I feel like I’m in an episode ofCheers. Everyone in this bar does know each other, with a couple of exceptions, and most of us have lived here our whole lives. There’s a special comfort in it. Snow blankets the streets outside, but in here it’s cozy. Joyful.
And I’m trying to live in the moment. Celebrate my brother’s birthday, which is actually tomorrow. Attempt not to look at my phone.
Enzo, as usual, is working at home after sending my brother two tickets to some professional golf tournament for this summer. Devon nearly lost his mind.
Lisa nudges me. “At least pretend you’re having a good time.”
“I am having a good time. I was just thinking of how cool it is that everyone here knows Devon. It’s probably not like this everywhere.”
“If by everywhere you mean New York City,” she says with a slight smirk, “you’re probably right.”
It’s getting harder and harder to pretend life is completely normal. Three weeks ago, I was sitting at this bar, happy as a clam other than the constant cold drafts of air hitting my back. Totally unsuspecting of the freight train that would barrel into my life in the form of Enzo DeLuca.
I can’t stop smiling.
Mom knows about Enzo, and she keeps begging me to tell Devon. Which I totally plan to do, at some point.
“You have that faraway, dreamy look on your face again. As usual.”
I smile into my glass. “I can’t help it.”
“Are you drinking wine?”
I lift up my glass as if to toast her. “Nope.”
“Smart-ass. Since when are you a wine drinker?”
Since Enzo.
“I tried it that night at dinner.”
“You mean the two-thousand-dollar one?”
“Yeah, that one.”
Lisa shakes her head, shoving a drunk guy who stumbles toward us. “I still can’t imagine. Two thousand dollars. For one dinner. It’s insane.”
“Anyway, I really liked the wine I had that night.” I lower my voice even though Devon is too far away to hear, surrounded by friends. “Enzo says the quality matters. I’ve been trying out different kinds, and I really like Riesling. The white wine his company makes is a bit too dry for me. Not sure I’m ready for that yet.”
“Let me taste.”
Lisa doesn’t really drink wine either. She takes a sip and shrugs. “Not terrible.”
Since she’s drinking Angel’s Brew, Lisa is the designated driver, freeing me up to go non-Angel. “Can you imagine? A few years ago, we’d have had to get a ride home.”
Angel keeps adding more products, and people have begun to make it a big part of their party plans. Who’s drinking what? Non-Angel, you aren’t driving. It’s hard to imagine going back to life before the Angel pill.
“Yeah, your boyfriend changed that,” Lisa says.
I snort, a pretty unladylike sound, to be honest.
“He’snotmy boyfriend.”
“Really?” Lisa’s brows rise. “Have you or have you not talked to him every day since New York?”
I think back to the last two weeks. “I didn’t talk to him the first few days after. We were just texting at first.”
Lisa rolls her eyes. “Since then?”