It had been a calm weekend, devoid of whiskey and late nights, sensible and calm. The kind of weekend that didn’t quite feel normal to her any longer. She scanned the shelves. They were out of red, and vodka simply seemed inappropriate for a casual Sunday evening. A pretty sapphire bottle caught her eye. She tucked it beneath her arm and slipped past the milling bodies, out to the patio, glass in hand. Outside, she sat eyeing her selection – Momokawa Ruby saké – crafted in Oregon. The moist evening breeze washed over her from the ocean nearby, the tangible salt mist uncurling her hair into damp waves as she poured a healthy glassful.

It smelled lightly sweet. One mouthful warmed her insides, tasting of ripe fruits ready to be eaten. She peered through the glass door, watching the squawking bodies weaving amongst one another, feeling the reverberation of the blaring television slowly dull to a gentle buzz with another swallow. Not so long ago she remembered nights like these. Each sip brought her closer to those days – summers that passed all too quickly, waking up in the afternoon after evenings stretched well past dawn, sunrises on the rooftop surrounded by friends.

The glass door slid open.

“You going to drink that whole bottle to yourself?” He grinned down at her, glass at the ready, amused by her blue companion, now a third empty.

She ruefully shrugged. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

He pulled up a chair, pouring himself a glass, as she sipped. The saké was smooth and airy, not like others she had tried. He would have the good sense to notice. After a long draw, he put down the glass.

“Cantaloupe. Definitely cantaloupe.”

She had always been fond of him. Cheeky, gangly, whip-smart – though, debatably, a bit young. They had always been able to pick up where they left off. The Momokawa flowed. Cheers to mothers’ wisdom, to nostalgic songs, to pretentious pinkies aloft in the air. The last glassfuls they tipped to the reassuring souls they were fortunate to have around them – both their encouragements, and the simultaneous burden of their words.

It was a night of memories and rekindling, fueled by that seemingly innocuous bottle of saké that left her teetering when they stood. He pulled her close, finally tasting those last hints of guava and mango, always needing to have the last word. 

Written by Caroline Pham