Drunk on Love(102)

She took a glass down and pulled out one of the bottles they’d opened that day at random. What was the fucking point of owning a winery if you didn’t get to drown your sorrows in wine at least once?

She poured a glass and then sat down on one of the couches by the window.

His interview had been that day. She’d tried, so hard, not to let herself think about it, but she had. All day. He’d said she was being irrational to be so angry, to feel so betrayed that he’d decided to do this without telling her, that he’d decided to do this at all, and maybe he was right. But for the past month, almost as soon as they’d really gotten together, he’d been completely woven into her life. Okay, fine, almost completely—he was right, she hadn’t told Elliot about him, or anyone else at the winery. But she’d talked to Luke about so much. She’d told Luke about all of her conflicts with Elliot, about what he’d said at the funeral, about how hurt she’d been, then and since; she’d sobbed like a baby on his shoulder at the end of the party; she’d told him everything she and Elliot had talked about after she’d come home. She’d thought of him—she’d treated him—as someone she could share her whole self with, without having to edit herself, without having to hold anything back. And she’d believed he thought of her that same way, too, especially after that car ride when he’d told her about leaving his job. She’d trusted him with everything, in a way she rarely trusted people.

She got up, opened a new bottle, and poured herself more wine. This time, she brought the bottle back to the couch with her.

She stared at the sky out the window, the faint orange and pink and purple of the approaching sunset. Sunset was so late this time of year.

Had Luke spent all of this time with her thinking about his next move, his next step, the rest of his life, without sharing any of that with her? They’d been dating for real for only a month; this was probably her fault for expecting too much of someone far too young for her, of thinking that he wanted the same things she did. Sure, he was twenty-nine, but in man years, that was more like nineteen. She should have known that. He’d said that he thought they were something, he’d seemed to care about her, but he’d decided to go back to a job he’d hated, without even talking to her about it. And he’d walked out on her and hadn’t come back.

She felt tears fall down her face, for the first time since Sunday morning.

Had he cared, the way she’d thought he had? The way she’d cared? Even when he’d told her about that stupid lie he’d told his mom about dating Avery, the way he’d said I’m with you had seemed so definite. But maybe that meant something different to her than it did to him. Maybe they just thought of their relationship differently, wanted different things. He had been pretending to date someone else the whole time, after all. Maybe she shouldn’t have built this whole relationship up in her head with a twenty-nine-year-old guy she’d been dating for only a month who had told her at the outset he wasn’t staying in Napa for long. Maybe this was all her fault, not his.

It probably was. She was too much for most people. For most men, especially. She wanted too much, she talked too much. She cared too much. Luke was probably just done, and this was his way of telling her that.

Her wine on the coffee table seemed very far away. Why was this coffee table so low, anyway? You had to sit all the way up and then reach all the way forward for the wine—she should do something about that.

For now, it was far easier to just sit on the floor, where she could have her wineglass right next to her. And then she could pull her legs into her chest and drop her face on her knees.

She poured more wine into her glass and took a gulp. Had she been unfair to Luke? Irrational, like he’d said she was being? Probably, but everything about their relationship had been irrational! Had it been rational for her to sleep with him that first night? No! Had it been rational for her to lust after him every fucking day when he was working for her? No! Had it been rational for her to pull him into her house and kiss him just hours after he’d quit working for her? Absolutely not!

She reached for her wineglass again. Then she looked up with a jerk as the tasting room door opened.

“Margot?”

It was Elliot.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m in here.”

Elliot took another step into the tasting room.

“There you are. I had a question for you.” He walked over and looked down at her. “Is there a reason you’re sitting on the floor in the dark with a bottle of wine in front of you?”

She stared at the bottle.

“It seemed logical at the time,” she said.

Elliot stood there, staring down at her, for a few seconds. Then he went over to the bar, took down a glass, and sat down next to her.

“What’s going on?” he asked as she poured the rest of the bottle into his glass.

She was too sad and too drunk to tell him anything but the truth.

“I had a fight with the guy I was dating,” she said. “We haven’t talked since. I guess I’m at the sitting-on-the-floor-in-the-dark-drinking-wine stage.”

Elliot looked up from his glass at her, in that serious, thoughtful way he had.

“Luke?”

She sighed.

“Yeah, Luke. Was it that obvious? I didn’t want to tell you because he used to work here, and I thought you’d think . . . but we didn’t start dating until after he quit.” She sighed again. “Right after. But still.”