JESSIE
Okay, Jessie, you gotta keep it together. Nobody knows, and you don’t want anyone to know. You can do this. It’s just for a couple more hours …
I was doing so well for the first few hours. After Kevin and my conversation, I felt powerful. In control. Angry as hell, but in a good way. I didn’t even bother to tell my friends what was going on. I just marched out of my office and began the night. I greeted old friends, helped customers, talked about wine. I took cheerful pictures with the girls, posted the hell out of them on social media (#allforwineandwineforall), and in general pushed Kevin out of my mind.
But then I overheard a woman at the table I waited on complaining to her friends about a destination wedding she had just been invited to, and how pissed she was that the bride and groom required everyone to spend thousands of dollars and several vacation days to head out to some island halfway around the world. And I immediately wanted to tell Kevin, “See, this is why we shouldn’t have a destination wedding: Instead of your closest friends, you get your richest friends.”
And then it hit me like a punch in the gut: I won’t be debating destination weddings with Kevin anymore. Or any kinds of weddings. I won’t be talking to him about my engagement ring ever again. We won’t playfully argue about whether our formal china should be patterned or plain. Or whether our kids will go to public or private school.
Because there won’t be an engagement. Or a wedding. Or kids. There will just be me, by myself, on the other side of the planet.
And suddenly I felt completely alone.
The table asked for another bottle, and I was grateful for the escape. I am now at the wine fridge, staring at the sea of bottles and feeling the tears start to well up.
I angrily wipe a tear from my right eye, grab the bottle of wine with the gold-and-black label, plaster a smile to my face, and walk back to the group. “Are we ready to keep this party going?” I ask them, and I’m greeted with cheers. I present the bottle to the ladies before I open it, making sure to hold it in such a way as to show off the label. The alpha of the group seems convivial and tells me to pour. I am about to pierce the foil when Giovanni appears out of nowhere to put his hand over mine and subtly pull the corkscrew away from the bottle. “Now, ladies, you promised me for your second bottle you’d try one of my Sangioveses. I have a 2012 that I’m so sure you’ll love, that if you hate it, I’ll take it back free of charge.”
Okay, that was kind of an asshole move. Maybe Giovanni isn’t the perfect guy after all.
A few of the women giggle (of course they do), and they agree to try his Sangiovese. “Excellent. Jessica will be happy to get that for you. Jessica, a word?”
He then takes the bottle out of my hand, places his hand on the small of my back, and begins gently pushing me toward the storage area in back. Feeling his hand on me is making me even more sad, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep it together.
The moment we are in the storage area, Giovanni turns me to face him. He knits his brows in worry. “Everything okay?”
“What? Yeah, why?” I stammer.
He holds up the bottle. “I think you grabbed the wrong bottle. This is a three-hundred-dollar bottle, wholesale, that you guys are selling for twelve hundred. I can’t imagine anyone would order it as their second bottle of the night.”
I grab the bottle from him and stare at the label. “Shit!” I say, and I can feel the tears mudding up my mascara. “God, I’m a space cadet. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. No harm done. It…”
Without thinking, I walk right into his arms for a hug. “I broke up with Kevin.”
“What? When?”
“A few hours ago.” I look up at him and beg, “Please don’t tell Nat. Don’t tell anyone. I’m not ready to deal with it yet.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Giovanni whispers to me empathetically as he hugs me and rubs my back. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” I say, putting my hands around his neck and hugging him harder than I probably should. I can feel his warmth and his heartbeat. It’s nice.
Eventually, I can feel him wanting to pull away, but hesitating, so I pull away first. “I may be overreacting,” I say, dabbing at my eyes to make sure they’re not wet. “I’m not even sure if this is really it. I just … I don’t know … it feels like it is, though.”
Giovanni’s eyes crinkle in sympathy. “What can I do?”
“I don’t know. Set me up with your brother,” I half joke. He tilts his head, confused. “I know, you only have sisters. Maybe you can set me up with one of them for a while. God, that was a bad joke. Never mind. I’m just trying to lighten the mood, and I’m doing it superbly badly.”
Giovanni pulls me into a soft hug again. Bleu de Chanel mixed with deodorant and the smell of … what?… him, I guess.
I hear the door open behind us and turn to see Nat carrying a tray of giant glasses, each one half filled with red wine. “Honey, can you also get…”
I pull away from Giovanni faster than a babysitter’s boyfriend when the car pulls up.
“Everything okay?” Nat asks. (Suspiciously? Or is that my imagination?)
“Fine,” I say quickly. “I was just telling Giovanni here that…” How do I explain being in his arms? And, more important, never wanting to leave. For my save, I blurt out instinctively, “Kevin and I broke up.”
Nat’s jaw drops. “What? Hold on, let me get rid of these.” And she disappears behind the door.
Giovanni and I share an awkward silence as we wait for her to come back. Neither of us moves. We just stand there, a few feet apart, looking like two awkward middle schoolers at their first dance. Finally I break the silence with an embarrassed, “I’m sorry to emotionally vomit all over you like that.”
“Don’t be silly. If you can’t talk to your friends, what are we here for?”
Friends. Right. To add insult to injury, I just told the guy I like that I am now available, and he hasn’t even thought about asking me out. I mean, of course it hasn’t; he’s dating my friend. But damn it! I wish it would cross his mind. Like, if only we lived in another universe … a universe where ice cream was considered health food and the fact that I saw him first meant something.
The door swings open again and Nat reappears. “Okay, what happened? When did it happen? Do you need to go home?”
“It happened right before the bar opened tonight, which I don’t think was a coincidence,” I tell her. “Kevin was offered a three-year job in Europe, and he’s taking it. And I think he’s known about it for a long time. It just took until I actually had my own life before he had the motivation to tell me.”
Nat and Giovanni exchange a quick look. “I’m fine!” I insist. “Really. Actually, I’m better than fine. I’m angry and determined to move on as soon as I can. I just made a mistake and had a weak moment, but Giovanni gave me a hug, and I’m better now.”
Neither of them looks convinced.
“Seriously, lock up your sons. I’m back on the market.”
Nat tilts her head and looks at me quizzically. I shrug my shoulders and mildly shake my head to signal I know the joke was lame.
“Actually, I have a great guy for you when you’re ready,” Giovanni tells me.
“Really?” I say, intrigued.
“She’s not ready. They’ve been broken up for two minutes,” Nat chastises him.
“No, no, of course not yet,” Giovanni tells her quickly. Then he turns to me. “But when you are: He’s an investment adviser, but not like one of those asshole hedge fund guys in New York or anything. Stable, but dabbles in the arts. Very well read, likes to travel. Great sense of humor. I think you guys would really hit it off.”
I want to ask, “Is he as cute as you?” but am quickly upstaged by Natasha. “A good sense of humor? No woman wants to go out with a guy with a good sense of humor.”
“I thought every woman wanted to go out with a guy with a good sense of humor,” Giovanni says.
“Maybe not as my rebound guy,” I admit while Natasha simultaneously declares, “No, he’s gotta be hot. The rest is icing.”
“Hold on,” Giovanni says, taking out his phone. “He’s an occasional buyer of mine at the private tastings I do. Let me find a picture.” Giovanni swipes his screen a few times, then shows me. “Here.”
I grab the phone and stare at the screen, “Whoa. Cute. He looks kind of like Justin Trudeau.”
“The Canadian prime minister?” Giovanni asks, confused.
“It’s her thing. Let it go,” Nat advises.
“Guys!” I hear Holly yell, as the door swings open again. “As intriguing as this threeway is, I need help out here. Get back to work.”
“Jess broke up with Kevin,” Nat tells her.
Holly grimaces, then tries to read my face. Finally asks me, “Devastated or pissed?”
“Oh, pissed,” I assure her.
She points to me. “Great. Use it. Tomorrow morning, we’ll eat cookies and make sure every whipped cream can in the house has beige lipstick around the nozzle. But for now—”
“Purple,” I interrupt.
“What?”
“Purple. I’m wearing purple lipstick.”
Holly moves in for a closer look of my lips, them beams at me proudly. “That’s my girl.”
And she turns and heads back to work outside.
That was Holly/Jessie shorthand for a lengthy conversation that could be summed up in three words: You got this.
Nat and I exchange a look and a nod: Our shorthand is even quicker. But she doesn’t believe me. “If you want to take some time—” she begins.
“I’ve given him enough of my time,” I interrupt. Then I head for the door. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Sangiovese to pour.”
I’m a terrible person. I should say I felt better because my girls made me feel supported and loved, and that I was happy everyone checked up on me. But that wasn’t it.
The truth was, the second Giovanni hugged me changed everything.
In that one second, I knew Kevin didn’t matter anymore. He was a placeholder: a frequently nice, kind of funny, solid guy who I had a lot in common with. But in the three years I dated him, I never once felt the way I had just felt in Giovanni’s arms.
But now what?