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Mom helps me do the dishes while Aunt Olive goes throughNetflixto find some movie we could watch.
She decides to watch50 First Dates.
I turn to them in the dimly-lit room, with only the light emanating from the television. Much to my relief, neither of them brings up the subject of my canceled wedding and recent reckless behavior, i.e., drinking until sun up and sleeping around.
After the film, we all go to our separate ‘beds.’ For me, it’s the couch.
I already feel so much better than yesterday. If I knew seeing my mom and Aunt Olive would make me feel more at ease, I would’ve called them sooner.
As I cozy up on the couch, I hear a door open.
Turning in that direction, I see Aunt Olive in her silk sleepwear, carrying a bottle of wine. She smiles at me as she waves the bottle in her hand. “Don’t tell your mom. We’ll drink moderately, I promise.”
I smile back at her, adjusting the blanket to give her space to sit beside me.
Aunt Olive joins me on the couch and wraps her lower half with the blanket. She casually opens the bottle and hands it to me.
I like it—straight from the source.
I read the label:Vosne-Romanee Les Genaivrieres.I haven’t started drinking, but my mouth already rolls off the name.
Aunt Olive informs me, “It’sPinot Noir,one of the expensive kinds. So, you better enjoy every drop of it.”
As I take my first chug of the red wine, I remark, “You and your expensive taste, Aunt.”
“As you grow older, you’ll learn that your taste has to be impeccable—men included.”
There it is,I think to myself.
At least it’s Aunt Olive who’s going to rip off the nasty band-aid.
I pass her the wine bottle as I say, “So, you know, huh? What… Larson did. And what I did right after that.”
“Your mother brought me up to speed on the drive here, yes.” She takes a drink. “And to be honest, how you’re coping with it is normal. You thought Larson was the love of your life, and having no choice but to change your mind isfuckingdifficult. Excuse my French, dear.”
I let out a short laugh. “I honestly did think he was going to be my endgame, you know? But… life happens.”
“Oh, come on.Cheatershappen. Life isn’t supposed to be that difficult. Look at your mother; she married the first guy she kissed—and they first kissed on their wedding day. What a show-off.”
We both laugh. I take another drink from the bottle.
Aunt Olive continues, “Look, Estelle, I’ve dated so many men in my lifetime, and I even divorced one of them; I wish it wasn’t so complicated—life and love, but it just is for some of us. But here’s the thing: don’t give up on love because that’s one of the most beautiful things you’ll experience. You can’t look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t have some of your best memories with Larson.”
I let her words swim through my mind, taking them into honest consideration.
Although Larson found his happiness elsewhere, our falling apart had to be necessary—for me to find my own happiness, too.
But Aunt Olive is right; Larson and I had great memories together. From reading together in his bed to riding the Queen Gondola in Aspen, Colorado, where he proposed. We had some of the best moments I probably wouldn’t get elsewhere.
Especially with how I felt then. That’s something I can’t recreate.
I finally answer, “Can I be honest with you, Aunt?”
“I’d prefer that.”
“I’m notangryat Larson, you know? I’m angry at the situation; I’m angry that I found out so close to our wedding. I’m angry I gave up my job and almost my life here in Atlanta to be with him. I mean, of course, I’m hurt. But I’ve come to terms with it. Almost immediately. Because what else can I do? If he’s in love with someone else, what more can I do? So, you know, to hell with it.”
Aunt Olive gives me a one-arm hug. Then, she lifts the bottle as if clinking it with an imaginary bottle in the air before taking a drink. “To hell with it.”
