I Chose the Wine
by Melissa Diaz
I chose the wine. Nothing fancy, just a sweet something to sip on while we were hanging out. Something perfectly suited for girly conversations about men and fashion, light and airy and not very rich.
Sherry was supposed to show up with a movie, one of her favorites 80’s chic-flicks that I’d never seen before. When I answered the door to her knock, all she had in her hands was a half-empty box of tissues. Her eyes were red and tears flowed freely down her cheeks.
“Oh, honey, what happened?” I asked rushing her into the house and kicking shut the door.
“He…he said…he can’t…he doesn’t love me anymore!” Sherry broke down on my couch, clutching a throw pillow to her chest as she spilled her story in broken sobs.
I moved the pile of bridal magazines off the coffee table and sat, trying to stay close and still give her space. Eventually, the tale of her fiancé’s cold feet and indiscretion faded into silence.
“Could I get you something to drink?” I asked awkwardly after a bit, getting up and walking to the ‘fridge.
“Yeah,” she replied, “that might be good.”
I opened the door and stared inside, debating what to bring to her, to quiet her tears. I chose the wine.