“You must be Drew,” she says, giving me a blatant once-over and wrinkling her nose as if she smells something bad. “We’ve been waiting a long time for you to get here.”
My smile falters, and I glance at the digital clock display above the double ovens. Arrival time was between two and three, and it’s only five after three now. “Sorry that you’ve been waiting for me. What’s your name?”
“I’m Judith. But my friends call me Judy,” she says, lifting her champagne glass to her lips. Her gray hair is cut into a spiky pixie, and the soft lines on her face suggest that she is in her late fifties or early sixties, but it’s clear that she has some sort of expensive skincare routine because her skin is positivelyglowing. The burgundy suit she wears is impeccably tailored to fit her tiny frame.
“Nice to meet you Jud—” I start, but stop short, unsure whether her introduction was an invitation to call her Judy, or a warning not to.
She doesn’t clarify either way, and instead makes a harumph sound, then takes another long sip from her champagne glass, draining it. After a few awkward moments of silence, my stomach growls impatiently. I give Judy/Judith a nod and turn back towards the food but remain open to a conversation if she decides to address me again.
I survey the selection and start with a dollop of whipped feta into the middle of my plate, then get to work surrounding it with a piece of every bread, cracker, vegetable, and fruit that will fit. Once my plate is at capacity, I pull out a stool from the counter side of the island and take turns alternating between bites of food and sips of my coffee. Each flavor is better than the last, and I close my eyes after each bite, both to savor the taste and to block out Judy/Judith, who hasn’t stopped glaring in my direction.
Eventually, she tires of giving me the stink eye and turns her attention to the cookies baking in the oven. The smell seeps out of the doors each time she opens them, which I enjoy at first, but I start to become concerned when she increases the frequency of checking on the cookies from every couple of minutes to every thirty seconds.
“I think the oven doors are supposed to stay closed while you are baking,” I say, while using an herb-dotted chunk of focaccia to scrape my plate clean, and then scan the spread, making a plan for my second round.
She shoots me a look over her shoulder while peering into both open ovens. “Thanks for the tip, Drew. Did your maid teach you that?”
I choke a bit on my last bite. “No. I learned that from baking. I don’t have a maid.”
She turns to face me and rolls her eyes dramatically. “Sorry, yourhousekeeper? I didn’t mean to be offensive. I know your generation has a problem with a lot of the words we boomers use.”
“I don’t have a housekeeper, either.”
She raises a single thin eyebrow at my response. “So, no servants of any kind?”
I snort at her word choice, which is arguably worse than the first two. “No. I work at a bookstore and live in a crappy apartment.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she says, and lets out an exaggerated breath while clutching her chest. “When I saw the way you were dressed, I thought you were one of them. You know, since rich kids these days like to dress ratty while traveling to try and blend in. I thought I was the only working-classwoman here.”
“Did someone here call you that?” I ask, incredulous at her use of air quotes around the words.
“Not exactly, but close enough.” She closes both double oven doors with a bit more force than necessary. “The point is, we need to stick together this weekend, Drew.”
I reel at the whiplash of her going from giving me the evil eye just minutes ago to now saying that we are on the same team.
“I got singled out and put on kitchen duty the second I walked in, even though my money cleared the bank just like the other women’s did. Whatever you do, don’t let Delaney—”
“Ah, there you are, Drew,” Delaney interrupts, floating into the kitchen. “Did you get enough to eat?”
“Umm . . .” I say as I stare longingly at the display.
“Don’t worry, the snacks aren’t going anywhere, and the winery will be serving food pairings at our tasting in an hour.Come with me so that you can meet the rest of the guests and get freshened up before it’s time to go.”
The idea of taking a shower to clear what’s left of the brain fog makes the choice an easy one, and I head towards the sink to drop off my plate.
Delaney stops me and points towards a near-invisible handle built into the cabinet next to it. “The dishwasher is just there.”
Judy/Judith catches my eye from behind Delaney and shakes her head back and forth furiously. I ignore her warning and place my plate into the dishwasher next to the others.
“I see that you’ve met Judy,” Delaney says with a tight smile as she turns around and catches the end of her silent warning to me.
“It’s Judith,” she says, putting a sharp emphasis on theth.
“Right, Judith,” Delaney repeats, then turns back to speak to me directly. “Come with me, Drew.”
I grab what remains of my coffee, not wanting to waste a single drop, and follow Delaney out of the kitchen.
“I guess I’ll just stay here then,” Judith calls out sourly after us.
