Page 106 of Problematic Summer Romance

“Shut up, Paul,” Eli and I say.

This time, Conor joins in, too.

Chapter 33

The Mount Etna eruption is still ongoing; the airport will be closed for the next twenty-four hours, at the very least; despite Nyota’s continuing threats, Rue still does not have a dress; Eli’s wedding planner bursts into tears during their Zoom call and asks to be replaced; the person who owns the ice rink where Rue, Eli, and I used to skate, and who is supposed to officiate the wedding, informs us that he’s too scared of the wee bit of lava trickling down toward Catania to fly in.

All in all, it’s the perfect night for a wine tasting.

We head out at sunset. The vineyards are beautiful, even more so in the purple blanket of twilight. The live band is instrumental and jazzy, soft and melodic in a way that soothes my growing anxiety that this wedding might not be able to happen. The wine…

I try very hard not to let my real opinion show, but I hold on to my deeply held beliefs: all wine tastes the same, and thatsameis rotten grapes.

“You’re not even supposed to drink it,” Nyota says, frantically trying to turn me into a classier person. “You let it swish in your mouth, savor the finish and the aftertaste, and then spit it out.”

“So I get to suffer through the shitty flavor, and no booze? I’m not bougie enough for this.”

“Fix yourself,” she yells after me, “or I won’t take you with me as my plus-one when I become a lobbyist for Big Grape!”

I find Conor at one of the round patio tables, sitting with Sul, and settle next to him. They’re laughing about someone they know who might be going to prison for financial shit, making jokes about the relationship between ayahuasca retreats and a CEO’s ability to maximize shareholder value. Then Avery and Diego join us, and they switch to Kaede’s day care, one of their quants exiting his polycule after five years, lower back pain, retirement funds, the Super Bowl. The way youths these days can’t write in cursive.

I lace my hands together, drape them over the back of my chair, lay my head on them, and watch it all happen. I may not have much to contribute, but this is fun.

“I swear to god,” Diego says, “the new interns, they don’t know how to sign a document.”

“Ours bitch that they can’t read my handwriting. Fucking children.” Conor shakes his head. Then glances at me. “No offense.”

“None taken.” I smile sweetly. Under the table, I squeeze my hand around his thigh. “Feel free to start discussing how much lower your testicles have been hanging of late.”

Avery spits out her wine. Sul is very close to choking on his cheese cube, so I pat him on the back as I head to check on Nyota, who’s huddled with Tisha.

“Okay, so.” Tisha lifts her fingers and starts counting. “First of all: fuck. Second: shit. Third: goddamn.”

“I was expecting you to continue with the alliterations.” Nyota looks at me, shaking her head. “An all-you-can-eat source of disappointment, my sister.”

“What happened?”

“We’re in trouble,” Tisha explains. “Our parents just told us that they’re no longer flying in. And they were in charge of bringing the present I bought for Rue, this supercute emerald necklace that looks like a leaf. What am I supposed to give her now?”

“I could lend you the trilegged magnet Maya got me,” Nyota offers.

“Oh, shut up. What areyougiving Rue?”

“A follow. On Instagram.”

I whistle. “Lucky girl.”

“I know.” Nyota sips her rosé. “But it’s only on a trial basis. The first time she posts a picture of a mountain range with an inspirational quote superimposed, I’m blocking her.”

“You’re safe with Rue,” I reassure her.

“Do I get a follow, Ny? I’m your goddamn sister.”

“Not online, you aren’t. Not until you start curating your profile. For the love of baby toddler Jesus, stop using hashtags like it’s 2014.”

I’m worried about Rue, so I go search for her. The main building of the winery has a lovely porch-like balcony that wraps around it. I walk to the back of it, and that’s when I find her: sitting at a bench in the vineyard below, facing Mount Etna as the oranges and reds slowly trickle out of the uppermost crater. Eli is with her, one arm wrapped loosely around her waist.

“God,” I mutter.

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