Page 56 of Left of Forever

“I’ll tell them we’re not staying,” I say to Wren. I have to shout a little over the music.

“We’d better just do it!” she shouts back. “I’m curious now.”

We round the corner to a long, tiled room with four separate islands complete with stove-top burners, sinks, and counters overflowing with ingredients and cookware. One wall of the room is lined with photos that showcase the grounds during various phases of construction, another is filled with cabinets and a gigantic refrigerator, and the last has a huge set of accordion-style doors that are open to a patio with an iron railing.

There’s a group of eight mingling and swaying together in one area of the room; half of which are wearing something that statesBRIDESMAID. A girl in a white sundress wearing a crown and a veil shimmies her way over to one of the guys in the group. He takes a swig from a flask before he passes it to one of his buddies and intercepts her, dropping her into a dip and kissing her. The rest of the room applauds accordingly.

The white-haired woman is doing some sort of salsa with an equally linen-clad man at the front of the room, and standing stoically off to the side are Ferret and his partner.

“Oh no, our nemeses,” Wren says into my ear.

I refrain from groaning. I don’t think I can handle anyone going on about a “bright finish” right now.

“G’day, everyone!” calls our hostess from the front, turning down the music volume from a remote. “I’m Bernadette, but please call me Bernie, and this here is my partner, Robbie, but please call him Bob. As you might’ve guessed, we are from Australia. Please don’t ask us to say ‘aur naur’ or anything of Cleo or condensation, as this is the one and only time we will mention it.” She claps loudly.

“Right, then,” says Bob. He launches into a brief history of the place and when they built it. It’s lost on me because I’m a bit stuck on the bachelor-bachelorette party, who, upon closer inspection, all appear to be fuckingblitzed.

“First things first,” calls Bernie. “Mingle about the room and introduce yourselves. Let everyone know why you’re here, what you’re celebrating, what have you.”

Wren and I share a commiserate look. “I know you don’t want to meet new people, but…?” she says.

I’m not sure I’d like anything other than to finish what we started in the vineyard, but I’ll muster up the social energy. “I can summon some manners,” I say. “Keep a wide berth around the maid of honor, though. She’s, without a doubt, hurling before the end of today.”

“Oh, for sure she is,” Wren agrees. We watch the girl’s chin rear back with the force of her belch, skin going a shade greener.

“I reckon this isn’t their first stop of the day,” Bernie says to Wren and me, nodding toward the group with Bob tucked into her side, a genial grin on his sun-weathered face. “What are you lovebirds here celebrating, then?”

“We dropped our son off at college,” says Wren.

“And it’s her birthday today,” I add.

“Surely you’re too young to have a kid in college,” Bernie says to Wren, genuinely perplexed.

Wren looks my way with a knowing smirk, and we end up grinning at each other like no one else is here. Like there are no groomsmen talking about hitting some sort of wine bong called aporrónin the opposite corner and like Ferret and his partner aren’t mean-mugging the rest of us. We turn twin, politely subdued expressions on Bernie and Bob, and raise our brows patiently. The same timing and same looks we mastered when Sam was little.We learned early on that we didn’t owe anyone else explanations about our ages.

Their smiles stiffen, and the bride from the bachelorette party stumbles over to nudge Wren with her elbow. “Older men, though, am I right?” she says, tilting her chin my way in explanation. I look over at her fiancé, who does, in fact, appear to be older than she is, by more than a decade if I had to guess. And she thinks Wren can relate?!

Wren makes a good show of trying not to laugh before it bursts out of her.

“How mucholderdo you think I am?!” I ask the bride indignantly.

Wren wails another laugh, and the bride blushes. “Oh shit, I’m sorry,” she says. “You just, well, you look—” She grimaces and shrugs apologetically.

Wren finishes chortling enough to peck a placating kiss on my chin. “You just have a very distinguished look about you,” she says.

I feel like milking it and want her to kiss me again. “You mean tired and old,” I grouse, trying to look stern. “Haggard.”

“Handsome,” she corrects, smiling softly. She quickly kisses the corner of my mouth and scratches a hand through my hair. I feel like purring.

The rest of our classmates have gone back to socializing among themselves when Bob claps from the front of the room.

“All right, everyone,” he starts. “As we covered, Bern here and I are Australian, living on this replicated Italian villa we get to call home, growing French grapes on Californian soil.So, naturally, we will be cooking Indian cuisine today!”

Ferret raises his hand, then speaks out before he’s called upon. “Do you have a pairing list to accompany the meal, or are we just supposed to wing it?” he asks.

“Uhhh, drink whatever you’d like to, mate. There’s beer in the fridge, too,” says Bob.

Ferret looks like he might have an aneurysm. His partner looks asleep on her feet, rocking back on her heels. I bet for all his sipping and spitting, she’s been consuming.