Four's A Company
"But why does she have to stay with us? We're perfectly comfortable with just the three of us." Mitchell was throwing a tantrum at the idea of a stranger intruding on their bubble.
"Because she's my best friend and I will not have her living on the streets, when we're fully capable of giving her a roof over her head!" Annie explained for the hundredth time that morning. A groan erupted from Mitchell's chest as he strangled a pillow in the grip of his arms.
"I thought we were your best friends?" George quipped lazily, having only heard bits and pieces of the conversation while his attention was on the television in front of him.
Annie sighed, aggravated, and pointed at George sternly. "Don't you start now, George. I've gotten more than an earful from Mitchell already in the last week."
Glaring, Mitchell continued to pout, and George did as he was told and kept quiet.
"And besides…," she continued, picking at her nails, "her boyfriend is being less than accommodating and won't offer her his place, so…"
Mitchell's arms flew into the air. "So there is another option."
"What kind of boyfriend lets their girlfriend be homeless?" George blinked and adjusted his glasses, now looking at Annie.
Her hand jabbed the air in his direction, her eyes hard on Mitchell. "Thank you, George. At least you are trying to understand the predicament I'm in."
Rubbing his hands over his face, Mitchell looked at her through his fingers. "I just think it's a terrible idea, not to mention inconvenient. And unsafe. Does she even kn- "
"Yes, she knows," Annie interrupted and paused. "As it happens, she is not so different from you, Mitchell. So, perhaps knowing that, you will be a little kinder toward her! Take her under your wing, as it were." Her voice was a little bit more bubbly, but Mitchell's reaction instantly crushed it. He was not convinced.
Rather, his mouth hung partially open in disbelief. "That still doesn't make it better. I hope you didn't tell her I'm here to be some sort of…counselor, or something, because I'm not." With that, he got to his feet and he threw the pillow into his seat, heading upstairs. "We were perfectly fine before this happened, Annie."
George and Annie sat there silent, waiting for the anticipated door slam. Once it happened, Annie plopped beside George and buried her face in her hands.
"Do you think I'm crazy?" Annie's muffled voice peeped from behind her hands.
"U-Uh…" George stuttered, a sly smile on his face. "Do you mean in general, or…?" Suddenly, he howled into the air as Annie's fist made sharp contact with his arm. "How do you expect my sympathy when you abuse me?"
There was no response. George heaved a sigh and threw himself back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. "Listen…while I'm sure all, or most, of us would rather have it be just us here forever…we can't turn one of our own away out of principle. We'll just have to get used to it."
Annie's head turned sideways so she could see him. This time, her voice was much softer. "Thank you, George. It's not going to be forever. Just until she can get on her feet. We'd done it before, so I don't understand what's so different this time. Plus, I think you'll really like her," she smiled cheerily, sitting up proper. "Mitchell on the other hand…" She made a face.
"What? Why are you making that face? …Annie?" George pushed, his eyes more rigid now.
"She can be a little bit feisty. For Mitchell, anyway…I'm not so sure their personalities will exactly…click…" Reluctantly, she looked to George in hopes that his expression would give some sign of support, but she received none of that. It was all steely.
Grabbing a pillow, he stuffed it over his face and groaned.
"Happy new roomie day!" Annie exclaimed at the base of the stairs as Mitchell and George descended that morning. The only greeting she received in return was a grunt by George, and both of them passing by for the kitchen. Her face fell with further irritation. She had been up all night making preparations, and also trying to think of ways which could bond them together as a foursome.
None of which successfully included Mitchell.
Trailing the boys into the kitchen with an extra skip in her step, Annie slapped her hands on the counter which made both of them jump.
"Jesus, Annie, can we not have five seconds for tea?" George begged, his eyes still half asleep. Mitchell was pouring cereal into a bowl.
"I've already gotten that ready for you!" Her hands stretched outward, gesturing at the three mugs steaming on the kitchen table. A lazy grin formed on George's face as he sat heavily, gulping the liquid despite its hotness.
Annie turned to Mitchell, hands on her hips. "When you've woken up, I'd really appreciate everyone tidying up a bit. I spent most of the night doing as much as I can, but it wouldn't hurt to maybe find clothes that don't include undershirts or boxers."
"Don't worry, I don't plan to be here when she gets here anyway," Mitchell said in-between chews. George's head shot up to look at him, and Annie was slowly cocking her head, her eyebrows nearly becoming one line.
"Excuse me?" She questioned, leaning against the counter behind her.
"You can't leave me, Mitchell…" George pleaded, finishing his drink.
Shrugging, Mitchell finished swallowing. "Then come with. I'd nearly forgotten that I have some prior engagement later."
Annie rolled her eyes. "You can't be serious? You've known about this all week! It would mean a lot to me to at least put forth some effort. It reflects badly on me too, you know. Not that you seem to care."
Walking to the sink, Mitchell began cleaning out his dish before turning to Annie. "And you've known all week how I feel about intruders, but you don't seem to care." That said, he stormed past her to go change his clothes upstairs.
George sat as still as a stone in his seat, afraid of the consequence of Annie being told off. He could nearly hear her blood pressure rising. Panicking, he folded his hands onto the table. "Annie…if it would help make you feel better, I will stay."
In that moment, he was her savior. She jumped into the air and lunged toward him – which made him cringe, as he had expected more bruising – but she merely wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squealed with delight.
"It would mean the world, George. I just need to show her that this can be a home for her. I understand it's not ideal, and of course I'm happy with it being just the trio, but…I can't say no to her." Annie's face transitioned from anger to concern.
Standing to his feet, George grabbed a banana off the counter. "Well, let's get ready then, shall we?"
It was late afternoon before Annie and George had done the finishing touches in making their flat look as immaculate as it had since they had moved to Bristol. They rearranged furniture to make it more four-people-friendly, dusted the layers of cobwebs from the corners, and tossed all the expired food they had left in their refrigerator. George changed into a solid gray button-down and trousers, while Annie rearranged her usual grey garb to suit her bubbly mood. Lastly, they transitioned the room beside Mitchell's into a functional bedroom, much to Mitchell's digression. Luckily, they had an extra mattress in their attic that they tried their best to hose down on the patio. George was highly concerned that there were probably bed bugs hiding in the fibers.
In the mix of all the hustle and bustle, Mitchell had snuck out of the house. As George was fixing a light lunch for them, there was a knock on the door which caused the spatula in his hand to go airborne.
"Annie!" He cried, frantically trying to decide whether to clean his mess, or answer the door. "Annie!"
"I'm coming!" There was the sound of thuds coming down the wooden stairs. Annie adjusted her posture and tried to compose herself before the door. Quickly, George wiped up the pasta sauce that had been flicked across the kitchen wall and gave Annie a thumbs up through the wall cut-out. A bright smile crossed her face as she opened the door.
All Annie could see was a pair of legs, holding luggage three times her size.
"Oh!" Annie stepped past the threshold and grabbed what she could manage.
George continued to stir ferociously in the boiling pot before him, continuously looking through the window in the wall.
Finally, a small-framed girl came into sight, dragging in another backpack. George made some quick observations: black hair, curious eyes, a noticeable scar just below her right eye, leather jacket, relatively attractive by his judgement. What, perhaps, freaked him out the most was that she, oddly and visually, reminded him of a more feminine Mitchell just then. He quickly averted his eyes to concentrate on his food project which was on the brink of burning.
"Welcome home!" Annie squeaked, pulling the girl into a tight squeeze.
"Wow, it's much more beautiful than you'd described, Annie." The girl pulled away from Annie, observing the structure before her. George's eyes darted to Annie, wondering what exactly she had told the girl. Annie shrugged innocently.
"Come meet George and then I'll give you the grand tour." The girl followed Annie into the kitchen, and George tried to collect himself. "Well, George, meet our new roomie, Maeve."
George took a step forward and gently took Maeve's hand, lifting it to give it a light kiss. "Welcome, m'lady, to the residence now known as two vampires and a ghost…and a werewolf…"
Maeve's eyes widened, and Annie's lips curled in awe of his sudden, rash personality change. "Code red, George. Code red."
Frozen, George dropped her hand and sat up. "My name is George and it's nice to finally meet you, Maeve," his voice returned to normal as he shook Maeve's hand instead.
A nervous laugh escaped Maeve's mouth as she returned his hand shake. "It's very nice to meet you, m'lord," she playfully bowed.
George's face slowly turned to that of pleasant surprise as he looked to Annie, his mouth wide open in a large smile. "I like her," he nodded with approval, flinging a hand towel around his neck.
Annie exhaled a breath she had been holding since George's frightening introduction, and grabbed Maeve by the elbow to lead her back out. "I have no explanation for that. Let me show you the rest of the house!"
Once Maeve was a little more accustomed to where everything could be found in the house, she and Annie made their way back to the kitchen at George's request.
"Lunch is served," he announced, with an exaggerated swoop of his arms. There was enough pasta to feed a family of ten, but he found it impossible to measure noodles properly. Occasionally, he would make a dish for Annie, if only to make her feel included even though she couldn't eat it.
As they gathered with their plates, they took their seats at the table.
"George…" Annie began, her voice low.
"Yes, Annie?" He replied as he folded a napkin at the collar of his shirt.
"You realize that you made the messiest dish you could've thought of? You know they say not to do that on a first date, or rather a first…introduction, I suppose," Annie observed, resting her cheek against her folded hands.
"It's my specialty," he defended, his voice squeaking. "And besides, if Maeve is going to live with us, she'll just have to get used to messes." Annie winced.
Twirling her fork in the noodles, Maeve looked between them. "Messes are my specialty. I'm not worried…it doesn't have to look like the Taj Mahal."
George's fork dropped onto his place with a clink, and all attention fell on him. He looked at Maeve. "Can I just marry you right now? I mean really, what could Mitchell possible ha- "
Annie's hand flew over his mouth and she laughed nervously when Maeve's eyebrow lifted. "Don't listen to him, he likes to exaggerate sometimes, isn't that right, George?" She asked through gritted teeth, to which George nibbled at Annie's fingers to make her let go.
"Is Mitchell the other guy that's not here?" Maeve inquired, chewing her food.
Annie anxiously played with the hem of her sleeves, trying to put on an optimistic face. "That would be him."
"And, I suppose that's the very guy you mentioned might be a little wary about a stranger being in the house?" Maeve subconsciously played with her food, watching Annie.
Sighing a deep sigh, Annie nodded reluctantly. "Same one. I think he'll come around, it'll just…take some time."
Maeve nodded and there was a small shrug. "Can't blame him, really. I think I would feel the same way. I am sort of impeding on your territory," she muttered.
"Oh, no…no," George interjected, shaking his head as he brought the empty dishes to the sink. "Mitchell is a one-of-a-kind…creature…of this world. And I have a hard time explaining his quirks to people, but…once you get to know him, I'm sure everything will be just peachy."
Staring down at the wooden grain in the table, Maeve thought for a moment. "It seems like you're trying to convince yourselves more than me."
Annie shot a worried look toward George, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea at all. George came back to them.
"I have an idea. Let's get you unpacked and we'll put on a movie – your choice – and eat really bad food," he pitched, and received bright smiled from both women. He gave them each a thumbs up as they headed upstairs to assist with the unpacking. If Annie could kiss him a thousand times without it being weird, she would have just then.
George helped move in the heavier furniture, which they were grateful that they had kept some of what the previous owner had left behind before they had moved in years ago. Annie assisted with arranging Maeve's clothes into her smaller-sized wardrobe, and Maeve set up the rest. By the time they finished, it was already dark outside, and George decided they should order in pizza so that they'd have time for a movie.
As they grouped in the family room, Annie passed out teacups and tip-toed her way around the room so as to not cross in front of the television. Plates and cups full, they made themselves comfortable on the couch and tuned into the movie. George was delighted that it was a comedy, which he felt was a happy medium as opposed to a 'chick flick'. Annie had a permanent grin on her face, but was also feeling increasingly anxious at the eventual arrival of Mitchell.
And as if her nightmare had been answered, there was the muffled laughter of not one, but two voices on the other side of the front door. There were keys fumbling at the lock. George and Annie looked at each other with alarmed expressions, and Maeve casually eyeballed them, trying to figure out what was bothering them.
Just as she went to ask, the door burst open and smacked the posterior wall in the meantime. Stumbling in was an intoxicated Mitchell who was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe, and following him was a tall, lean woman whose hair was frizzy from whatever activities they had been participating in before. Three sets of eyes staring in his direction made him snap out of his absent-mindedness, as Mitchell turned to look at his friends and the stranger in his home. He had a loose grip on the hand of the woman he was with, who nervously was pulling some of her long hair out of her mouth.
Annie's face turned to stone, George's to dread, and Maeve's to both shock and slight disgust. Her eyes locked with Mitchell's, and she hadn't noticed how long he had been staring but it felt like forever. He scowled at her, and she watched as his other hand found the rump of the other woman as he ushered her to go upstairs. He stood there a bit longer, and then followed her.
There was a collective exhale amongst the three of them in the family room, Annie rubbing her forehead and George arching his head back.
"So…" Maeve broke the silence, tapping the mug in her hand. "That's the other guy?"
They finished the movie, but not without distraction. Every once in a while, there would be an odd thud or shriek somewhere above them, and Annie tried her best to convince Maeve that this wasn't a typical night in the house. Eventually, she gave up, and instead decided to sit and brood on the couch instead. George was slumped against the arm of the couch, fighting to keep his eyes open, only to be woken by the noises above him.
As soon as the movie ended, Annie slid off the couch. "I'm going to go have a chat with Mitchell. This can't go on all night, especially with her here," she stated with authority and marched her way up the stairs.
George curled up on the couch and stretched his legs out as Maeve stood. "Just to warn you," George began, his voice a bit slurring from grogginess, "that probably will go on all night if Annie can't help it."
Maeve stared at him briefly as his eyes shut, and she crossed her arms loosely, looking up toward the ceiling. At first it started as what seemed like a normal discussion, and then the yelling match began. The door slammed. Just as she was about to go upstairs, Annie was retreating down.
"There's no use quarreling with a drunk person," Annie sighed angrily, then looked at Maeve apologetically. "I'm really sorry, dear…this is a horrible first impression. You must think we're all nuts!"
Maeve couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head. "No, Annie, you guys are great. We'll figure it out. I'll figure it out. If I can't sleep, then…well, I'll just have to do something about it."
Laughing nervously, Annie nodded in approval. "Right. Well, I suppose it is getting late, isn't it? Probably better for George to sleep down here tonight. Good night." Maeve followed Annie up the stairs, then parted in the other direction to gather her toiletries. The noise from Mitchell's room halted briefly, likely due to Maeve's footsteps creaking on the old oak floor, and once everything was collected she locked herself in the bathroom and soaked herself in a hot shower.
Upon returning to her room, she gently closed the door behind her and climbed into bed. The soft, blue glow of the outside world seeped onto her bed through the window. As she was beginning to fade into a dreamless sleep, she heard a loud pound against the wall near her bed. She jumped, sitting up onto her elbow and staying as quiet as she could, listened for more noises. It took a few seconds, but then she heard a woman's voice moan. Her mouth fell agape and she placed a hand over it, instantly burying herself under her blanket and folding her pillow around her head so that both of her ears were blocked.
This seemed to work for a while, but then there was a constant, repetitive knocking at the same wall some two hours later, just after she had fallen into a coma-like sleep. She sat up quickly, head rushing from the move, and slapped her hand against the wall in response. The noise stopped. She gave it some time, then slowly laid back down.
For the second time that night, her sleep was disrupted by obnoxious laughter next door in the same room. Groaning, she wondered how in the world Annie was resisting the urge to knock their door down. Giving herself an idea, she swung her legs over her bed and cracked open her door, taking her pillow with her. She silently cursed all the squeaks and squeals the old home carried. Silence. She parted the door open just enough that she could fit herself through it. After a minute, the noises started up again, this time unrelenting.
Taking a few steps, she lightly knocked on the door, though loud enough to override the noises coming from inside. She wanted to vomit at some of them. They paused briefly and started up again as if nobody was standing at the door. She knocked again, harder this time, but now there was no break. Hand on the doorknob, she turned and shoved the door open, staring angrily at the two entangled bodies slightly illuminated by the moonlight in the window.
"What the hell are you doing?" Mitchell's gasping voice came from the bed. He struggled to sit up, grabbing a blanket to cover himself as the woman didn't even make a move to do the same.
"Do you have any respect for the people you live with? I tried asking politely if you could please keep it down, but evidently that's impossible," she shot back at him, this time the jetlag doing the talking.
Even from here she could see the deep shadows cast under his brow, and he probably wished nothing but death upon her.
"Excuse me? You've barely lived here for twelve hours, and you're going to tell me what to do in my house?" Now Mitchell was sitting, blanket wrapped around his waist.
Standing her ground, Maeve folded her arms, pillow still in hand. "Here, let's start on better terms: Mitchell, my name is Maeve, it's nice to meet you finally, even though you clearly have some vendetta against me. Now I'd like to please ask for a little bit of silence so that I can get a decent night's sleep. I don't care what you do, I'm only asking for you to do it less offensively," she proposed, but Mitchell's expression didn't falter. Now he was on his feet walking toward her.
He towered above her, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath. It made her nostrils burn. "Get. Out. Now," he demanded, one hand on the door. For a second longer, Maeve only stood, and as she was turning to go back to her room, she turned back around and began to whack Mitchell with the pillow. He stumbled backwards as he raised his hands defensively, the woman on his bed was reacting as if it were a knife in her hand and she was committing murder. Though, at this point of exhaustion, she was quite prepared to do whatever it was to get some shuteye.
"Stop! Damn it, stop! I swear to God, if I get my hands on you- "Mitchell yelled, too inebriated to properly defend himself.
"You'll do what? Kick me to the curb? I'm sure that would fly well with Annie!" A few more swipes of the pillow, and Maeve gave him mercy. Trying to catch her breath, Mitchell finally looked back at her with utter contempt on his face. Maeve turned back around and stepped back into her room, shutting the door behind her and flopping into her bed.
On the other side of the room, there was some rustling and just as Maeve was getting ready to yell at him through the wall, she heard his door open and a pair of heels followed as the sound of them disappeared down the stairs. A second person's feet shuffled in the hallway, then the front door was being closed and locked up. Finally, Mitchell's door slammed closed.
Finally, Maeve shut her eyes, wondering if she had made the right choice.