Eight Hundred Grapes

It was about the fact that when Ben said it was the easiest decision he ever made, staying with me, he shielded his eyes. He shielded his eyes and, even if he wasn’t saying it out loud, I knew he only wanted that to be true.

I told Ben I needed a minute alone and walked to the bar, pouring myself sparkling wine, downing a glass. The bartender stared at my speed, not saying anything, but wanting to say something. I gave him a look, daring him.

I took the bottle itself and moved away from the bar. I moved toward the corner, where I could watch Finn on his side of the party, Bobby on his. My mother looked back and forth between them as she stood there with Henry; Henry, who looked uncomfortable—not because he was there—I had learned enough about Henry to know there probably wasn’t any room in the world he felt uncomfortable in. No, he was uncomfortable because he saw how agitated my mother was and he thought he was causing it. He was uncomfortable because he cared.

I poured more sparkling wine into my glass when Lee came up to me in the corner, like she belonged there too. “The bartender says you took the last of the good stuff. Care to hand some of it over?”

She took my glass out of my hands, making it her own. “You okay?” she said.

I nodded.

She took a long sip, my heart racing. “You don’t seem it,” she said. She looked at me, debating whether she knew me well enough to say it. She turned away, apparently deciding against it. Then, thinking again, she turned back.

“You shouldn’t feel badly about it,” she said.

“What’s that?”

She motioned toward Michelle, back with her daughter and Ben. “It would be hard for anyone if Michelle Carter was their husband’s ex,” she said. “Even Michelle Carter.”

Then she handed the glass back over. I smiled. “Thanks.”

“You should feel badly about pretending not to know me when you met me yesterday. If you want to feel badly about something, feel badly about that. Why did you do that?”

“What?”

She took the bottle of champagne out of my hand, poured some more into our shared glass, taking another sip herself. “You heard me.”

She shrugged, but she looked at me like she was playing way past that. I wasn’t incredibly uncomfortable that Lee, computer genius, spoon and glass sharer, was a step ahead.

“Did Jacob tell you that I’m taking a job in Seattle?”

That stopped me. “You did? When?”

She nodded. “I just attended Foo Camp, which—do you know it from growing up here? Anyway, I was offered a job in Seattle at a start-up that deals with online privacy. I’ll make software for them. Really cutting-edge stuff.”

I remembered Jacob’s suitcase in his trunk, the fight they must have had when Lee told him that was what she wanted.

She looked around the party, up toward the West County sky. “It’s a little hard for Jacob to think about leaving here, but it’s what’s right for me. The job. Seattle.” She shrugged, looking down. “Jacob says he’s getting used to the idea . . . Murray Grant Wines has operation managers. More than they know what to do with. Jacob can oversee the production from Seattle.”

“That’s great,” I said, trying to sound relaxed about it. Which was when it occurred to me how un-relaxed it made me feel: Jacob moving to Seattle, leaving here.

“Is it?”

Lee leaned in and motioned toward Jacob, where he was standing with my father toward the edge of the tent. And near them was Ben. So it was possible she was motioning toward him.

“Good men don’t like to quit. Have you noticed that? I’ve noticed that. They don’t give up, even when they should.”

I nodded, wanting to agree with her, though I wasn’t sure exactly what I was agreeing to, looking at Jacob, at Ben.

She met my eyes. “I would like to think that if I were staying here we would become friends. Don’t you think so too?”

It was a strange thing to say and yet it was sincere. It warmed me to her. “Maybe we’ll have another shot.”

She smiled. “Maybe we will,” she said.

Then she held up the champagne.

“Anyway, I’m going to find Jacob and drink the rest of this bottle,” she said.