Sliding her hand to her knee for the third time, she subtly checks the watch nestled against the rim of her glove. She sighs, drawing her hand back in and glancing about the water’s edge, raising an eyebrow and grinding her teeth.
“Stop that,” a voice chirps through her earpiece.
Her nose twitches. “He’s late. Again.”
“That doesn’t make grinding your teeth good for you; I could hear that from here.”
Smiling, she rolls her eyes. “I doubt it. And this is the third time he’s been late this week.”
“Maybe he has awful luck with traffic,” the voice chirps, “but whatever the case, I have reminded you at least three hundred times to stop taking out your stress on your teeth. You already have to use the enamel-hardening toothpaste,” her brows furrow, “there isn’t much more to do beyond that except maybe prescription teeth hardener.”
“Pause,” she tilts her head, “how do you know what kind of toothpaste I use?”
“Because I’m a cabinet-peeper who checked out your bathroom mirror at your wine-and-cheese party. Don’t judge me too harshly,” she smirks, shaking her head, “I needed a break from…”
She nods. “Oh, yes, I know. You two do not exactly jive.”
“That’s an understatement. What’s the point of coming to a wine-and-cheese event if you don’t drink wine?”
“I could understand people believing soda would be available as an alternative. In most households, it probably would be, but I don’t drink that stuff. I probably should’ve made lemonade,” she concedes.
“No. And what? Offer granola for the dairy-free crowd?”
“Granola actually typically does have dairy in it. But, I must admit,” she nods, “that combination of not drinking wine and being dairy free was interesting to have as a guest at a wine-and-cheese party. Clearly I should know people better before inviting them over.”
“You were fine,” the voice chuckles, “the fruit bowl had you covered.”
She scratches her ear, hand then migrating into her pocket. “That was supposed to be for pairing with the wine and cheese. It goes, cracker,” she whips out a hand, “cheese,” she piles her other hand over the first, “then fruit,” she steals her first hand from the bottom to place on top.
“I thought it was cracker, fruit, cheese.”
“No, that’s the Canadian way; they won’t mind if we do it the right way.” Her hands slip back into her pockets.
“Hah! You made that up, didn’t you?”
“Yeah; that might just be the everywhere-else way, but I know how I like my fruit, cheese, and crackers: the way that sits well on a plate. No apple wedges topple my cheese if they sit atop it.”
“Very true. Might not taste as good,” she laughs at her friend’s playful ribbing, “but it’s nice to not make a mess.”
“It tastes the same,” she stresses the last word, leaning forward, smiling.
“But sipping your wine before a bite tastes different than sipping it after a bite?”
“The goal is to have both on your palate at the same time. How are you going to eat with wine in your mouth?”
“The same way you drink with food in your mouth.”
“You can’t really pin wine to anything with your tongue as you try to chomp a cracker; it doesn’t work that way.”
“Target acquired.”
She sits tall, smoothing her coat and checking her watch. Only thirty-three minutes late this time. Well, at least that’s an improvement.
A lanky man wearing a gray hoodie with the hood up meanders to her bench, sitting on the opposite side. Swinging his gaze this way and that, he waits a moment, then nods. Pulling a hand out of the center pocket of the sweatshirt, he tucks it up inside it, pulling out a small brown paper bag. He looks about, then gently places it on the bench in the space between them. Wordlessly, he stands and walks off.
She smiles, carefully extending her near side hand over to the package and sliding it toward her. Picking it up, she unfolds the flap and peeks inside. Her smile broadens.
“Well?”
“… Perfect …”
“What is it?”
She tugs it free of its wrapping, softly brushing it with her glove.
“We went into silent mode for a book?”
“Not just any book,” her voice drops low, “a first edition of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.”
“Excuse me, a collectible book. My mistake.”
She breathes carefully away from the cover, gently tucking the tome back in the bag. Standing, she rolls the top down slowly, almost reverently.
“Oh, come on. It’s not like you’ve got a Gutenberg Bible.”
“Thankfully – that would be heavy. This is mercifully much lighter.” Curling it inside her arm, her eyes dart about as she makes her way toward the parking area.
“You literally could have ordered that off of Amazon.”
“Nope. Ebay, probably, but I haven’t seen this beauty anywhere else. And besides, this was fun.”
“Have I mentioned I hang out with you for the parties?” She laughs. “When’s the next one?”
“What should the next theme be? How about Munchkinland?”
“What would that even mean? Lollipops and candy canes?”
“Let’s not confuse references; this isn’t Rudolph.”
“I vote something with cultural importance.”
“You can host that one. It sounds dreary.”
“It will be awesome; just you wait.”
“Whose culture? I request Canadian or French so crêpes and cheese are involved.”
“Crêpes – now there’s an idea…”
