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Authors: Shanna Clayton
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girl.” Mom pulls Fiona up into her lap, cradling her. “It means today we’re promising to love each other forever, and to always be there for one another. Can you both make that promise?”
Her eyes go back and forth between Fiona and me as she waits for us to answer.
“Of course,” I say, taking the duty seriously.
Fiona wraps her tiny arms around Mom’s waist. “Of course, Mommy,” she says, mimicking me again.
***
By the time I hear the front door open and close, it’s too late. I can’t avoid her this time. I hope she walks straight past the kitchen, so I don’t have to see her, but I’m not that lucky.
She comes in carrying grocery bags, then sets them on the counter without looking up. Dragging a hand through her hair, she lets out a winded breath. She removes a large bottle of wine from one of the bags. Then she begins rifling through the drawers, opening them and slamming them shut.
She’s wearing a skirt and blazer, and her hair is straight. I’m pretty sure she looks that way because she just got back from job hunting. My guess is, it didn’t go that well.
I consider ducking out the side entrance, but I stay where I am. Watching her like this is slightly fascinating, but I think she might tear the kitchen apart unless I speak up.
“Can I…help you with something?”
She looks across the island at me, appearing surprised to see me standing there. I think she just realized I’ve been in the room with her this whole time.
“Do you have a corkscrew?”
I open the drawer next to the sink and take it out, handing it to her.
“Thanks.” She points the corkscrew at the center of the cork on the wine bottle, then jabs it in like she’s attacking the thing.
“Do you, uh, want a glass as well?”
“Nope,” she says, twisting the screw. “I have some plastic cups upstairs.”
“You’re gonna drink it out of a plastic cup?”
“After the day I’ve had, I may drink it straight from the bottle.” She pulls the cork loose, wiggles it free, then hands me back the corkscrew. Grabbing the bottle and the other bag, she heads for the stairs.
Pausing at the bottom, she turns to look back at me. “I get that some wines air out better in appropriately shaped glassed, but it never made a difference to me. It’s what’s in the wine that counts, not the packaging. It’s about how that wine has always been good to you, and how many countless times you depended on that wine to take the edge off after a long day. It never lets you down, fancy glass or not. Why isn’t that good enough for some people? What’s wrong with a red Solo cup? It doesn’t change who the wine is.”
She’s talking about a lot more than plastic cups. I’m just not entirely sure what it is. She’s bending the rules here, but I don’t seem to care. I just want to tell her whatever she needs to hear. I want to fix whatever ruined her day.
“Absolutely nothing,” I say. “Red Solo cups are fucking perfect. Best damn cups in the world, if you ask me.”
She nods, looking grateful to hear that. Cradling her bottle of wine, she continues up the stairs. I still don’t have a clue what that was about, but I think I said the right thing. That makes me extremely pleased with myself.
“What’s up with her?” Trevor walks into the kitchen, going straight for the fridge.
I clear my throat and wipe the stupid grin off my face. “How should I know?”
He grabs a few different kinds of lunch meat and a bag of cheese, then sets them on the counter. “Because you’re all like, ‘Red Solo cups are the best!’ Just seemed like a weird conversation.”
“You know what’s weird? The fact that you’re up my ass twenty-four–seven.”
“Someone needs to be,” he says, reaching for the loaf of bread. “Especially since you enjoy sneaking out in the middle of the night.”
I open my mouth, but I’m too stunned to say anything.
He gives me a knowing smile. “Didn’t think I knew about that, did ya?
Her eyes go back and forth between Fiona and me as she waits for us to answer.
“Of course,” I say, taking the duty seriously.
Fiona wraps her tiny arms around Mom’s waist. “Of course, Mommy,” she says, mimicking me again.
***
By the time I hear the front door open and close, it’s too late. I can’t avoid her this time. I hope she walks straight past the kitchen, so I don’t have to see her, but I’m not that lucky.
She comes in carrying grocery bags, then sets them on the counter without looking up. Dragging a hand through her hair, she lets out a winded breath. She removes a large bottle of wine from one of the bags. Then she begins rifling through the drawers, opening them and slamming them shut.
She’s wearing a skirt and blazer, and her hair is straight. I’m pretty sure she looks that way because she just got back from job hunting. My guess is, it didn’t go that well.
I consider ducking out the side entrance, but I stay where I am. Watching her like this is slightly fascinating, but I think she might tear the kitchen apart unless I speak up.
“Can I…help you with something?”
She looks across the island at me, appearing surprised to see me standing there. I think she just realized I’ve been in the room with her this whole time.
“Do you have a corkscrew?”
I open the drawer next to the sink and take it out, handing it to her.
“Thanks.” She points the corkscrew at the center of the cork on the wine bottle, then jabs it in like she’s attacking the thing.
“Do you, uh, want a glass as well?”
“Nope,” she says, twisting the screw. “I have some plastic cups upstairs.”
“You’re gonna drink it out of a plastic cup?”
“After the day I’ve had, I may drink it straight from the bottle.” She pulls the cork loose, wiggles it free, then hands me back the corkscrew. Grabbing the bottle and the other bag, she heads for the stairs.
Pausing at the bottom, she turns to look back at me. “I get that some wines air out better in appropriately shaped glassed, but it never made a difference to me. It’s what’s in the wine that counts, not the packaging. It’s about how that wine has always been good to you, and how many countless times you depended on that wine to take the edge off after a long day. It never lets you down, fancy glass or not. Why isn’t that good enough for some people? What’s wrong with a red Solo cup? It doesn’t change who the wine is.”
She’s talking about a lot more than plastic cups. I’m just not entirely sure what it is. She’s bending the rules here, but I don’t seem to care. I just want to tell her whatever she needs to hear. I want to fix whatever ruined her day.
“Absolutely nothing,” I say. “Red Solo cups are fucking perfect. Best damn cups in the world, if you ask me.”
She nods, looking grateful to hear that. Cradling her bottle of wine, she continues up the stairs. I still don’t have a clue what that was about, but I think I said the right thing. That makes me extremely pleased with myself.
“What’s up with her?” Trevor walks into the kitchen, going straight for the fridge.
I clear my throat and wipe the stupid grin off my face. “How should I know?”
He grabs a few different kinds of lunch meat and a bag of cheese, then sets them on the counter. “Because you’re all like, ‘Red Solo cups are the best!’ Just seemed like a weird conversation.”
“You know what’s weird? The fact that you’re up my ass twenty-four–seven.”
“Someone needs to be,” he says, reaching for the loaf of bread. “Especially since you enjoy sneaking out in the middle of the night.”
I open my mouth, but I’m too stunned to say anything.
He gives me a knowing smile. “Didn’t think I knew about that, did ya?
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