“Wine tasting upstate,” Finky answers. “Lindsey told me this morning that she plans on getting drunk and not remembering a thing.”
“Who does?” Ellison says, coming into the conference room, looking stunning with her long blond hair tied back into a pony and her power suit tailored expertly for her frame.
Okay, it’s happening; everyone stay calm. She’s here.
If there’s anyone in this office that I want to impress, it’s her.
Finky moves aside and says, “My wife. Taking her up to the Finger Lakes this weekend for a wine tasting.”
“I was just there with Sanders,” she says as she takes a seat at the head of the table. God, look at her poise. Beauty and grace. Shoulders back, an air of confidence surrounding her, demanding respect. “Stayed at a really nice bed-and-breakfast. The cinnamon rolls were to die for.”
“Was it the place I recommended?” Brad S asks, hope in his eyes.
“It was,” Ellison says. “We did the lovers special like you said, and it was fantastic.”
Freaking lovers special.
What does that entail? Petting each other with a purple rabbit’s foot for luck while staring deeply into each other’s eyes?
“I was thinking about taking the hubby there,” Duncan chimes in, looking all kinds of squirrely, trying to get her attention. “Maybe I can take him there for his birthday.”
“When is his birthday?” Ellison asks as she leans back in her chair and brings her cup of coffee with her.
“Next month,” Duncan says.
“If he likes wine and cinnamon buns, then he’ll love it.” She then turns to Chad and asks, “How’s Danielle?”
Chad’s stupid face lights up. “She’s great. Still trying to get pregnant. Taking her to Fire Island this weekend to help her relax. I think she’s putting too much stress on herself.”
“I think that’s a very smart decision,” Ellison says. “If you’re looking for more assistance or outside-the-box thinking, I have a wonderful acupuncturist that can help.”
“I’ll send you an email.” Chad winks.
I’m annoyed.
The winks, the suggestions, the palling around…
Of course they’re all friendly with Ellison, because they’re all married.
Like I said, a cult. A freaking cult, and I’m the lonely spinster on the outside. Even the interns are either married or engaged tobe married. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have assumed being paired up with a partner was a requirement to work at Butter Putter.
“Jenna made that recipe you sent the other day,” Brad S steps in. “The buffalo wing dip in the Crock-Pot.”
“How did it go?” Ellison asks.
Why wasn’t I sent the recipe?
I like buffalo dip.
Brad S chuckles and shakes his head. “Let’s just say she added a little too much sauce.” He rubs his stomach like a forty-year-old dad wearing jean shorts and New Balance sneakers with tube socks. “I had quite the bellyache.”
Ellison winces. “But I’m sure you ate it anyway, because that’s the kind of husband you are.”
“I sure did.”
This is a living nightmare.
Surrounded by happy couples boasting about their weekend plans, talking about their partners like they worship the ground they walk on. What’s that like? Couldn’t tell you.
