Taste

There's no accounting for it...

Apr 02, 2022

~ Taste ~

Relationships begun in the awkwardness of youth sometimes last the longest, even when two people ceased having anything else in common with each other. Gailin and Melina, now in their early thirties, touched base once a year or so, but otherwise didn’t see each other often. Gailin had settled down in Ireland while Melina led a busy life traveling for work. When a layover put Melina in Dublin, she reached out to her childhood friend.

Gailin wondered, sitting at the pub, sipping at her pint, if Melina would look different from what she remembered. The last time they had seen each other was at Gailin’s wedding to Balfour. She’d met him on an expedition researching the genetics of sheep. Balfour was the young man inheriting the farm, and he’d won her over. So now she was a scientist, married to an Irish sheep farmer. Balfour's best man had reached for the low-hanging fruit in his toast, claiming Balfour had fleeced her. She had made a bah-a-a-a-a-a-d choice.

Gailin smiled at the memory and then worried her lip. Melina had been off during all the festivities, reserved, forcing a smile. Gailin had known her long enough to recognize that behind the polished surface, Melina was furious. Gailin understood, on some instinctual level, that as much as her friend wanted to be happy for her, she wasn’t. There had been an unspoken assumption that Melina would be married first. Melina was more outgoing, assertive with men, and had dated much more, whereas Gailin was shy, introspective, and had focused on her career as a genetic biologist. Melina had even come close a couple of times. So the quaint wedding, held on the side of a loch in the cradle of rolling mountains, must have been hard for her given that Gailin had not gone looking for a husband in any way.

Gailin had stayed away from her and simply focused on enjoying her special day. At the time she’d felt bad for Melina, but in retrospect, she was surprised at her friend’s self-centeredness. Gailin would never have done that to Melina. Excitement, resentment, reticence, all boiled within her as she waited.

“Lin!” Melina called from the door. She made her way over, shucking the layers. Gailin grinned, all the worry melting away. Their childhood nickname for each other had evolved from the novelty of both names containing the same sound.

Gailin slid off the stool and gave her friend a tight hug. Melina looked thinner, tired, her mascara smudged from travel. Gailin pulled her shirt down self-consciously as they took their seats. Eating the Irish farmer's diet of potato, mutton, and pie, without the farmer's rigorous daily work, had left her somewhat stouter around the middle. While Balfour loved her exactly the way she was, she couldn’t help the pang triggered by old insecurities around her friend. She signaled to the bartender.

Thankfully, the excitement of seeing each other after so long, and the relief of dinner and good drinks made for easy conversation, allowing Gailin to ignore her tension and see the good things about Melina.

“So, tell me, how are things with, um, what’s his name? Dimitri?” Gailin asked once they had covered the base topics of Melina’s business trip and Gailin’s life on the farm. She hadn’t belabored the details of her own life too much, gathering from her friend’s dead expression that it wasn’t of interest. Most people didn’t get why she’d be happy with a sheep farmer, but there was a simple beauty to it all, freedom to dive into her research, the daily pleasure of green fields, and kind neighbors, all with the gentle companionship of her husband. Melina didn’t want to hear about that. Melina sighed and tipped her glass of white wine.

“We broke up,” she said. Gailin heard past the false cheer.

“I’m sorry, Lin.” Gailin gripped her friend’s thin wrist. Melina shrugged.

“Don’t be. He wasn’t where I’m at.”

Gailin didn’t respond. From Melina’s descriptions, Dimitri sounded like a frat boy. Someone Melina might have had fun with ten years ago, but too shallow for the woman she was today: business-minded, driven for the bigger picture, more introspective. She wanted something more stable than the flash in the pan her previous relationships had been. Thus, Gailin agreed wholeheartedly it was a good choice but didn’t want to throw salt in the wound.

She watched Melina stare off behind the bar, too tired to acknowledge her friend. Melina’s skin was slack and sallow, even in the warm glow of the pub. As the silence deepened, Gailin sensed through the polished surface what she had on her wedding day: sadness.

She took a sip of her pint, thinking. Then it came to her. She set her glass down with a thump and grabbed the paper menu of drinks. It read LIBATIONS at the top.

“Alright, answer me this: if you could describe each of the men you dated as one of the drinks on this menu, what would they be?”

It was like watching a statue come to life. Intrigued, warmth kindled in Melina’s previously dull eyes. She sat up straight, grabbed the menu, and a pen clicked in her hand the next moment.

“Ben first.” She scanned the names and descriptions

“Ben? Oh, Ben! From the tenth grade?” Gailin asked. Ben had been tall, and intimidatingly handsome for high school. Solidly in the popular sector. The one-time Gailin met him, he hadn’t even acknowledged her, aloof, as though she were a mite under his shoe.

“Yes, he… he was a gin and tonic. All bubbles, not much flavor, and yet, somehow, strangely addictive. You don’t notice how much you’re drinking until you can’t drive home. I dated him way too long.” She muttered the last part to herself.

"That is oddly accurate," Gailin agreed, remembering how Melina had disappeared for the last two years of high school. At the time, Melina had thought her friend had grown bored of her, that she wasn’t interesting enough, not cool enough. When Gailin started coming back around and Melina realized that Ben was no longer in the picture, the damage was already done. Melina doubted the depth of Gailin’s friendship and waited to see what would happen with the next guy.

“Then Joshua.” Melina flipped the menu, eyes scanning.

Gailin tactfully kept her thoughts to herself. She’d been disgusted by Joshua. The man was a boar, completely un-self-aware, demanding the river current bend to his wishes, assuming dominion over whatever group of people he happened to be with, even if they were his intellectual superiors, and he was just stupid enough to not realize it.

Gailin hadn’t understood what attracted Melina to him and had questioned Gailin’s taste in… everything…while they went out. Melina had been heartbroken when they broke up, even though she was the one to dump him. Gailin had been relieved.

“Joshua was a Pickleback.”

To say Joshua was whisky, even marred with the taste of pickles, Gailin thought was giving the man too much credit. More like straight pickle juice… and a bud light.

“Then Dover.”

“Ah Dover,” Gailin sighed. He was the best of the lot. He wasn’t particularly as interesting as Melina, not bright and dynamic, willing to take on the world and push forward in her career. He was more of the quiet stay-at-home type.

“Dover was…this one.”

She circled a martini titled: CHIN UP — South Country Gin, Fiorente Elderflower liqueur, Green Chartruse, prosecco syrup, lemon & bubbles.

From what Gailin remembered, Dover had been a gentleman. Not a particularly great conversationalist, but he listened well. He worked as a landscaper. They were mismatched in Gailin’s opinion, but at least he had been kind, and mature, and looked out for her. Of all the guys she had dated, Gailin could envision her at the alter with this one. There had been plans, too. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world (as it would have with Joshua), but Melina wouldn’t be living the adventurous life she was now either.

“Then Dimitri." Melina barked a laugh, grinning from ear to ear. "Ah, yes. Dimitri was this one.” She circled:

SECRET PRINCE — Lunazul Reposado tequila infused w. green tea, fruitful guava liqueur, salted honey pineapple syrup, lime & thai chili salt.

“Plus, I’m pretty sure he was distantly related to Russian royalty, or the mafia. Not sure, either way, he had so much money it didn’t make sense.” Some of the heat had returned to Melina’s face. Gailin had to take Melina’s word for it on Dimitri. Their lives had diverged so much that she hadn’t even met this one. She pressed on.

"Next question: what kind of drink do you want to be married to?"

“This one.” Melina tapped a martini in the center of the list:

MET HIM AT A BAR, (THE REST IS HISTORY) — Four Roses bourbon, cranberry, apple & pecan syrup, Rothman & Winter Pear liqueur, Elizabeth Allspice Dram & lemon.

"Something satisfying, rich in flavor, warming, unique."

“Well then,” Gailin said, pleased.

Melina looked down at her list as understanding settled on them both: she knew what she was looking for, she just hadn’t found him yet. So there was no reason to regret not marrying all those other drinks.

Melina ordered her chosen beverage to see if it was up to snuff, and Gailin waited for her friend to ask her which drink she would marry. Gailin waited, knowing she would never ask, too caught up in the drama of her own life. That was the dynamic of their unbalanced friendship.

Gailin had thought for the longest time that Melina was doing her a favor by remaining friends; she was the interesting one, she was the one all the men had wanted to date. Gailin, by contrast, had kept her head down, focused on her schoolwork, pursued her fascination with science, never really looking up until Balfour. But now, looking back over the line of drinks, men, and the seasons of their friendship, she let go of that youthful insecurity that felt she had to hold the bag for her friend.

They finished their drinks, paid, and left. It was no matter that Melina never asked. Gailin already had her tumbler of whiskey, neat.

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