We have our tasting at The Hilltop Winery today, and I plan to show Molly just how much I love her. And just how much I understand what she needs and what she doesn’t.
Here’s hoping my declaration of love, my plans, and some wine do the trick. Kidding. I’m kidding.
I pick her up at work and toss her the keys. “Ophelia’s all yours,” I say.
“Ophelia? Hell no. She dies.”
“Fair point. Lucasta, perhaps?”
“That’s worse,” she laughs. “Where did you come up with these names?”
“I borrowed E’s baby name book.” I shrug.
“Yea, this name conversation is not over,” she says, as we buckle up and turn out of the lot. We drive in companionable silence ,and it’s a quick trip. Pretty soon, we pull into the lot.
“There are a lot of cars here for 3:00 on a Tuesday, no?”
“Look at you, judging other wine-lovers,” I say, laughing.
“Never. I even made a new shirt for the occasion.” She spreads her arms wide, and I get a great view of her boobs. And also the shirt that readsCorks are for Quitters.
“And you look lovely.” We step inside, and I tell the woman at the desk that we’re here to see Steffie for our 3:00 appointment.
We’re led into the tasting room and seated at a large oak table. A server brings over a flight of wines and explains each choice to us. Just as he leaves, Molly reaches for my hand.
“Ev, there’s something I need to say. I’m the schemer, right? In my little group of friends, I’m the gal who always has a plan. But I have no schemes today, no plans. Just me.” She takes a deep breath, and I can feel her fingers shaking just a bit, as I hold her hand in mine. “Ev, I miss you. I miss you so much. And I want to be with you. And I know that’s unfair because I don’t want to get married, and I’m not sure I ever will, but two wise people told me that when you find love, you should hold on to it. So that’s what I want to do. I want to hold on to the love I have for you. Because I might not be ready for happily ever after, but I’m ready for happily right now.”
Her smile is luminous, and there’s a question lingering in her eyes that my kiss tries to erase.
“You’re stealing my thunder, Molls,” I say, reaching for the folder on the desk and opening it up. Taking great care, I remove each paper, each picture, each fabric swatch and place them all in front of Molly.
“Ev, what is all this?”
“This is your party, Molls. Our party, really. It’s the one you’ve been planning for months. This is the catering menu you liked best, and these are the flowers you mooned over, even though my sister’s allergic. And this is the fabric from the dress you couldn’t stop touching when we were in the bridal shop that day.”
She’s speechless, and I tell myself that’s a good sign.
“You don’t want a wedding. I know. And I’m not giving you one.” I smile. “Look, Molls, it’s all here. The vacation you said would make the ideal honeymoon. Nan even agreed to make us a chocolate peanut butter cake. And Steffie here,“ I wave to the woman behind the bar, “has three dates left this year that we can pick from.”
“Ev, I don’t understand. If it’s not a wedding, then…”
“It’s not a wedding. It’s a party. It’s the perfect party. No wedding. No pastor. No rabbi. No friend who got a certificate from the internet. One of your stepdads is a ship’s captain, but that is not my fault.
“I hear you, Molly. I’m not offering you marriage, because that’s not what you want or what you need. But I hope to hell that you still want and need me. Love like ours should be celebrated, so that’s what I want to do—throw a huge party to tell our friends and family and anyone else who will listen that I love you. I don’t need a ring or a piece of paper, Molls, but I need you.”
My heart beats double-time as I wait for her reply. Lifting her lips to mine, she gives me all the answer I need.
“This is crazy,” I say to Ev, for what is likely the 400th time today.
“But it’s the good kind of crazy, right? Not the Patrice Madigan brand of crazy?”
I laugh. “Definitely the good kind of crazy. And I’m bracing myself for your mother’s brand of crazy. We’ll be at the restaurant in ten minutes, so the fun isn’t far off,” I quip.
“But that’s the genius in my plan. Lunch can only last an hour because we have to meet up with the photographer for our non-engagement pictures.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I can’t believe you bought a bear-skin rug for the pictures.”
“It’s not a real bear-skin rug. That would be creepy. Besides, I had to get one. That’s what we promised at our first meeting with her.”
