One glass of Merlot

I agreed to meet him at a local brewery. I’d heard too many stories of dating app meetups going wrong, so I made sure to have a public first date. He was just like his picture suggested; peppy, clean shaven, and he even wore a tie. I liked him immediately.

He had curly red hair, long, to the shoulders. I had a soft spot for gingers. I’d always said I wanted to marry an Irishman from Boston. He played lead guitar in a band, and said he wanted to be a singer. He wasn’t great at singing, but the way his fingers moved across a guitar was tantalizing. I decided I’d give him a chance.

When we met up, he was all smiles; a slight dimple in his left cheek. I clocked it immediately and decided I liked him a little more. We sat at the table in a crowded room, pre-Covid and very unaware that germs were to be feared, a quiet killer among the laughter and drinks. We both ordered, him a house IPA, and I a crisp cider.

We got the formalities out of the way. He worked at Walmart, but was in school for welding. I told him about my exploits as a 911 dispatcher, and we moved past the “what’s your worst call” quickly. It was a man who wouldn’t follow bleeding control instructions who bled to death in his hallway. I’d begged him to listen to me and he didn’t. And then he died. It shook me to my core,but I shrugged it off gracefully. A small lift of a shoulder, uninhibited by cloth.

“What are you looking for?” He asked. And I paused, swirling my drink thoughtfully. “I’m not sure”, I said, though I knew it was to wake up, disheveled, in his bed tomorrow morning. He wouldn’t be joining me in that simple act, if all ran to plan. I’d picked him specifically for his looks; just like my abuser, clean cut, open demeanor. He looked to me like someone who could play the nice guy in public, but the conqueror in private. My abuser got away with his crimes. My date wouldn’t.

After an hour or so of small talk, I got in an Uber with him and rode to his house. It was a cute little house, a little rough around the edges, but with carefully pruned rose bushes. I followed him in and was greeted by his dog, a Treeing Walker Coonhound he’d affectionately dubbed “Cody”. She took to me immediately, all tail wags and sloppy kisses. I loved her immediately. She shed a bit, which I was totally fine with, her white hairs coating my Little Black Dress. If I hadn’t marked him, I’d have taken her home with me.

He put on a record, because of course he did. No Amazon music for him. Can’t give Big Music any of our dollars! I internally eye-rolled but maintained a happy smile as I agreed. We sat on the couch together, close, thighs touching. I felt him stiffen as I put a hand on his leg. He leaned in for a kiss and I met him halfway. It was passionate, lots of tongue, and his stubble left my face feeling chafed. He slid a hand across my cheek and into my hair and I pulled back.

“Do you have anything to drink?” He stopped for a second and replied, “I think I’ve got a bottle of Merlot in the fridge.” And when he went to grab it, I unscrewed the vial I wore on a chain on my neck. It smelled slightly of almonds, but it certainly wasn’t a snack. When he returned with two glasses, I offered to pour. Back turned, I poured the wine, and into his glass, the vial of Death.

I turned back to him, and smiled. Holding out his glass, I said “here’s to one night stands, and a glass of Merlot”. He drank deeply, and I got another bit of revenge. As his face turned purple, I smiled.