Chapter Fifteen
Frank is stretched luxuriously across Marin’s lap, tongue rolling out of his mouth, dark brown eyes turned up in pure adoration, clearly a dog who has claimed his person. Marin sits cross-legged on the floor, one hand resting on his belly like she’s holding the world’s warmest therapy stone, staring back at him with the kind of devotion usually reserved for celebrity crushes and espresso martinis.
“I think I’m a dog person,” she whispers. “No one tell my cats.”
I stare at her and my traitorous dog from across the room, then take a sip of my lukewarm tea. “You own like a million cats and once told me dogs were ‘slobbery codependents with unresolved boundary issues.’”
Marin nods solemnly, not breaking eye contact with Frank. “Frank is different. Frank gets me.”
Frank snorts, stretches his back legs without opening his eyes, and lets out a tiny old-man fart.
I raise an eyebrow. “He snores and farts in his sleep.”
“I love him.” Marin’s grey eyes don’t leave Frank’s adoring brown ones.
“Alright.” Viv sips kombucha out of a wine glass like she’sstarring in her own reality show. “We are not spending our first night together like some sad, post-menopausal knitting circle.” She gives a pointed look to Marin’s half-finished knitted tea cozy that’s already taken up residence on my coffee table. “I found an event.”
I narrow my eyes. “An event? Like a book reading? It’s after eight. My bra is off. My face is washed. I was thinking popcorn, home makeover reruns, and flannel pajamas.”
Viv ignores this. “It’s called Rhythm & Booze.”
Marin’s head pops up from behind Frank like a meerkat. “Is that a band? It sounds like something people in their twenties go to.”
“It’s a monthly salsa night at a winery-slash-goat sanctuary. There’s music. There’s wine. There’s dancing between wine barrels. There are goats. Possibly in hats.”
I blink. “Goats?”
Viv grins. “It’s the winery’s thing. Their mascot is a goat named Kevin. He wears bowties.”
Marin looks down at Frank. “I mean. That does sound vaguely spiritual.”
“See?” Viv’s eyes sparkle with victory. “There will be movement. There will be sangria. There will be cheese boards and middle-aged men who use the word ‘divorcée’ like it’s sexy.”
I groan, setting my mug down with more force than necessary. “Do I look like I dance?”
Viv gives me the obvious up-down and opens her mouth, but before she can answer, I add, “I’m not dancing. And if there’s a drum circle, I will get in the car and drive into traffic.”
Viv shrugs. “You drive a Subaru. That’s what they’re built for. Come on. We’ll wear something flowy. You can be the moody one who sways in place and looks spiritually guarded.”
Marin lifts her head from Frank’s belly, either intrigued or resigned to the fact that Viv is making us do this. “Do they serve snacks?”
“From what I can see on their socials, there will be cheeseboards as long as that holiday scarf you knitted for Zazzles.” Viv is now up off the chair, buzzing with excitement. “We can only hope that there’s a conga line, though.”
Marin fidgets with her tea cozy. “Would it be a good idea to join something like that?”
“You say that like it’s a choice.”
Harper wanders into the room in pajama pants and a hoodie, toothbrush in hand, catching the tail end of the conversation. “Wait, are you guys going out?”
Viv throws both arms in the air. “To a winery! With rhythm and drinks and eligible men and music so loud you’ll feel it vibrate through your booty. There will be goats and spiritual releases!”
Harper tilts her head. “So like, yoga for your soul with alcohol?”
“Exactly.” Viv beams.
“And dancing. Not everything is therapeutic.” I contribute my two cents from the corner.
Harper leans against the doorway. “Well, Mom’s only got one bra that’s less than five years old, and from where I’m standing, it looks like it’s already off. The last time she was out after 9 PM was to chaperone my senior prom. Good luck getting her out the door.”
