Today, a series of strange and wonderful events transpired at work and I ended up drinking a glass of 1989 Chateau Haut Brion while a nice man broke into my car and retrieved my keys. My boss said, "You might as well quit today. It's not going to get any better than this." I took my wine glass out to the parking lot to thank the nice man and sat down on an upturned wine crate near the dumpster in a good patch of sunshine. I closed my eyes for a few moments to make sure I would remember it. While working on Saturdays will never be my favorite thing, I've always managed to get good perks one way or another.
Back when I could barely tell a red from a white, I had a roommate who gave me a wine of the month membership for Christmas. We were twenty-three. He was a good but complicated roommate. He was the kind of guy who, on paper, was a dream. He was tall and cute enough, successful in his career. He was empathetic and kind. In reality and not on paper, he was the worst storyteller in the world. You could fall asleep listening to him and your heart would sink every time he piped up. He couldn't tell a joke, ever. He'd fuck up the timing or laugh on the punch line. He told the same stories, with the same phrasing and the same emphasis over and over. He told stories about his high school job and his father - terrible stories. He did the dishes though, always paid the bills and once walked to meet me at the bus stop when a creepy guy was staring me down on the bus. Together we created a tenuous little unit of lonely young people who helped each other out and shared pasta and toilet paper.
Following nature's laws of futility and annoyance, my roommate developed a crush on me. He never hit on me, but he started giving me gifts. He gave me pretty agate earrings on the fourth of July. He couldn't hide anything and began to stare at me dreamily. Our mutual friends started to notice. Even the way he said my name changed and it began to bug the hell out of me.
I knew it was time to change, so I moved out and got my own place at the end of the lease. We slowly lost contact. The last time I saw him was a couple years ago at a barbecue when he introduced me to his date. She was dull and cutish. She laughed at his botched delivery and hung on every word of his God awful stories. She gave the precautionary stink eye that women do when they meet a date's female ex-roommate. The eye quickly judged if we ever slept together. The eye said, "You had your chance and yeah, I know you lived together. I know he says you were never involved, but just in case you didn't realize. He's mine now." It happened in a flash and I had to pretend I didn't see it at all. For the rest of the night, they just grinned at one another and I knew it then.
Yesterday, I got the wedding invitation in the mail. They're getting married at a winery in October. I will go and wish them the best.
My boyfriend and I have been together three and a half years and people (mostly parental people) have begun to ask about our marriage plans. It is funny for me to see other people with shorter relationships getting married, especially when I think they are a good match. It doesn't feel like our time just yet. Somehow, buying a house seems like the right move. A wedding doesn't. I feel like I would marry him tomorrow but that there's no rush. I do wish Roomie and Stink Eye the very best of luck.
