"So where did you dart off to in such a hurry?" Aron asked.
"I popped out to get us a nice bottle of pinot noir for dinner," Melissa said.
"Oh, fabulous. How about we have a glass right now?"
"You read my mind, hon. You get the glasses, I'll get the corkscrew." Aron pulled a pair of glasses from the cabinet, and Melissa poured two tall glasses of red wine. The two sauntered over to the sofa and cheered to their good health. Aron didn't imagine there were many young men who enjoyed drinking wine, gabbing, and genuinely enjoying the company of their mother, but that was their loss. Although, at age 28, calling himself a young man was starting to stretch the truth.
Melissa shared a story about an incident at the office concerning an intern, a case of toner, and three-hole punch, and the two were howling with laughter. It was all Aron could do to prevent spilling his wine on the couch. Had the alcohol gone right to his head, or had the story really been that funny? He did feel a little disoriented. As though the sofa cushion beneath him was moving. And while the alcohol was a small contributor to this confusion, the main culprit was actually his rear end expanding another two inches.
The two continued their chatter, talking about all sorts of things. It was astounding how much a 44 year-old woman and a 29 year-old had in common; their interests, their tastes, their personality, and their senses of humor. "...And I literally, literally jumped, Melissa. I thought my clutch had moved," Aron said, bringing his anecdote to a close. Melissa did her best to stifle her chuckles, but simply could not. "I swear, I was ready to call an exorcist before I realized it was just my own hair in my peripheral vision!"
Melissa succumbed to full-on laughter, but managed to chime in. "So it wasn't so much a sack with spirits, but a lack of barrettes."
And now Aron laughed. "You always were the clever one," Aron said between laughs, although he didn't quite understand why. The clever one compared to whom, exactly? He shrugged it off and finished his glass. He was having fun, and would love this bull session to continue, but the rest of the wine was for dinner.
Aron brought the wine glasses back to the kitchen and rinsed them out in the sink. Melissa picked up Aron's purse and mockingly bobbed it in front of his face. "OooOOOoooOOOh," she said in a spectral whisper.
"Stop that," Aron said, playfully flicking a few droplets of water in her direction. His smile betrayed him.
Melissa handed Aron the clutch. "Just having a little fun with my-- *Cough cough!*" Melissa's hand shot up to cover her mouth. "Oh, excuse me," she managed to squeak out once the hacking stopped. Her throat just felt so spontaneously dry and raw, and now just as quickly felt completely normal.
Aron handed her a glass of water, which she politely accepted and drank. Aron, meanwhile took another look at his pocketbook. There, right above the gold buckle, studded right into the cream colored leather were the letters "SB." Aron couldn't remember ever seeing those calligraphic letters before. He wondered what the abbreviation could possibly stand for.
Melissa finished her water and placed the glass in the sink. She regained her composure and turned to Aron. "Aron, wait, before you go... Listen, this is an awkward subject for me to bring up, but it's something we need to talk about...."
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