Misery Loves Cabernet

by Kim Gruenenfelder

  I nod.

  “He’s not doing what he really wants to do in his life. But it’s a safe choice,” Liam asserts. “And he’s marrying a woman he knew in high school, who he had the nerve to break up with ten years ago, when he still had the energy to go after what he really wanted in life. But now he’s afraid of failing. He’s lost his nerve in life, he’s lost his way in the world, and he’s not happy. Don’t let the expensive suit, the polished shoes, the money or the charm fool you: that guy doesn’t even have a medal. Whereas Jack”—Liam points to Jack—“that guy knows what makes him happy in his life. And he’s balls out about getting it.”

  Kate and Will walk up to us, hand in hand. “How is everyone enjoying the party?” Kate asks, beaming.

  “It’s wonderful,” I say nervously. I motion toward Jack. “I see Jack is here.”

  Kate gets a nervous look on her face. “Yeah, I invited him. He seemed kind of lonely.”

  “What a loser!” Will says, laughing. He turns to Liam. “Can you believe a guy who would come to the engagement party of the woman who never wanted to marry him? What kind of a masochist is that?”

  Liam smiles at Will. “Positively Olympian,” he tells him, while giving me a “private joke” look.

  “Uh . . . yeah,” Will says, not knowing quite what Liam’s statement means. “Hey, did Kate tell you for our honeymoon we’re going trekking in Mongolia?”

  I made the mistake of taking a sip of my champagne while he said that. Which means I choked on my champagne, while trying to suppress a spit take.

  “Now see, that’s comedy,” Dawn says to Will, laughing. “You should really think about doing stand-up.”

  “Actually, the tour we’re going on looks amazing,” Kate insists to us. “It’s not all camping out and hiking. We’re going horseback riding for two weeks.”

  Dawn crosses her arms. “I forget. Is ‘equinophobia’ spelled with one ‘I’ or two?”

  “There’s no such word,” Kate says, glaring at Dawn.

  “If there isn’t, there should be,” Dawn says, glaring back.

  Kate grabs Dawn by the arm, and forces a smile at Will. “Can you guys excuse us for one moment?”

  Kate drags Dawn away from Liam and Will, and over to another part of the room. Naturally, I follow them, and try to diffuse the situation.

  “Kate, calm down. She was only kidding,” I begin.

  “What the hell is your problem?!” Kate snaps at Dawn.

  “My problem?” Dawn says. “What the fuck is your problem? You’re not having the wedding you always wanted, you’re not wearing the engagement ring you always wanted, you’re quitting your job and moving out of the city you love, and now you’ll be spending your honeymoon on a horse. Even though you have a deathly fear of horses.”

  “It’s more of a hesitation than a fear,” Kate barks back.

  “Oh please. It would be like Charlie spending her honeymoon in a room full of commitment-phobes and snakes. And I’ve had it. I’m not standing by anymore to watch you make the biggest mistake of your life just because I’m afraid you’ll be mad at me. You are not this person, and the man you love is sitting in a corner by himself. Deal with it, before we have a wedding where Jack is screaming your name through a plate-glass window at the church.”

  Kate looks like she’s about to burst into tears. I try to alleviate the tension. “Look,” I begin gently. “Dawn’s not really saying it’s going to come to that. She’s just trying to make a point. But I think we’re both wondering, if you’re spending all night talking to Jack, if you still want to sleep with Jack, and if you want him here now . . . why don’t you love Jack?”

  Kate doesn’t answer me for a moment. “I do love him,” she squeaks out. “Very much.” Her eyes start to glisten with tears. “But I don’t like who I am when I’m with him.”

  “Why?” Dawn asks, rubbing Kate’s arm gently. “What is so bad about you when you’re around him?”

  “What’s so bad is that I’m me when I’m around him. I’m awful. I sleep until noon when I can, I eat too many Cheetos, I don’t exercise, and I’m constantly worried about how I’m going to pay my rent. I don’t want to be that person. I want to be the other person. I want to be the girl who wakes up early and goes jogging, and isn’t an artist, and who makes lots of money. A girl who loves lavish weddings, loves Chicago, and can’t wait to go horseback riding in Mongolia. I want to be the girl who deserves to be loved by Will.”

  My face must have shown how much pain I was in just listening to her pain. This wedding was just so wrong. And it wasn’t even anyone’s fault. Will wasn’t a bad guy, he just wasn’t the man for Kate. The man for Kate was a graphic artist who took too long to paint his living room, who didn’t know the first thing about clothing, who also slept until noon, and who lived from paycheck to paycheck. Kate never wanted to marry him not because she didn’t love him, but because he wasn’t Will. She had spent nine years breaking up with him every week because he wasn’t perfect: he was a silver medalist, just like her.

  I wish I could say that I gave her the perfect speech about self-acceptance. About how the guy that you dream about at fifteen isn’t the same guy you dream about at thirty. About how eventually your boyfriends—when you’re lucky—become family. And, take it from me, every family is fucked up.

  But, in the end, nothing I could have said mattered. Because a moment later, a not-so-perfect guy walked up to Kate wearing an ill-fitting suit and the wrong color tie. And he pulled out a small velvet box, and flipped it open to reveal a tiny Assher cut diamond ring.

  And Jack said the one thing Kate needed to hear.

  “Come home.”

  Thirty-four

  You reap what you sow. This applies to your career, your relationships, your financial life, everything. Some days it may not feel like it. But whatever you put out there eventually comes back—so be careful what you put out there.

  A little while later, Liam and I have parked his car at my house and taken a cab to Tiki Ti, a dive bar in Silverlake known for its crazy rum drinks and for still permitting its patrons to smoke. (Side note: now that I haven’t been smoking for a while, the smell of smoke is getting kind of gross.)

  Anyway, although I was very happy for Kate, I was disappointed that my plans to intoxicate Liam with both my charm and her booze at the party had not materialized. Within the hour, Jack had disappeared, Kate had said she needed to talk to Will, and the party had petered out.

  However, this was my last night with Liam until Thanksgiving, and I was determined that tonight was the night.

  I wasn’t pussyfooting around. We each ordered a rum drink, and then I suggested a drinking contest. Liam agreed. Instead of Truth or Dare, we would play Truth or Drink.

  I am such an idiot.

  Never play Truth or Drink with a man.

  I won’t get into the “why” with my teenage great-granddaughter, but I really should have thought this through. Obviously, Liam, being a guy, wasn’t going to ask questions like, “Who was your first kiss?” or “Have you ever fired a gun?” He was going to ask sex questions. And my truthful answers either made me sound too innocent, or like a total slut. Either way, I was drinking, not answering.

  Now, one would think a sip of a rum drink wouldn’t be as bad as a shot. You can kind of cheat by lifting the bottom of your glass up high, keeping your lips almost closed, and pretending to drink more than you do. That can buy you some time.

  But when the question is the fourth incarnation of, “How many men have you slept with?” in effect you are drinking four times to not answer the same question.

  Which can lead a girl to do bad things.

  Three massive rum drinks later, I was rather drunk. Okay, I was drunk out of my mind.

  And here’s where everything turned. Liam was just taking a sip of his drink after not answering my question, “How many women have you slept with?” when I looked him in the eye. And he looked back. And all I could think about was leaning over and kissing
him.

  I turn away nervously. “Wow, I never get to do that,” I slur at him.

  Liam looks mildly amused. “Do what?”

  I lean over, almost falling into his lap. “Look you right in the eye.” I start waving my finger around, trying to make a point, but my index finger sort of spins around in an imaginary circle, never quite landing anywhere. “Okay, if I stare at that smile anymore, I might climax, so I better look away.”

  Liam narrows his eyes at me and tilts his head, smirking. “I’m not sure how to take that. Thank you?”

  “De nada,” I say, waving him off.

  Then I lean in closer to look at his beautiful smile. “You have very nice teeth. Very white. I’ll bet you’ve never smoked.”

  “Uh . . . not really. Are you okay? Maybe we should get you home.”

  “No,” I say definitively, smiling back at him. “Have you ever cheated on a girlfriend?” I ask Liam.

  Liam thinks a moment, then takes a sip of his drink.

  “Oh, come on!” I challenge. “I answered the question that really embarrassed me.”

  “Which question that embarrassed you?”

  I open my eyes wide. “You know . . . ,” I say under my breath. “Question number three.”

  Liam laughs. “But you answered no.”

  “Yeah, but I still can’t even believe you asked me that,” I say, my eyes still wide from the shock of his question. “Come on,” I say seriously. “I’ve heard all these rumors. Have you ever cheated on a girlfriend?”

  “Hm,” Liam says, giving it some thought. “Well, I suppose there are women out there who would say I have, but I didn’t think they were girlfriends at the time, so I’m not sure what answer to give.”

  “Good,” I slur. “Because Andy says you’re a slut. Which is bad. But Jamie says all men are sluts. Which is good.” I look up at the ceiling. “Well, not good, exactly. Can I have a hug?” I blurt out, then I fall into him.

  Liam gently hugs me, letting me lay in his arms. My God, that feels good. I could be in these arms all night.

  “You smell good,” I mumble into his chest.

  “What?” Liam asks, pulling away from me slightly so he can hear me.

  “No, don’t do that,” I say, pulling him back to me. I lean up to him, trying to give my best “kiss me” face. “I said you smell good,” I repeat. “What is that? Chanel for Men? Lavender soap?”

  “Right Guard Deodorant.”

  Is it that men try to be dense, or does it just come naturally?

  “Well, it is nice deodorant,” I say, still trying to hint for a kiss. I look up at him, doe-eyed. “So, if you had met me ten years ago, would I be your married crush?”

  “Um . . . you’re not married,” Liam points out.

  “Right!” I say a little too loudly, then point at him. “Men. Are. Dense.”

  Liam motions for the tab, and the bartender throws down a piece of paper. Liam puts cash onto the bar without looking at the bill. “Thanks,” he says to the bartender. “And can you call us a cab?”

  “Right outside,” the bartender tells us, taking the cash, then thanking Liam for the generous tip.

  “Oooh,” I say. “He’s picking up the tab. He’s buying me drinks. Maybe he’ll ask to take me home. And since his car is in front of my house, maybe he’d like to stay the night.”

  Liam smiles. “Is that an offer?”

  I smile back. “Well, my roommate recently moved out, so we’ll have the place all to ourselves.”

  Liam laughs. “Well, when you put it that way, I’d be delighted.”

  My face lights up. “Oh . . . ,” I say, excitedly hitting him on the arm. “You know what you should do tomorrow morning?”

  Liam continues to smile at me as he shakes his head “no.”

  “Make me an Irish fry-up. Except maybe you could cook the eggs this time. And wear nothing but your boxer shorts when you make it.”

  I feel so proud of myself for my suggestion. Liam, on the other hand, chooses to ignore me. “Okay. And do I get to pick the lingerie you’ll be wearing?”

  “Flirt!” I exclaim, throwing my index finger in the air. Then I give the question some thought. “Wait. Was that a ‘Truth or Drink’ question? Was I supposed to drink to that?”

  “I definitely think we need to get you home.”

  I like him. I really like him. It’s probably a bad idea, but I just can’t help myself.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I say in all seriousness.

  Liam smiles. “Braces when I was twelve, and a Beverly Hills dentist who bleaches my teeth,” he jokes.

  I laugh. Then I look down. My question is rather serious, and right now my ego is riding on his answer. “No, that’s not it.” I watch my feet shuffle about nervously before looking back up at him, then looking away toward the dartboard. “I’m always with someone, or you’re always with someone, so I know I shouldn’t ask but . . .” I turn to look Liam straight in the eye. “I just want to know . . . if we had both been single when we met, would you have thought I was cute?”

  Liam and I keep eye contact for what feels like several hours. He puts his forehead against mine. “I think you are way cute,” he says quietly. “Why, if your sister hadn’t threatened me with bodily injury, I would have tried to bed you the night we met.”

  “Oh, that is so sweet!” I drunkenly say, putting my hand to my heart. “Is Ireland just an island full of James Bonds?”

  “James Bond is British.”

  “Pierce Brosnan isn’t.”

  Liam smiles. “Truth or Drink: Would you have sex with Pierce Brosnan?”

  “Yes,” I answer immediately.

  Liam laughs. “You won’t even consider drinking to that question?”

  “Oh, I’ll drink to that,” I joke.

  Liam laughs. I gulp the rest of my drink before he takes my hand and leads me outside to a cab.

  “Did you know I’m neurotic?” I ask as we walk out.

  Liam smiles. Opens the cab door for me. “All women are neurotic. Don’t apologize for it. Own it.”

  “I need to write that down,” I say. Before I step into the cab, I look at him sadly and say, “If I slept with you, I’d fall in love with you.”

  He looks pained that I’ve told him that.

  But I’m drunk, so I continue. “And then it would end badly, and I’d wait by the phone, and I’d check to see if your e-mails were more than two sentences long, and I’d try to translate how you signed your name. Only now that you’ve become my friend, I’d want to call you and ask you to translate what the e-mails mean. And I’d think about the time we made out, and how great it was to kiss you, and I’d wonder why you didn’t want to kiss me like that anymore. What was wrong with me that I wasn’t enough for you?”

  We have a moment where we look into each other’s eyes. I can’t take the intimacy anymore, so I climb into the back of the cab. Liam follows, closes his door, then gives the cabbie my address. Next he turns to me and asks softly, “How on earth did you jump ahead from us making out to me never talking to you again?”

  I shrug. “Women always think ahead. We think about the first kiss, then we either think about the wedding, or we think about the breakup. Men, on the other hand, think in the middle: they’re thinking about sexual positions, and trying to figure out how to get us into bed. It guarantees procreation really: one sex thinks about the beginning and the end. The other thinks about the middle.”

  Liam nods his head. “I think you’ve given this way too much thought.”

  “And I think you have beautiful lips,” I say, gently putting my finger up to his bottom lip.

  Before he can say thank you, I continue. “They match your eyes, which is funny, because they’re not the same color or anything. Blue lips would be bad.”

  The backseat is starting to spin. Liam gently takes my finger from his lips, takes my hand in his, and gives me a soft gentlemanly kiss on the hand. “We really need to get you home.”

  “You know wh
at I wish? I wish I could see pictures of you as a little kid. I wish I could watch . . . wait. What’s your favorite movie?”

  “I Went Down.”

  I blink at him a few times. “Is that a porn movie?”

  “Yes, Charlie, I just told you my favorite movie of all time is a porn movie,” he deadpans. “It’s an Irish road movie.”

  I furrow my brow at him. “Isn’t Ireland all of sixty miles across?”

  “Yes. But we still have roads.”

  He is so taking away from my romantic moment here. I forge ahead with my confession.

  “I wish I could watch I Went Down with you. I wish I could ask you your favorite color, and your favorite food, and what your first pet’s name was, and if you’ve ever been in love. I wish I knew how you got that scar on your chin. I wish I had the courage to tell you that I want to know everything about you.”

  I lean in, and kiss him gently on the lips. Then I pull back and admit, “I wish I had the courage to say how much I’ve been thinking about you.”

  Which sounds like it could have been a promising prelude to an enchanted evening.

  Unfortunately, I have no idea.

  Thirty-five

  Some days are a total “What the Hell was I thinking?”

  Oh. God.

  Ow, ow, ow, head throbbing. Eyelids feel like sandpaper . . . glued shut to pupils made of broken glass. Too much rum . . .

  All right, open your eyelids now, Edwards . . .

  I force my eyes open. Ow, ow, ow . . .

  I look around. I’m in my own bedroom.

  Which probably means I went home with Liam, and he’s in the guest room.

  Or he ran screaming back to Ireland.

  I look down. All clothes still on. That’s good, I suppose.

  Oh God, I’m thirsty. I feel like I could drink a swimming pool. I look over at the nightstand. There’s a glass pitcher of water with a water glass next to it. I start to pour the water into the glass.

  Oh, to hell with it, I just grab the pitcher and guzzle it.