Carol jerks her head toward the pastry case. “Deciding which sweets to get for the flight home.” They share a tired smile.
“The wine. We asked Marie for permission!” Amanda interjects, looking at Shannon’s mom. “You told us we could take the wine!”
“So you’re the one who grabbed the bottle,” Declan says.
“We’re not pointing fingers.” I’m defensive, suddenly, and want to protect Amanda. She reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
“Just locking down details,” Dec replies, eyes narrowing as he thinks. “We had a few people give us bottles of wine as wedding gifts.”
“Who?”
“Terry.”
“I had mine sent to your wine cellar back in Boston,” he clarifies.
“Okay,” Dec says. “I think Jed gave us one.”
“That was Champagne, and we drank it as the first reception toast,” Amanda says. We share a look.
“I remember that,” I say with a touch of acid. “I don’t remember much after that, though.”
“And then there was Lüq,” Marie adds.
“Lüq?” Declan and Shannon look at her.
“You know. He runs the spa at Litraeon?”
“Mom,” Shannon groans. “Hu. Not he. Hu is gender fluid.”
“Yes. Hu came to the reception and delivered a lovely bottle of wine in a basket with some sort of herb designed to help Shannon’s ovaries turn into blossoming wildflowers.” Marie drinks the rest of her latte. Her eyes cross and she lets out an intimate moan I wish I could unhear.
“Why would I want flowers in my ovaries, Mom?”
“I don’t know. But the basket was so pretty, and Lüq spent ten minutes reading my past lives. Hu said I ran a brothel in Paris during the Revolution!”
“What about the wine, Marie?” Dec asks.
“What about it?”
“What happened to the bottle?”
“I put it on the gift table after Lüq gave it to me. You and Shannon had just left when hu appeared.”
“And I hope you enjoyed it,” says a voice with an accent I can’t put my finger on. We turn to find Lüq standing next to us, wearing a Scottish kilt, knee-high riding boots, and a dashiki-like dress thing. He has a goat on a leash.
No one says a word about the goat. I wonder if it faints.
In his other hand is a Grind It Fresh! to-go cup.
Declan hired Lüq a few years ago, sniping hu from one of the top Parisian salons. I’ve met Lüq twice before. You don’t forget hu.
Dec stands. “Thank you for the wine,” he says, gracious and smiling.
“You are most welcome.” Hu holds up his coffee. “And the coffee company you gave to your wife is outstanding.”
Dec gives me a look but says “Thanks” to Lüq.
“I hope that you enjoy the wine someday. It is my own blend.”
“You’re a vintner?” I ask.
“No, although I do perform cleansing ceremonies for the grapes from time to time in Napa. I blend my own vintage for those who need to explore the many layers of love that we leave untouched.”
I frown. “What does that mean? Blend your own vintage?”
“I take the superior wine and enhance it.”
“Enhance?” My eyes dart to catch Amanda’s.
Enhance? she mouths.
“For centuries,” hu intones, eyes going soft, voice taking on a dreamy quality, “mankind has—”
“Oh, brother,” Dec mutters.
“—sacrificed the very best of the past for the short-term hustle bustle of the now. We forget that our bodies are etched with the scratchings of the past. Our relationships form layers of centuries that must be explored if we are to live in the here and now as full and complete lovers.”
“What does any of that mean?” I mutter to Dec.
“Hell if I know, but hu gets people to pay $25 for a latte in the spa and the profit margins are insane.”
“You put something in the wine?” Jason asks. It’s the first time he’s said a word. The guy is Marie’s lapdog, but his question is the most cogent sentence I’ve heard since Lüq appeared.
“Of course.”
I tense. “You put ‘something’ in that bottle of wine? A blend of more than one wine, you mean?”
“Non non non. I enhanced the transformative properties of the already sacred and made it more in touch with—”
“You spiked my daughter’s wedding gift?” Marie hisses.
Lüq glares at her. “That was a special bottle of wine designed and made specifically for the bride and groom, for a ritual to bring their body-spirits together on a different plane of existence.”
“It was Three Buck Chuck with a bow and some glitter paint on it,” Marie says with an eye roll.
“I told you it was entheogenic!” he hisses. “Seventh-century druids died to make that wine.”
“Did they die from disbelief?”
Entheogenic. Entheogenic? There’s an SAT word if I’ve ever heard one. I dust off my ancient Latin lessons and start to dissect the word.
“I haven’t heard that word since college!” Amanda says in a tone of marvel. “You added hallucinogenic drugs to the wine?”
She beat me to it.
“Oh, my,” Marie whispers. “Thank God Shannon and Declan didn’t drink it.”
“But it’s fine that we did?” Amanda snaps.
I turn to Marie, a dim flicker of memory stirring. “You told me it was homeopathic, which we assumed was a joke, and...”