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An exaggeratedly velvety rosé caresses her palate. Peggy never knew anything about wines, but she perceives the delicacy of the drink when it touches her lips and then her tongue. However, she has never given importance to the quality of the wine she drinks; yet, the effect it has on her has always been fundamental. She doesn't drink to forget, absolutely not! For if there is one thing she appreciates about herself it's her capacity to remember everything and to want to remember everything. Peggy believes that it's important to have the memory of good and bad moments because, despite everything, only those memories make the people; those memories make people what they are.
She drinks to feel something. She curses herself for being born without the ability to feel. Too much wrapped up in on herself and in her own mind to give her heart and belly a chance to talk from time to time. An extremely rational woman she is. And that is why today she's one of the most important people seated at that table. In a world built for men, she knows how to be respected, not only for her beauty, but also for her dialectic and her shrewdness and intelligence. Peggy knows how earn her colleagues' respect because she doesn't give in to emotions. Or at least that's what she lets them believe.
If they only knew that right now the brunette, sitting at the head of the table, is pining for one of her table companion, most likely, they would laugh at her. As the success at work, independence and strength couldn't go hand in hand with love and the pain it causes.
Peggy’s lips now arch into a slight smile, in response to a joke made by the man next to her. And there is a laugh that echoes in the room, that of her ex-husband: Steve's laugh is a sound that is still in her mind. She doesn't need to look at it to know that that laugh is accompanied by a head that leans slightly backwards and a hand that rests on his chest. These are gestures that she knows like the back of her hand because, very often, she was the one who caused them. She made him laught a lot.
But now her hazel eyes rest on the figure of her former lover; dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, the exact opposite of her.
She knows that shape and that body better than her own, yet she feels the need to register that silhouette once again. The way his eyes create little crinckles just below the temples when he laughs; the chest that goes up and down when the laughter is quite excited. It's these little things that she misses about him; little things of being or doing that make her want to try again. But then she thinks about the constant fightings, the distance, not having the chance to see each other, and understands that they're love story was good while it lasted and that's okay. It's useless to push things beyond their limits, because it would mean risking to ruin what what's left of it.
Their eyes meet and time stops.
Peggy feels the heaviness of time that stops, the loud voices of the other people sitting at the table become muffled; her breath trembles when she realizes that Steve's looking at her too.
They haven't seen each other since the day she left their home and told him she couldn't keep being his wife. Not in the terms their marriage was about. And when they arrived at the party, two minutes away from one another - he was early as always, she was on time - they didn't even say 'hello' to each other.
Peggy greeted the hosts and ran off to smoke a cigarette. And now she feels the need to smoke another one.
The English drains the glass of wine, as if it was water, in the hope that this won't effect her, for she knows she's unable to bear any kind of emotion that evening. However, she already knows that alcohol is making its way through her body: the reaction she had a little while ago, drinking in one gulp, getting up and going to smoke is something she would never have done if she hadn't been slightly tipsy. Always rigid and in full control of herself she is.
The cold air, that overwhelms her as soon as she sets her feet on the terrace, knocks her down and annoys her eyes, making them slightly shiny.
She doesn't care about the cold of New Year's Eve: she gently shrugs her shoulders, thanking herself for choosing to wear the dark red dress with a high collar.
Red like the lipstick she wears on her lips and nails; red like the color that is now on your cheeks. Red as the glass of wine that now stands in front of her.
The noise made by the stem of the glass, when it is placed on the windowsill, awakens Peggy from the absence of her thoughts. She was watching the huge amount of bare trees before her eyes. However, now her gaze is going up and down Steve's overhanging silhouette. The sweetness ever present in his eyes tells her that he comes in peace and the following words confirm it: « Soon it'll be midnight, the others are waiting for you inside. But take your time. » and with a nod of the head he points at the glass. He knows what kind of effect wine has on her. Just like he knows that it's her only consolation on an night like this.
Steve takes his jacket off and rests it on her shoulders, and then let his hands slide over her forearms. Peggy sighs, closes her eyes and can't help but bask in that touch.
He says nothing, he backs away and leaves.
She thinks back to when she told one of the hosts that if she knew Steve would've been there, she wouldn't show up.
Yet, now she pretty aware that she will kiss him at midnight.
Because of the wine.