Five Minute Read: Cheap Glass of Wine

Bemused wasn’t quite the word. Sitting around a wrought-iron table with a group of women she’d only known a matter of weeks, Katherine was utterly stupefied. Feeling the slight breeze of the evening descending on her flushed cheeks, Katherine was glad for the enveloping darkness.

    She should have never mentioned that she was single.

    She definitely shouldn’t have followed that up with a question about the local contractor, Dave, who’d recently asked her out.

    The women around her had hooted at the mere suggestion.

    “Dave? Good Lord, honey, you can do better than that,” Shannon had responded quickly.

    Beside her, sipping on a fresh glass of lemonade, Marianne chuckled, her chin wobbling merrily as she brought the beverage up to her lips. “Hell, my eighty-year-old grandmother can do better than Dave.”

    Katherine shrugged self-consciously. “Well…I mean, he does seem like a bit of a—”

    “Desperate man-whore?” Abigail interceded. Nearing the age of fifty, the words sat ill on her matronly nature. Nodding, she smiled in consent. “Oh, he’s certainly that.”

    “Right. Guess it’s a good thing I fobbed him off then, huh?” Swallowing past a surge of embarrassment, Katherine was more than interested in changing the subject. She’d asked the question and now they could all move on…

    Only, no one else seemed to agree.
    “Ladies.” Holding up one hand in a powerful gesture, Shannon commanded attention. All three heads swiveled in her direction. “Clearly, we have a duty to help our new friend here. I think Katherine’s question alone makes that obvious.”

    Opening her mouth, not sure where Shannon was headed but unnerved all the same, Katherine wasn’t given so much as the option to interrupt.

    “I mean, it would be shameful of us, not to give her the necessary ins and outs of the local dating pool.” With a sidelong glance at Katherine, she grinned. Her eyes, shadowed now, all but twinkled across the table. “And let me tell you, sweets, we got some doozies here.”

    Abigail whistled in agreement.

    Marianne only chuckled again.

    “Oh, please, you don’t need to…I doubt I’ll be dating much, at least not right away,” Katherine tried again.

     Her plea fell on deaf ears.

    “A good-looking gal, new in town? Oh honey, you’ll be batting ‘em away with a mosquito swatter.”

    Katherine wasn’t so sure. She’d only been divorced for six months, after all; the last thing she was looking for was another romantic spectacle to jump into. But these women wouldn’t know that. They only knew that she’d recently moved to town. By herself. Ringless. It was a point of attention that apparently the whole town had noticed.

    Then again, maybe Shannon was on to something about batting people away. Katherine had done little more than sign her new hire paperwork at St. Mary’s hospital in the small down of Cricket Bay, before these ladies had descended upon her. Fellow nurses on the maternity unit, they’d been almost overwhelming in their welcome.

    Which was how she’d found herself more or less coerced into their weekly girls’ night.  

    Normally, Katherine would have said no. An introvert by nature, she wasn’t usually big on social groups like this, which appeared to be nothing more than women happily gossiping about…well, whatever struck their fancy at that particular moment.  

    But she’d been lonely since the divorce, lonely since the rash decision that had sent her taking a job in a city halfway across the country from her hometown. So she’d said yes when Shannon had ordered Katherine’s attendance that evening.

    To her detriment now.

    Tapping one finger against her chin, Shannon seemed to be in deep thought. “I think it would be best to tell you who not to date.”

    Marianne nodded. “Help you wade out the losers.”

    “Course, it’d probably be a shorter chat if we listed off the actual eligible bachelors,” Abigail added, throwing out a gentle elbow to Katherine’s side.

    “Well now…” Not to be distracted, Shannon was plowing ahead with her plan. Holding up one finger, she went on: “There’s Jake Mathews.” She shuddered for effect. “Spare yourself.”

    “Mathews can out-stink a dead skunk,” Abigail agreed.

    “So I’d probably have figured that one out on my own,” Katherine murmured.

    Shannon grinned. “Unless it’s cold season. He’ll sneak up on a body then.”

    “Oh! Oh! Don Peters.” This came from Marianne, who seemed awfully proud of her contribution at that moment.  

    “Mmm. Yes, he’ll come off as suave in the beginning, but mix a few beers into the equation—”

    “And there’s always a few beers,” Marianne muttered.

    Shannon nodded. “Anyway, picture a wet noodle at the end of the night.”

    “Speaking from experience?” This came from Abigail who wiggled her overly-painted eyebrows knowingly.

    Shannon smirked. “Hey, I wasn’t always a married lady.”

    At the laughs circling the table, even Kathrine found a grin gracing her face. The imagery alone was rather amusing, if slightly poor in taste.

    “Then there’s Caleb Mackowski.”

    Abigail giggled behind her hand. “Great in the sack.”

    “Phenomenal cook, too,” Marianne added. “

    Katherine cocked her head to one side. “So, what’s the problem with him?”

    The other three women shared a look. Then, as if on cue, they all shouted, their voices low in timbre, clearly mimicking that of the man, himself: “Get it, baby! Get it!”

    Chuckling despite herself, despite the cloying sense of personal invasion, Katherine found herself rather enjoying the conversation now. Or maybe it was the feeling of camaraderie she sensed in the other woman. There was no judgment, no snipping. Just fun.  

    Abigail held up another finger. “Carl Hanberg.” This was followed by a caricature of snooty upturned noses all around.

    “Talks a lot about his wealth. Like a lot.”

    “And yet, how can I say this?” Abigail took a long drink off her glass. Her eyes glinted when she spoke: “Man pairs well with a cheap glass of wine.” She winked at Katherine. “If you know what I mean.”

    Katherine was terrified to admit that she did not. Then again, she wasn’t sure she wanted to, either. At that moment all she felt was a momentary regret that she didn’t have a pad and paper in which to document these names. She’d never remember them all.

    “Then there’s Marty Pips.”

    Marianne grinned. “Might as well move into his mother’s house. She’s always nearby. In his ear.”

    “Oh and let’s not leave out…”

    As the voices of these women rang out across the wide-covered verandah of Shannon’s home, Katherine reached for her glass of lemonade. Next time she was invited over, she’d be bringing a stronger drink with her.