“Rude,” I mutter. And accurate.
Marin gets to her feet, brushing dog hair from her corduroy pants. “What’s the dress code for a wine place with goats? I don’t even own a pair of overalls or a dress. Much less a red tango dress. Do you think plaid works?”
Viv gasps like Marin admitted she’s never heard of Beyoncé. “Marin! No dress? We need to fix that. In the meantime, plaid may work. Is it the cute kind or the ‘I got lost in a pumpkin patch and gave up’ kind?”
Marin scrunches up her face. “Both?”
“I think Mom has a few pieces with fringe in the back of her closet,” Harper adds, ever so helpful.
Viv points dramatically. “Yes. Fringe increases mobility anddistracts from hip creaks.” Then she’s moving down the hall toward my bedroom and telling Marin to grab her suitcase and follow her.
It looks like we’re going out.
______________
The parking lot is packed with Priuses and a suspicious number of Meat is Murder bumper stickers. From inside the barn-style event space, a beat pulses. Latin music and laughter mix with the faint sound of bongo drums.
I freeze, one leg still in the safety of the Subaru. “Drum circle. Couldn’t we go to an art gallery? There’s this new artist whose pieces are quite controversial and very risque. Viewing art can have a similar ‘wild night’ effect.”
Viv stares at me. “No nude art can replace my vision for tonight. And just because you hear drumming doesn’t mean there’s a drum circle. It might be the sounds of a DJ dropping a beat. Drums are an integral part of any party.”
Traitor.
Linking arms with me, she adds, “Now get in there. Your energy is stiff, and your aura is faded.”
Inside, the winery glows like it’s been filtered through a “soft romance” photo filter preset. String lights are draped across wooden beams, candles flicker in little glass jars, and a five-piece salsa band in the corner is far too enthusiastic for a Thursday night. The crowd is a mix of spiritually-liberated empty-nesters, people on their third divorce and feeling flirty, and a few confused-looking couples who thought this was going to be a quiet tasting.
Viv surveys the room like she’s found her natural habitat. “Yes,” she breathes, grabbing my arm. “This is exactly the kind of spiritual chaos I was hoping for. Look at that man in the fedora. He’s vibrating on a higher frequency.”
“He’s definitely vibrating on something,” Harper murmurs behind me.
“Come,” Viv commands, already weaving her way through the crowd like a cruise director on tequila. “We must find the bar before the energy stagnates.”
I glance at Marin, who’s clutching her purse like it contains all her earthly belongings and possibly a weapon. “You okay?”
She gives me a weak smile. “I’m not really a bar person.”
“You’re in a winery.”
“That’s worse.”
Nonetheless, we follow Viv like ducklings. She stops only to greet a woman in a cape (actual cape). Then she’s doing a little shoulder shimmy in sync with the band, and muttering something about “ancestral wounds and Merlot.”
At the bar, Viv places both palms on the counter like she’s preparing to order something that will change the course of our lives—which, to be fair, she just might be. “Three sangrias. Heavy on the Merlot. We’re here to celebrate being alive and having dead husbands.”
The bartender doesn’t even blink, which makes me wonder, ifthisdoesn’t faze him, what kind of crowd are we rubbing elbows with tonight?
Marin calls to the bartender’s retreating muscular frame, “I’ll have a Diet Coke!” But if the bartender hears her, he doesn’t answer.
Instead, Viv waves a hand. “Not tonight, kitten. It’s our first night together in the flesh and that demands fruit-forward undertones.”
I lean against the counter, watching a man in a Hawaiian shirt attempt to salsa-spin a woman in orthopedic sandals. They nearly take out the entire cheese table but somehow stick the landing. I blink. “Viv, is this a wine bar or a retirement home dance-off?”
Honestly, I can’t decide if I should feel youthful or deeply concerned, because they're both pulling off moves my knees haven't approvedof in years.
“Both.” Viv accepts her sangria, takes a huge sip, and sighs. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Marin takes hers with the wary hesitation of someone accepting a questionable drink at a college frat party.
