Page 48 of Rules of Association

“Sure, sure Ant,” he said, still laughing. “Come. We are going to the cellar.”

And so I worked. Enduring Paulo yelling at me about patience and precision and how my attitude was going to get me in trouble one day.

I graduated from my brace to a gauzy hand tape that I had to administer myself every day. Not to mention the twice a week physical therapy sessions that may have hurt more than the actual punch did.

We opened the shop to a flood of people on opening day and the weeks to follow. Which was good because the busyness of the days kept me preoccupied and away from thinking too much. Or having to answer my phone. Which had been ringing off the hook with messages and calls from my family just “checking in.” I swear they’d never checked in this much in their life. They had even come around a few times in search of me. Each time I begged Paulo to give me something to do in the cellar. I wasn’t ready to see them. Not when I still had nothing figured out and had basically just settled for something I knew was available.

Nope. I’d already come too close to snapping that night at dinner. Distance and time had done nothing but ramp up my irritation, not tamp it down.

Irritation that took the shape of a nameless, faceless girl who was trying to steal my best friend. Ugh.

I told Connor I had a job now so he wouldn’t worry when he called and for some reason I found I didn’t want to answer. A feeling I’d never had before learning he had another girl he spent time with.

Ironically, he hadn’t contacted me that much. Usually we talked every day, but he was missing days and I was missing days and I guess this is how it all started, right? Him replacing days with me for days with her. Me replacing that with him for…hanging out alone. Pretty soon all his free time would be spent with her, and I would be left at square one. No best friend. No passion. Nothing.

And that was fine…I guess.

Days blurred in a swirl of wine, grip strengthening exercises, and this fleeting sense of ungroundedness. It put me in a funk that wasn’t so much self-loathing but self-reflecting.

It was a weird feeling, being on the outside of something. I had always been on the inside. Inside this elite family. Inside this warm circle of brothers and sisters. And even inside this whirlwind friendship with Connor, who was probably one of the best friends I’d ever had. But now suddenly I was on the outside of it all.

It was a lonely feeling.

* * *

On Thursday I went into the shop. I know I said I couldn’t work Thursdays, but as soon as the shop had opened for regular hours I quickly picked that day up too, working a partial day instead of a full.

I had nothing else to do. I didn’tknowwhat to do. That was my entire song lately.

I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.

I was getting fucking tired of it. Uncertainty made me feel icky, this insecurity something I’d never battled before. Indecisiveness weighing on me, begging me to just choose something and be happy.

But my brain didn’t work like that. I couldn’t just choose, I had to know. It had to be a feeling so right that I could justify going for it with my all and never have to look back.

Humming along to Paulo’s bad dance music, I stood behind the store counter pouring samples of chilled Pinot Grigio into the little shot sized glass jars that we kept on ice for customers. It was a nice little touch of refreshment they could pick up and drink as they looked around the store.

It was early for wine, but Thursday was one of our busier days.

Anticipating a lunch rush soon, I was filling the samples ahead of time. Still I didn’t expect customers to walk in at eleven in the morning. But a few minutes after I started pouring, I heard the telltale creaking of Pau’s shop floors.

I wasn’t much of a greeter. I hated having to sound chipper and intensely happy just to seeeverysingle person who walked through the door, but Paulo told me that I needed to work on being approachable or else he would throw me out on the street. I’d wanted to throw it right back in his unapproachable face, but he had a way with getting people’s attention in other ways. I think he mesmerized them with his knowledge and excitement about the wine rather than about them as customers.

All this to say, I was working on it.

“I’ll be with you all in a minute!” I called in my fake happy voice, but I didn’t look up from my focus on the jars. Paulo also said that if I spilled any more wine in the ice bucket, he would throw me out on the street.

He threatened to throw me out on the street pretty often.

“Please, don’t get too excited on our account,” a deeply sarcastic voice said. I froze. I knew that voice.Fuck.

Pausing my pouring I looked up and adopted my best customer-friendly smile. It bordered on a grimace.I was still working on it. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Ceci,” he said. “C’mon, enough with the cold shoulder.”

Dropping the smile, I sighed exasperatedly. “What do you want?”

“We’re sorry.”

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