Saturday's Storyteller: No Prompt

by Belinda Roddie

Lauren and I had never been to Plebes Valley before. We knew it was prime wine country - most of the vineyards there boasted of reds and whites that rivaled the stuff you got from as far as Cru or Asti. The two of us had always been curious about trying one specific place's Pinot Noir, so we packed a weekend bag each, and I got a neighbor to take care of Lawrence, the restless old tabby who still liked to hang around my place.

We planned to stay in a quaint little bed and breakfast on the edge of downtown. Not a bad choice of room, in my opinion: The beds were comfortable, and the floral curtains and wallpaper certainly reminded me of the guest room I got to be in whenever I visited my grandmother as a kid. Lauren immediately started gushing over the pillows, which had frilly pink slips and lacy doilies placed on top of them.

"It's just precious," she cooed. "That's what I want to do when I'm in my sixties: Run a little bed and breakfast with my future wife. We'd be adorable."

I gave her as affirming of a smile as I could while making myself comfortable on the small red easy chair nestled beside the antique chiffonier. Mostly, I was focused on my stomach, which my growling, and a growing headache reaching from the back of my head to my right brow, almost like a noisy party were being held by tiny aliens living in my eye socket.

At this point in my life, Plebes Valley was a welcome escape. Isabella had worked hard to finalize the divorce before Christmas, and I was just finishing up the paperwork when Lauren barged into my house with a twelve pack of beer and a storebought cherry pie for me to gorge on. Lauren and I had been buddies since college, and once we both graduated, we worked at the same electronics store and were quite possibly two of the most awkward friends with benefits we had known. The sex had been great, don't get me wrong, but once Bella came into my life, the monogamy button turned on in my head, and I just couldn't see myself having that kind of relationship with Lauren anymore. She understood, obviously, and found better girls to play with. We had grown apart since my engagement, and while she did attend the wedding, she never got close to me until recently, when she suggested this trip.

"It's our last chance to know if we can actually function as friends," she joked to me as I demolished half of the pie she had bequeathed to me in just a few bites. "I mean, a weekend together in Plebes Valley? That'll make or break us."

Lauren had admittedly cooled down a bit since our university days. I distinctly remembered our three-party Halloween weekend in senior year, the one where she mixed six different types of vodkas into a pint glass and drank it like water. She had stepped down from her party girl role and now worked a respectable job as an executive assistant to a man who ran both an architecture company and quite possibly the worst pick-up line factory in existence. It didn't help that Lauren was still single at thirty-one, of course, though now, she certainly was not alone.

Now we both sat in a small hotel room as the warm Friday night air beat down on both our heads, and I was already hungry and cranky. Lauren must have noticed this because she started sifting through the brochures she found on the nightstand, looking for the nearest grills or taverns for us to hang around in.

"There's a tapas place just a block away," she reported to me as she perched herself on her bed's mattress, her legs disappearing under her long skirt. "We can try there."

"Tiny amounts of food for too much money," I griped. "No, thanks."

"Burgers and beer, then?" offered Lauren. "Just a five minute walk. The wine can wait."

"I don't eat red meat."

She sniffed loudly, like I was emitting a suspicious odor into the small space. "Well, this trip is off to a great start."

"Just find an Italian place or something," I groaned, stretching my back against the stiff cushions of my chair. "I could go for some gnocchi or something. You like gnocchi?"

"I'm just trying to make you happy, Bridget. Gnocchi's fine."

We grabbed our purses and walked downstairs to find two old, mustached men drinking tea in the foyer, complaining about the weather and how hot it was and whatever happened to autumn, though of course, climate change was just a conspiracy created by the liberals. We walked past them without so much as a nod of recognition for their existence, which was fine by me. I shuffled behind Lauren as she navigated us to a little place called Luigi's Trattoria, and we were seated out front where the light breeze hit in all the right spots. I ordered my gnocchi and a glass of on tap ale of some sort while my friend found the perfect cut of salmon.

"So what do you think of this place so far?"

I blinked at her as I chewed on my little dumplings covered in four cheese sauce. "Luigi's, or Plebes Valley?"

"Both, I guess? It's pretty ritzy. Not a whole lot here except for wineries and restaurants."

"And antique stores," I pointed out. "I saw some on the way over."

"They say it's nearly impossible to afford living up here now," quipped Lauren, her fork dancing across the perfectly pink slab of fish on her plate. "I have a buddy who's a start-up guy. Works on little apps and games for Android phones. And he can't even get a house here. His wife's dying to move, but the real estate prices are just..."

I knew she was trailing off because my eyes were glazing over. I knew she also knew that I was still struggling with just the reality of everything. The drama, the divorce. Bella and I hadn't been doing well for a while. She was ambitious to the point of exaggeration, and I was never someone who wanted to move away from the job I had - just a run-of-the-mill accounting gig that gave me more than enough of a salary to stay cozy. But my ex-wife had always been someone who wanted more. As far as I was concerned, Plebes Valley was the golden target waiting for an arrow to plunge right into its heart- and shot from Bella's bow, no less. I was no match for her own lofty desires. I had to be the one to go.

And now, here I was, at a stuffy Italian joint where the rest of the patrons dressed way too nicely and talked way too loudly over their wine and linguine. Lauren seemed to notice my sour mood, so she started to talk about the latest comic book movie she saw with her mom and told some bad jokes afterward - which surprisingly did make me feel a little better. Back in the day, after the two of us had turned the sheets into knots during our hot and heavy shenanigans, Lauren had the job of killing any potential romantic atmosphere with some of the worst jokes and zingers we could find. Needless to say, the stupid stuff we read from our phones made us laugh so hard that our guts ached, and thus no risk of getting too close was ever posed.

The beer hit me harder than I expected, and so Lauren held my arm as we walked back to the little inn, my feet feeling wobbly beneath me. She insisted that she be the one to plan our Saturday, picking out the best wineries (in her opinion, of course) for us to frequent. I didn't care. I just wanted to bury my face into a pillow that smelled like stale lavender and dry vanilla sugar, and dream about as much weird stuff as my brain wanted to foment - provided that Isabella never showed up.

This week's prompt was...non-existent. I managed to crank out a little something before I ran out of steam. We'll see if I continue this storyline next week, in lieu of NaNoWriMo, as my schedule is busier than ever before. Thanks for reading!