
It’s quiet for several uncomfortable seconds.
I’m not sure what to say. Not about London, and not about our sleeping arrangements. We hadn’t made prior plans. I wanted to get a feel for the place and Georgia’s family, gage my comfort levels before deciding what to do and what options were available to us. I just assumed I’d be sleeping on a couch somewhere, which is fine since we’re only here for a couple of days.
“Actually,” Georgia says, “I figured Loche and I would find a motel in town. That way the little ones will have a place to sleep.”