BR - Balls!

Shauna suspects nothing. She’s delighted to find the house smelling like cleaning products and looking tidy when she comes back. Beth is loosening up a little and things are going OK… until the real issue rears its head.

“There really is nothing to do in this town, is there?” you ask Beth on the third day.

“That’s what I said,” she replies.

It’s evening. You’re on a bench, just hanging out away from the house. The town is cute, but there’s not much going on. Beth took you to a couple of places which were, admittedly, very beautiful. The countryside is spectacular. But now you’ve seen it.

“You don’t… you don’t have any ideas?” you ask Beth.

“We could do what everybody else does,” she replies.

“Go to the bar and watch soccer?”

“Go to the pub and watch football,” she corrects you.

“Right. That’s really all there is?”

“That’s all there is in this particular village.”

“Why are you so mad about it? You’re an adult,” you remind her. “You don’t have to live with your mom.”

“Oh, I’m never moving back,” Beth assures you with a nervous laugh. “I’d live in a bin first.”

“There must be something to do,” you say, going back to looking at the town. It’s so quiet and relaxed. You flinch as a car horn blares somewhere. Mostly. Mostly quiet and relaxed. And the air’s clean… until the pub door opens. Then it smells like beer for a few minutes.

“Like what, Riley?” Beth asks, turning to look at you directly. She gestures at the town. “What, exactly, does one do?”

“Well,” you reply, thinking fast. “Um, you could go to a ball. To find a wife.”

“Riley, that’s the plot of Pride and Prejudice.”

“Is that not English? That’s a true story, right? So that must be a real thing that you can do,” you say. “I’ll be your wife. We just need to find a ball.”

Beth looks up at you for several moments.

“What?” you say.

“Pub?” she asks, starting to stand up. You grab her hand and stop her.

“Let’s spend one night sober,” you suggest. “Just to mix it up.”

Beth sighs and sits back down. She moves closer to you and you put your arm around her. You hope this won’t get you into trouble, but you trust Beth to say something if she’s not comfortable. After a moment, you can’t help yourself.

“You don’t like dancing?” you ask her.

“Riley, there’s no balls to go to,” she says morosely. “Well, there are. I suppose. After a fashion.” She frowns. “I never went much.”

“How do you not go to a ball? Don’t you want to see everyone in a nice dress?” you ask.

“Riley, it’s not the nineteenth century. I’m talking about clubs.”

“Oh,” you say, disappointed.

“But we can go if you like,” she says.