I stood on the periphery of their conversation, waiting for a good time to jump in. The whole thing reminded me of junior high and trying to find a table where I could eat lunch on the first day of school. Based on their conversation, they knew each other well and had been to many events like this one before.
One had a brown ponytail, another a riot of blond curls, and the third wore her dark hair clipped short. I began to think of them as Larry, Curly, and Moe.
After what seemed an eternity, Moe looked up at me. “Is there something you want?”
I blinked twice. Hardly the warm welcome I had hoped for. “I was just going to introduce myself. I’m Vivian.”
“Molly, Insta handle Wine Frau.”
The blonde extended her hand. “I’m Gina, Insta handle Grape Mama.”
I shook her hand and turned to the brunette.
“And I’m Laurel, Insta handle SuperWinoMom.”
I’d never remember all that, so Larry, Curly, and Moe they would continue to be.
“And you?” asked Larry. “What’s your handle?”
I almost snorted my wine. I’d grown up watchingSmokey and the Bandit. To me, a handle was for a truck driver, but here we were. “I’m MomScout.”
“Oh,” they all said at once, recognition dawning in their eyes.
“I’ve heard of you,” Curly said. “You’re mainly on YouTube, right?”
I nodded.
“I know people must ask this all the time, but could we hear your line about the chicken salad?” Curly asked with a furrow to her brow that suggested she was being earnest.
I rattled off my line about my ah-mazing chicken salad. She and Larry giggled.
“Sorry about your divorce,” Moe said in a tone that could have been malicious. I wasn’t sure.
“If it weren’t for my divorce, then I wouldn’t be here.” I shrugged to cover up the beating of my heart.
“Good on you!” Curly said, extending her wineglass for me to clink.
And then the three of them went back to their conversation in a way that told me it was time for me to move on. Another pair of ladies had come in together, speaking Spanish. I wanted to say hello, but I didn’t speak Spanish. I really should’ve paid more attention in my high school class. I turned to Donna, but she was deep in conversation with a lady who reminded me a lot of Abi.
I felt a pang of sadness.
I hoped Barney was doing better.
Only the lady serving wines was standing alone, so I walked back to her table, finishing the small amount of chardonnay so I’d have an excuse to try the other wine she had. “May I try the red?”
She smiled but didn’t quite meet my gaze. “Of course!”
“Could you tell me more about this one?”
Her eyes met mine, and I realized she hadn’t been meeting my gaze because the other women had made a point of not speaking to her, of pretending she wasn’t there.
“Oh, this is an Anderson Valley pinot noir. It pairs nicely with lamb, maybe a chicken curry.”
It was like listening to Rachel, so soothing. I missed Rachel even more than I missed her wines.
“Awesome. This is my first wine tasting of the trip. Tell me more about your company.”
Some of the wariness left her eyes, but she had to pause to pour for the two Spanish speakers. They deliberated a good minute before going with the pinot noir and then ambled off to the other side of the fireplace. I turned back to my own personal sommelier.
