24.1
Nathaniel
"You've never had moonshine?" I ask.
Georgina gives us that bi
g smile of hers, one that seems to be plastered on her face more and more lately. Maybe it's the sex – I tell myself that it's probably just the sex and nothing more – but she looks like she's calmer and more relaxed these days. "I lived in the Colorado governor's mansion, and in Washington, D.C. And I went to boarding school in Switzerland. Does this really come as a shock to you?"
"The woman hasn't had moonshine, or gone fishing, or been muddin'," Adriano pipes up as he sits in an oversized cushioned patio chair in the back yard and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. "Or been camping."
"How can you have never gone camping?" I ask. “I thought you did the charity camp every year.”
Georgina sighs dramatically and slouches back on the long outdoor sofa, trying her best to look exasperated, but it’s obvious that she’s not. The face she makes is fucking cute. She's fucking cute, with her hair pulled back in a swinging ponytail and her jeans and thin white cotton t-shirt that's practically transparent. "It's a long story."
Adriano chortles. "No. Don't let her fool you. There's literally no story to it. She has never slept in a tent, because – "
"Shut your trap, blabbermouth. I told you that in confidence,” Georgina protests.
"She’s never slept in a tent because the ground is too hard," Adriano finishes, imitating Georgina's voice. She sticks her tongue out at him.
"Really?" I ask, shaking my head. "That's actually appalling."
"So I’ve missed out on fishing, mudding, camping, and drinking moonshine. Is that really a big deal?”
I tsk-tsk her. “It is a big deal. In fact, it’s something that needs to be rectified immediately.”
Georgina kicks her feet up underneath her. “I’m not sure that I’ve missed out on anything by not growing up fishing.”
Adriano gasps. “You take that back right now.”
Georgina laughs. “Doesn’t it mostly involve sitting around drinking beer and scratching your balls? And in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have any balls to scratch.”
“Well, had you grown up near us, it would have involved drinking moonshine and scratching your balls,” I tell her.
"Well then, I stand corrected."
"Luckily, I can take care of one of the things on your list of stuff you've never done. You're going to sit your ass down and have some moonshine," Adriano says.
"Where are you going to get moonshine?"
"Adriano is an idiot savant when it comes to the booze," I tell her. "He distills it. He’s been doing it since we were in high school.”
"Since high school?!”
"Damn straight," Adriano says.
"I thought that was something people made in Kentucky, not Colorado.”
I exhale under my breath, shaking my head. "Now you’ve done it. You're in for a lecture."
"There's a long and noble history of bootlegging ‘shine throughout this fair country," Adriano starts, his intonation formal.
"Just go get it for her," I interrupt. "I don't feel like hearing a giant speech about bootlegging tonight, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Don’t worry,” Adriano says, looking at Georgina. “I’ll save it for another time.”
She laughs. “Lucky me.”
Adriano returns with two glass canning jars and sets them in the middle of the coffee table. "Lemonade and blackberry," he says.
"You made this yourself,” Georgina says skeptically, her eyebrows raised.
“That’s right. Lemonade and blackberry because we’re coming into summer. I make seasonal flavors.”
I nod. “If you’re a member of our family, you get a jar of ‘shine from Adriano for Christmas.”
“Dude, whatever, you make it sound like I give out coal. I give other presents, too.”
“Aren’t you not supposed to make this stuff? Isn’t it illegal?” Georgina asks.
“You’re sleeping with a rebel, baby,” Adriano says. “And the accomplice to my crimes.”
“But this stuff can kill you, can’t it? Aren’t there regulations for a reason?”
Adriano rolls his eyes and sighs loudly, plopping down into his seat. “Yeah, if you don't know what the hell you're doing. I, on the other hand, know exactly what I'm doing."
Georgina raises her eyebrows and eyes the jars of shine. "You sure?"
Adriano sighs. "Dude, tell her I know what I'm doing."
I nod. "He does know what he's doing. Seriously. He's a weirdo with how much he knows about this stuff."
"I learned from the best," Adriano says.
"He learned it in West Bend."
"You learned how to brew alcohol while you were kids?”
Adriano shrugs. "I learned it from Old Man Johnson. He hired me on his farm for a few summers, and he had a still. He used to make it. I ended up having a knack for it.”
"And seriously, we were high school kids with access to free booze – hell, with a way of making it ourselves,” I tell her. “He couldn’t have had a better hobby.”
“I thought you were a saint,” Georgina says.
"Yeah, but I still got shithoused on Saturday nights," I say. "There wasn't anything else to do in town."
“My moonshine has never killed a single person,” Adriano says. “I haven’t even blinded anyone.”
"Well, that's a ringing endorsement if I ever heard one," Georgina jokes. "I'm a total lightweight, though."
"Oh yeah?" Adriano asks. "So if you have a few sips of this, you'll be dancing on the table and taking your clothes off?"
"That's a good possibility."
"Well, hell, drink up then," I tell her, and she swats my arm.
"Okay," she says. "Do you have a glass?"
Adriano rolls his eyes. "I didn't realize the President's daughter would be so high-maintenance. Now you want a glass. Next you'll be wanting silverware."
"Fine," Georgina says, reaching for one of the jars. "Do I drink this illegal concoction straight?"
She picks up the jar, but right before she puts it to her lips, Adriano yells, “Wait!”
“Oh my God, you’re going to give me a heart attack. What!?”
Adriano guffaws. “If this kills you, did I just assassinate the President’s daughter?”
“I certainly wouldn’t mind if you got thrown in a secret CIA cell somewhere,” I tell him.
“Definitely. It's totally an assassination if this kills me. Probably even treason," Georgina deadpans.
“Okay. I was just checking. Carry on.” Adriano grins.
Georgina takes a sip of the lemonade moonshine, her face screwing up. "Oh God, that's pretty strong. Strong and good. I told you I’m a lightweight, right?"
Half an hour later, and we definitely know that Georgina is a lightweight. She is very tipsy, despite only having a few sips of the moonshine. She's sitting on the patio furniture, her legs stretched out on me while Adriano reclines in an armchair across from us, his feet on the table. We've been passing the moonshine around and as a result, Georgina's cheeks are flushed light pink and she's far more animated and giggly than she normally is.
We're sitting around talking about the things we've never done, and Georgina has never been skinny-dipping.
"Never ever been skinny-dipping," she says. "How stupid is that?"
