“I sealed my fate when I opened
the door.” I lifted the glass to my mouth, allowing the crisp Reisling to wet my lips and linger
in my mouth before continuing: “How’s
that for an oxymoron? Sealed… Opened? The story of my life!”
“You’re so fuckin dramatic,” Cassie said.
“Oh yeah, you’re right. I need to
dial it back a notch. Getting engaged to a swinger isn’t something to be
dramatic over.”
“You’re the one that said 'yes'.”
“Thanks for the support, Cass.”
“Look Taylor, you can still say 'no'.”
“I love him.”
“So who’s the moron now?” she
said, tapping my foot with her toes to get me to look at her, whereupon she
winked.
“Touche,” I smiled.
“Seriously, if you’re not
comfortable with him being a fuckin swinger then stop seeing him. End the
engagement.”
“I can’t.” I poured another glass
of Reisling while Cassie waved her hand at me like we were at a blackjack table
and she was staying put.
“You can do anything you want.”
“Cassie! It’s just not that cut
and dry!”
We looked at each other and for
the first time that evening, I noticed Cassie was wearing a red infinity scarf
which immediately transported me back into the swingers club George took me to
the week before where the theme seemed to be red, red, and more red.
“Anyway,” Cassie said, breaking
the silence. “What happened? When you went inside?”
“I didn’t.”
“So what the hell are you talking
about ‘you sealed your fate’?”
“I was talking about the
dollhouse! When I opened the door to the dollhouse and saw the engagement ring!”
We both laughed and tossed back
the remnants in our wine glasses.
“I have to admit,” Cassie said,
picking up the wine bottle opener from the coffee table between us and
fidgeting with it. “He scores points for creative proposals.”
“And he did say he wouldn’t go to
anymore swingers’ clubs when we got married.”
Cassie shot a look at me and
before she could speak, I quickly added, “I know it’s all a bunch of shit and
this whole thing is just fucked up.”
“As long as you know,” she said.
“I need to end this.” Standing up
and feeling a bit unsteady, I sashayed into the kitchen for another bottle of
wine.
“Ya kinda do,” Cassie said,
tossing the corkscrew opener onto the loveseat where I draped myself after opening the second bottle of Reilsing and pouring myself another glass of it. “If for nothing else, before your dad finds out he’s
only five years younger than him.”
“Four,” I said.
“Huh?”
“He’s only four years younger.”
“Christ, Taylor,” she said,
holding out her empty glass for a refill.
