Dishing Up Love

Erin glances behind me and around the fireplace, her face brightening when she spots what she’s looking for. “My favorite table is open!” she squeaks, hurrying over to the rickety looking wooden table and chairs in the corner of the bar.

When we take our seats, I reach to pull her chair closer to mine by the leg but think twice. It looks like it could fall apart at any moment, so I decide to pick mine up carefully and move closer to her instead. “So what is a Voodoo Daquiri?”

“That’s the thing. Nobody knows. But it’s provocative,” she breathes the last word, and I laugh, recognizing the quote from Blades of Glory. “I’m hoping you can finally solve the mystery with your taste-testing superpower.”

“Dude. How shitty would it be if we lived in a world full of superheroes, and that’s the only power I got? Fucking taste-testing,” I gripe.

“Captain Taste Buds!” she exclaims in an announcer voice.

“Super Tongue!” I mimic her tone.

She bites her lip at that. “Well. That one makes me think of something completely different.” And then she gets an overdramatic look of worry on her face. “Oh shit. If you’re a super-taster, does that mean….” She shakes her head, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “No, no. I ain’t got nothing to worry about. ‘I have never had any complaints in the poonany odor department.’”

I hold up my hand, finishing the scene from The Sweetest Thing. “‘High-five on the clean poonany.’” She claps her palm to mine and bursts into a fit of giggles, and I shake my head in wonder. “I swear, it’s like we’re the same person when it comes to the movies and shows we both love.” With all our fun banter, I feel the weight of the conversation we came here to have lighten just a bit, especially when she takes a sip of her drink and turns to rest her head on my shoulder. “I can only imagine what our mouths are going to look like after we drink these. What the hell is it?”

“Well, Lil Wayne calls it Purple Drank. It’s grape flavor is all anyone really knows. And it’s supposed to make your clothes fall off,” she says with a smile.

“Isn’t that what tequila is supposed to be for?” I ask, referring to the country song.

“Could be what’s in it, I suppose. Take a sip already! You’re killing me,” she urges, sliding my cup up to the edge of the table right so the straw is right in front of me.

“Why, sugar. Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask, feigning offence.

She scoffs. “Duh. I wanna get you home and take advantage of you. And that’s much easier when you’re full of Voodoo juice.”

I chuckle, finally leaning down and putting her out of her misery. And holy shit, it’s delicious. “Yep, definitely grape. And even though my sense is slightly dulled from the Hurricanes and the Horny Gator, I’m tasting… Everclear and most definitely bourbon. Ha! I’m drinking bourbon on Bourbon Street.”

“Whomp whooomp,” she singsongs, shaking her head then taking a large swig of her daquiri.

I want to breach the subject of us, but I don’t want this light feeling to end. I stare down into my big white cup, at the purple slush gleaming back at me in the candlelight of this amazing three-hundred-year-old building, trying to come up with a way to start the conversation without making Erin’s spirits sink.

Just when I start to feel anxiety creeping up, she saves me, and I’m grateful to see she’s still got a small smile on her delectable lips. “When you said you wanted one of our stops to be somewhere we could relax and rest our old bones, I immediately thought of this place,” she says quietly. “This isn’t my go-to bar, the one I frequent the most after a hard day at work or to just go out and meet new people, but it’s like my… happy place. I save it for special occasions, and when I really need a pick-me-up. That way it doesn’t lose its soothing effect. I came here after my ex-fiancé left me, and before that, I came here just to sit and regain some of my… zen, I guess you could call it, after I had my miscarriage.”

My eyes that’d been locked on hers while she spoke shutter when I see the pain in her eyes. Her smiling lips tremble slightly, and I know she’s trying to stay strong while she bravely just spits it all out for me.

“I’ve never told anyone about any of this, except for Emmy. Only my ex, my doctor, and my best friend know anything about it. Well, and my old therapist, but I don’t really count her,” she admits, and I tilt my head to the side.

“Why don’t you count her?” I ask.