“Actually, I have something better.” Alex passed through thekitchen on her way to the entryway. The packed boxes forced her to squeeze close to Sam on her way, her back lightly brushing Sam’s side as she made her way around the table’s far side. Sam briefly felt the heat from Alex’s body through her sweatshirt. She squeezed her eyes closed and silently counted to ten.
“This should be good,” she muttered to herself. She heard the front door open and then close softly. A few moments later, Alex reopened the door and returned to the house, holding an unlabeled wine bottle.
“Is that what I think it is?” Sam’s eyes went wide.
“If you think it’s a bottle of my Grandpa Jerry’s strawberry wine, then yes, it is what you think it is.”
“Alex.” Sam’s voice carried a slight warning edge. She recalled another time she and Alex had indulged in Grandpa Jerry’s strawberry wine. They ended up making out in the alley beside the fire hall while a school dance was raging inside, almost outing themselves. What the wine lacked in flavor, it more than made up for in alcohol content.
“Just one glass, Sam.” Alex kept her tone light, almost playful, but her eyes seemed to be saying something else.
Alex had always been able to convince her of anything. All she ever had to do was ask. It didn’t help that Sam’s brain was foggy with the two beers she had already had, and she didn’t know how she wanted to read the situation. Was this a friendly dinner, or was it going to be more? She could feel her body gravitating toward Alex again. She knew the wine was a bad idea, but that didn’t stop the words from coming out of her mouth.
“Okay,” she said, finally. “One glass.”
Sam watched Alex reach into the cabinet and pull down two of her mother’s crystal wine glasses. A bit of her sweatshirt rode up as she strained toward the top shelf, and Sam got a glimpse of skin that she knew from experience was just as soft and smooth as it looked. She felt herself shiver. All it took was a couple of beers, and her resolve was falling.
“Do you need any help with that?” Sam moved into the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe.
Alex dropped her arm and looked sheepishly over her shoulder. “Yes,” she said, stepping to the side. “Why do people put things on the top shelf anyway?” Sam heard her mutter under her breath.
“I think it’s a global conspiracy against short people,” Sam said, reaching up to grab two glasses.
“I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” Alex busied herself, uncorking the wine and pouring it into the glasses.
“I feel like my sense of humor is all I have these days.” Sam’s voice was quiet as she said the words. She realized only then that she could finally verbalize what she had been feeling lately. With all her responsibilities at work and the stress of trying to settle her mother’s affairs from afar, Sam realized that she hadn’t taken all that much time to grieve for what she had lost. Looking around the kitchen, Sam discovered she was closing a massive chapter in her life by selling the house. She wasn’t just saying goodbye to her mother—she was saying goodbye to her childhood home, her community, and all the memories and comforts that came with it. She was saying goodbye to an essential part of herself.
As if she sensed the mood change, Alex put the glasses on the counter and came around to take Sam’s hands. She squeezed until Sam raised her eyes to meet hers. Sam felt her eyes well up as the emotions washed over her.
“You have so much more than that.” Alex punctuated each word with a gentle tug. Alex held her gaze until Sam felt herself blushing and had to look away. Her tears threatened to spill over. She squeezed Alex’s hands and then let them go to wipe them away.
Alex looked at her and sighed, seeming frustrated that the moment was over. She picked the glasses back up and handed one to Sam. “Let’s toast,” she said, holding up her glass.
“To?” Sam asked, raising her glass.
“Old friends?” Alex paused and smiled.
“To old friends,” Sam echoed, touching her glass to Alex’s.
“And new beginnings?” Alex added on.
Sam mulled the words over as she regarded Alex over the rim of her glass. What would it mean to begin again with her? Wouldit be platonic? Would it be romantic? Did that even matter to her? Searching Alex’s face, seeing the hopefulness there, seeing the other emotions bubbling just beneath the surface, Sam decided that it didn’t matter. Whatever happened next, she was moving forward.
“And new beginnings,” Sam agreed, once again touching her glass to Alex’s.
They each took a sip to seal the deal.
Sam was shocked to discover that the wine was surprisingly good. In high school, Grandpa Jerry’s wine was used as a mild laxative or a shortcut to an immediate buzz. But this was different. “Wow,” she said, taking another sip. “Grandpa Jerry has seriously upped his game.”
“Right?”
“When you said you had some of his wine, I was skeptical. But this is delicious.” And it was. It reminded Sam of the Frangelico she’d sampled on a trip to Italy. It was sweet, light, and easy to drink.
“He took a course,” Alex admitted, making a face.
“Good. That stuff he was making before was awful.”
“It did serve a purpose,” Alex pointed out.
