Love the Wine You're With

by Kim Gruenenfelder

  “So now we’re doing it on the beach at the Hotel del Coronado. It’ll be a small luncheon, just twenty people…”

  “It’s where I always dreamed of getting married…”

  “And I agreed. Because, seriously, I’m a dude, why do I care where we get married? And then we’re throwing a party here the following Saturday night.”

  “You and Marc should totally come,” I tell her. “I’ll send you an invitation. How is Marc, by the way?”

  “He’s fine,” Elizabeth begins. Then she reconsiders. “Actually, he’s not fine. He’s cheating on me.” She turns to Chris, then back to me. “And I think I know with who. Where were you last night, Natasha?”

  Crap, she knows my name. Well, of course she does—I was sleeping with her husband for God’s sake.

  I try to appear confused. “I was with Chris at a Lakers game. Why?”

  “My husband went out to dinner last night, with a dark-haired woman. I tried to spy on them. And you are the only woman from America he ever talks about.”

  Okay, so now I’m going to throw up.

  Chris saves me. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. But it can’t be Nat. We were at a Lakers game.”

  Clearly, he’s thrown her for a loop. “But that’s … no, you couldn’t have been.”

  “Second row center,” Chris elucidates. “We were on TV and everything.”

  I hold up my bandaged left hand. “Can’t miss me.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Jess carry her tray of wines to table four, making a detour to lean in and whisper to Holly, who’s staring at us from table seven. Great, why don’t I just sell tickets to this show?

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Elizabeth says, quickly standing up. “Can I get my check, please?”

  I quickly grab her AmEx card, thankful for the save. “No charge,” I say, handing her back her card. “And tell Marc I say hi.”

  She eyes the card in my right hand, and hesitates. Finally, she plucks it out of my hand. “Thank you. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

  As she makes her way to our front door, Chris and I share a look that can only be described as Yikes!

  But then.… I can’t help myself.

  “Wait,” I call out to Elizabeth.

  She turns around.

  “I … I can’t have you feeling like you can’t trust your instincts. And if my husband were cheating on me, I’d want to know.” I look down at the shiny wood floor beneath me, beyond ashamed, then take a deep breath and admit, “I did sleep with your husband. Not in a while. But I did.”

  She stares at me, eyes twitching. I don’t know if she’s going to throw a glass at me, or pull a gun out her purse, or what.

  She slowly walks back over to me and doesn’t stop until her face is inches from mine. “How long?”

  I swallow hard and answer, “Almost two years.”

  She nods, almost to herself.

  I brace, waiting for whatever explosion is justifiably coming my way.

  But all I get is a very dignified, “Thank you for your honesty.”

  Wow. She is so much more elegant than I am.

  “No problem,” I tell her quietly.

  More silence.

  Elizabeth shakes her head slowly. “I utterly loathe you right now.”

  “You should.” Then I ask, “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you in any way?”

  Elizabeth looks at me, an idea percolating in her mind. “As a matter of fact, there is.” She pulls her phone from her purse and presses speed dial. “Marc, darling, I’m here with an old friend of yours. Natasha, say ‘Hello.’” She hands me the phone.

  I slowly take it. “Hey, Marc.”

  I hear a sigh on his end, followed by “Christ.”

  “So I’m going to guess you didn’t really ask her for a divorce,” I say.

  “I can explain…”

  I hand Elizabeth back her phone. “He’s all yours.”

  Elizabeth walks out of the bar, saying into her phone, “So you told her you were getting divorced? Well, I should think that won’t be a problem…”

  We all stare in silence to see the front door close and Elizabeth step into a waiting black limousine.

  I finally let out a breath, grab my stomach, and nearly fall over. Holly quickly walks up to me and rubs my back. “You did the right thing.”

  “Yeah. Finally,” I say, still ready to pass out from nerves. “For a moment there, I really thought she’d come after me. I’d’ve come after me. I’d’ve punched me dead in the face.”

  “No…” Jessie says. “You wouldn’t have done that.”

  “If some woman slept with my man? Are you kidding me?”

  “No. You’re so sweet, though,” Jessie tells me, and she walks up to me and starts stroking my hair (!). “You of all people would understand that sometimes people make mistakes. And they would do anything they could to make up for their mistakes. I mean, you’re such a loving, good, forgiving person…”

  I swat her hand away from my hair. “Okay, seriously, what is with you today? How many Diet Red Bulls have you had?”

  Jess backs away from me very quickly, then heads behind the bar. “I slept with Giovanni,” she admits.

  “What?” I exclaim.

  Jessie puts up her hands in prayer. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me. I did a horrible thing, and I want to fix it. How can I fix it?”

  Somewhere near me I can hear Joe whisper to Holly, “Let me get this straight … you’re the one with the freak flag?”

  Holly shushes him.

  I begin pacing. “Are you?…” I can’t finish the sentence. I pace again, then stop. “How could…” Still at a loss. More pacing. “I can’t…”

  Jessie begins vomiting words. “I thought you broke up with him. You left this really rambling message on his voice mail…”

  “You listened to my messages on his voice mail?!”

  “Not intentionally. Well, I mean, yes, intentionally. But only because he asked me to when he picked me up for the fund-raiser. And yes, I did listen to them again afterward, but only once he was asleep, because…”

  “Oh! My! God!” I yell.

  Jessie stutters a bit, “I swear it sounded like you were breaking up with him.”

  “So even if I was, you’re supposed to be my friend. Couldn’t you at least wait for the body get cold?”

  She winces. “Apparently not?” Then she tries to crack a joke. “You know, the whole warm body thing is kind of funny in this case because … I’m shutting up now.”

  I take a deep breath to calm myself. “I need a minute,” I say, then point to Jessie. “I can’t even look at you right now. Holly, can you cover for me? I’m gonna go to the back room and take five.”

  I storm over to the storage area, open the door, and slam it behind me.

  I hear the door open and turn to see Chris’s hand in the doorway, waving a white cloth napkin as a flag of surrender.

  I roll my eyes. “You can only come in if you don’t take her side.”

  He pops his head in. “I would never.” Then he walks in and shuts the door. “Although, can you imagine the points you’ll get for the rest of your life if you just admit this wasn’t the guy you wanted anyway and let her have him? I mean, seriously, change-your-diaper-in-the-nursing-home kind of points.”

  “You cheat on boyfriends. You don’t cheat on your girlfriends.”

  “Yeah, we’re going to be circling back to that at some point,” he tells me. “But for now…”

  “Hos before bros.”

  “That will never catch on.”

  “She…”

  “Did you try to break up with Giovanni over voice mail?”

  I cross my arms. “That’s not the point.”

  “Have you been kissing me for the last forty-eight hours?”

  “Wait. So now I’m the bad guy?”

  “Of course not. But did you ever sleep with him? Or meet his parents? Or go away for the weekend toget
her?”

  Chris could go on, but he doesn’t need to. We stand face-to-face, neither of us moving. “Jessie’s still out there,” Chris says.

  I sigh. Loudly. “But I don’t want to do the right thing twice in the same day.”

  Chris gives me a kiss on the lips. “I promise to make it worth your while later.”

  We hear a very quiet knock on the door. “Come in,” I tell Jessie.

  She opens the door. “I swear I will find a way to make this up to you.”

  I still want to tell her I feel betrayed. But I’m not exactly one to throw stones. “I know.”

  She stands awkwardly in the doorway. “What can I do?”

  Argh … I don’t want to be the grown-up. I have every reason in the world to feel betrayed and wronged right now. But I tell her, “You can go to Santa Barbara with him and have that twelve-course meal.”

  Her face relaxes and she brightens. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” I continue. “I’m not eating braised blood sausage, I don’t care what sauce it’s served with it. Food should be like men: Don’t eat it unless you really want it.”

  Jess breaks out into a huge grin and she runs up to me, “Awwww…”

  “Don’t…”

  Too late. She hugs me so hard I yelp, “My hand!”

  “Sorry.” And then she continues to hug, but not quite so hard. I hug back, but less enthusiastically.

  “That’s another thing we’ll be circling back to,” Chris jokes.

  “Shut up.”

  I suppose if the worst thing your girlfriend ever does is date your ex, you should consider yourself lucky.

  And at least I never have to go to the opera ever again.

  Two years later …

  Epilogue

  HOLLY

  On the morning of my dad’s birthday, Joe and I wake up very early, load Dad’s old kayak onto the roof of Joe’s car, and head down to Newport Harbor.

  We launch the kayak as the sun begins to rise.

  Neither of us says anything as we row out past the rocks of the jetty and over to the buoy. There is almost no wind, which I have already learned is an important part of the process. (As Joe’s mom pointed out to me from scattering her husband’s ashes, there is nothing more confusing than what to do when a few ashes lightly blow back onto you and cake your lipstick.)

  I take a deep breath, then open Dad’s urn. I pull out the bag of ashes and rest the bag on the side of the boat.

  “Okay, Dad. It took me awhile, but I’m finally doing it.”

  I open the bag and look at the ashes. This is harder than I thought it was going to be. I look up at the sky. “You know, I’d really like a sign that I’m doing the right thing, though. I mean, I know you said you wanted an ocean burial. But maybe in your afterlife you changed your mind. Maybe you want me to get you a nice drawer at the Hollywood Cemetery where I could visit you. Or that place in Westwood where Marilyn Monroe is buried. You liked her.”

  I take a small plastic shovel I bought just for this occasion and begin to spread the ashes out over the water. Some of the ashes become airborne and form a whitish-gray cloud over the water. Others, particularly the teeny shards of pulverized bone, sink immediately. I continue to talk to my dad. “Now, I’m sure you’ll think this is morbid, but I took a few of your ashes and turned them into a diamond. And I also sent some ashes to your sister. But, like, a tablespoon’s worth. You won’t even miss them. I hope it wasn’t your penis ashes or anything. That would be weird.”

  About half the ashes are already gone, sinking to the bottom of the sea where I can never get to them again. Did I do the right thing? I turn to Joe, who smiles at me supportively.

  Then I continue my one-sided conversation with Dad. “So maybe I’ll keep this other half, just for a little while. Until I know for sure you really want an ocean—”

  Suddenly a seal bursts out of the water and tries to jump into our kayak. A very heavy seal.

  I scream. Joe tries to gently push it off with his oar. The seal (I just remembered, she’s a sea lion—I learned that at the aquarium) starts chatting with us like we’re old friends, “Uhr, uhr, uhr!”

  “Go away! Get out of here!” I yell to the seal. “Not the time!” Then I look at Joe and yell in panic, “Oh, God! Don’t sharks hunt sea lions?!”

  “You’ve swum with sharks,” Joe points out.

  “Not the ones who hunt sea lions! Oh, now I’m hearing Jaws in my head!”

  The sea lion dives into the water and disappears.

  And all is quiet again.

  Joe and I sit in the kayak for a while, looking deep into the water to search for the sea lion and trying to get our bearings. Celia (I’ve decided to call her Celia) pops her head up out of the water but this time just nuzzles the front of the boat.

  And I start laughing.

  “Are you okay?” Joe asks sympathetically from behind me, rubbing my shoulder. I think he thinks I’m crying.

  “I’m fine,” I say, now starting to laugh so hard tears are glistening in my eyes. I yell into the air, “I get it, Dad! I get it!”

  I take the bag, put it over the water, and turn it over, dumping the rest of Dad’s ashes into the sea. I pull a few roses out of my bag, give each one a kiss, place them on top of the water, and watch them float. Finally, I blow a kiss into the air. “Thank you for being an amazing person, and an amazing parent, and giving me a great life. I love you more than you will ever know.”

  Joe and I spend the next few minutes in silence as I watch the small ash cloud dissipate and the flowers float away. We watch our sea lion dive deep into the water, then pop up with a fish. Celia looks at me, and her eyes look the eyes of the Dalmatian I had as a kid.

  I turn to Joe. “Can we keep her?”

  “Not sure my pool is big enough.”

  I laugh a little—more smiling than laughing. “Okay, let’s head back. We’ve got a lot to do today.”

  And we slowly row back into the harbor, Celia following us the whole way. She swims with us all the way to the dock, and as we disembark, I’m sure she’s trying to figure out a way to climb on the dock and go home with us.

  There really is a part of me that wants to keep her.

  I drop Joe off at home and make it to the bar around noon, having promised Nat that I’d come in early to help decorate for the party tonight.

  Three weeks ago, Nat and Chris got married in a small ceremony at the Hotel del Coronado, with just family and friends. Her colors were red and white, and we made many jokes about how she’d be serving wine at the reception in those colors.

  They went on a lavish honeymoon, touring much of Europe and hitting all the great museums—and not one vineyard.

  Tonight, Jessie and I are throwing a big party for them at the bar, with the help of the staff we’ve been slowly hiring over the last couple years.

  That staff has become crucial, because a lot has changed in two years. For one thing, we now own two wine bars: Wine for All and our newest endeavor, Love the Wine You’re With, out in Highland Park. We also have a third place, Hollywood and Wine, opening in Hollywood later this month. So business is booming.

  Despite our success, Jessie has not been putting in nearly the amount of hours she used to. And what hours she does work seem to be at home with the business paperwork and marketing plans—she only tends bar two nights a week these days.

  I park in my designated spot in the back and walk in to see Nat in jeans, a baby on her hip, pointing to a corner of the bar as she instructs one of our guys, “Just string the lights sparsely. We want twinkling, not glaring.”

  “Hey, Mrs. Washington,” I call to her.

  Nat turns, smiles brightly at me, and walks over with the baby. “Hey. You’re early.”

  “Well, I was up early running errands,” I tell her, then make a silly face for the baby as I ask her in baby talk, “Hello, Isabella, you beautiful girl. Where’s your momma?”

  “Jessie went to pick up the cake,” Nat answers. “I said I
needed a little snuggle time with my goddaughter.” She gives Isabella a light kiss. “Do I have you for the whole afternoon?” she asks me.

  “You do indeed.”

  “Awesome. There shouldn’t be too much to do, though. Caterers come at five, and we’re not having seating charts or anything, so it’s mostly decorating.”

  “Behind!” I hear Jessie yell from our back door. “And a little help here!”

  I trot over to see Jessie trying to balance and lug a two-tiered wedding cake inside by herself. I quickly grab one of the sides, and the two of us sidestep into the great room.

  “Wow, that looks amazing!” Nat says, looking at the white buttercream-frosted confection swimming in dark red and white roses. “Do you think we’ll have enough cake, though?”

  “The groom’s cake is in the car,” Jessie tells Nat as we practically toss the cake onto a large wooden table. “It’s a dark chocolate cake with raspberry filling, shaped like a giant beer bottle.”

  “That’s the one,” Nat says. “Did I mention how many breweries we toured when we were in Germany?” She hands Jessie the baby, then runs out to get the groom’s cake. A minute later, she places the large one-tiered cake on the table next to the wedding cake.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “It’s perfect,” Jessie says. “A little tradition, a little whimsy.”

  “Sooo … Basically nothing like us,” Nat says.

  I furrow my brow. “Did you really just use the word ‘whimsy’?”

  As Jessie shrugs, Nat claps her hands once. “Okay, now that you’re both here, I have a surprise.” She makes her way to the bar and walks behind it. “We picked up the most amazing bottle when we were in Champagne.” Nat disappears behind the bar, pulling the bottle from our small wine fridge below, then pops back up. “I dragged it from train to train and flight to flight just so the three of us could toast before the party.”

  Nat takes off the cage, puts a cloth over the bottle, and … pop!

  “I can only have a glass,” Jessie says. “Still breast-feeding.”

  “No problem,” Nat says, pulling down some flutes from the wooden overhang. She yells out to a few of our employees working on lights, “Alejandro, Kate, a little bubbly?”