Page 69 of All the Beautiful Things
Three whites. Three reds.
So far, she’d been entirely unimpressed with all the reds.
“We can keep tasting tomorrow,” I reminded her. The whites were chilled and ready to drink, but so far, she’d made the same disgusting look with every red. Her disappointment in not enjoying something she’d waited so long to try was making me hurt for her.
“Maybe I’m just not a wine drinker.”
“Jackie despised red wine,” David said. The mention of my mom dropped Lilly’s smile faster than she’d sipped her last taste.
“Really?”
“It’s not for everyone.” Dad yawned and nodded. “She could never enjoy it. White wine on the other hand. Now, that she liked, especially the sweeter kinds.”
Lilly’s excitement returned, muted, but still hopeful and she turned to me. “Are there sweet ones?”
None sweeter than that look.
Dad pushed back from the table and grabbed a fresh glass and a bottle of Riesling. “This is the sweetest one we have, although there are sweeter ones you can buy. They’re called dessert wines. I find they taste like syrup, but Jackie liked them.”
“Because she herself was so sweet?” I asked, teasing my dad.
“Please. Your mom was as sweet as she was salty. Don’t twist the memory to make her better than she was.”
He was giving me shit like he always did so I dished it right back. “Hard to improve on perfection.”
The corkscrew in his hand stilled and his smile turned soft. “That it is,” he muttered.
He finished opening the bottle and handed Lilly a fresh glass. “Here. If this isn’t it, you two can keep trying to find something you like, but this old man needs his sleep.”
“You okay?”
He waved me off. “I’m fine. Tired. Stop worrying.”
Not until my dying breath.
We said our goodnights before he bent and kissed the top of Lilly’s head. “‘Night sweetheart. Congratulations on all the good things you learned and earned today.”
“Thanks, David.” She squeezed his hand on her shoulder. When she glanced at me, I returned her soft smile. This is what my dad had wanted to give her. A father figure who loved her, who encouraged her and supported her. Watching her receive it, finally, without hesitation and give it back to him only made me want her more.
Once he was gone, she spun the glass in her hand. I took the bottle of Syrah she hated the most and filled my own glass.
“That tastes like straight gasoline down your throat,” she told me.
I chuckled. “It’s an acquired taste. Try yours.”
She scrunched her nose and brought the wine to her mouth. With a sip so small it was a wonder she was able to taste anything, she set it back down.
“Better?”
“Your dad is right. Tastes like syrup and sugar.”
“Hot damn, you are picky.”
She laughed as I went to the counter and grabbed the other two bottles. After reading them, I left the chardonnay on the counter.
“If you don’t like this one, we’re calling it a night.” It wasn’t late, but I had other ways to finish the night celebrating. Getting Lilly too drunk to do anything would hinder those plans.
“Getting tired?”
