Perfectly Seasoned by Sarah-Jane Berklin

Author:Sarah-Jane Berklin [Berklin, Sarah-Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: women's fiction, friends, contemporary
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2017-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

We move inside and are ushered to our table, beautifully dressed in pale yellow linen, glowing candles, and featuring a spectacular view of the now dark blue water and moon-lit sky. The dining room’s utmost simplicity is pure class.

We peruse the extensive wine list and leave the big decision to Ellie, our group sommelier. She’s the one who actually cares about a wine’s region, bouquet, and vintage. The rest of us are perfectly content with a glass of something cheap, white, and plentiful. Oh, and a cute label helps. Certainly works for me.

Upon placing our wine order, Betts rests her head in her hand, staring intently at Aimee.

She seemed lost in thought during our boisterous wine selection process, and I could tell she had something weighing on her.

“Not to be nosey, Aimee, but have you and Tony had sex at all in these last few months? I mean, if you have, then maybe there’s a possibility. Vasectomies fail all the time.”

Immediately, I jerk my head toward Betts. “That’s a crock. Vasectomies do not fail all the time. Where are you coming up with this stuff, Betts?”

Betts pulls out her cell, scrolls through a previously flagged article, and starts reading.” Dr. Moira says—and I quote—’Beware of vasectomies performed in the last ten to fifteen years as it is possible for spontaneous recanalization to occur where the vas deferens grows back. This, in effect, reverses the vasectomy, making a man fertile, thus pregnancy a possibility.’”

As a Ph.D., I’m driven nuts by this kind of garbage put out by so-called medical gurus. While I’m not an M.D., I’ve had enough science classes to know when I smell a scam. I grab Betts’ phone, scroll through the “article,” and find what I’m looking for. “And your Dr. Moira also says taking a daily supplement of her patented formula can greatly reduce the risk of spontaneous vasectomy reversals. And, guess what? The stuff is conveniently sold on her website.” Throwing my hand in the air, I add, “Can you imagine?”

Our waiter wheels a white linen-draped cart to our table. The centerpiece is a tall silver ice bucket holding our wine. He expertly slices and peels back the metal wrapper lining the neck of the bottle. Slowly, he twists the opener into the cork and dramatically pulls it out.

Ellie is offered the first taste. After a few seconds of swirling and swishing, she gives her approval.

Aimee sticks with good ‘ol St. Michaels tap water.

The rest of our glasses are filled halfway.

After taking a sip, Aimee says, “To answer your question, well…no. Actually, we haven’t had sex in a long time—in fact, most nights we sleep in separate bedrooms. Tony gets home late and doesn’t want to bother me. Our love life has become a sad state of affairs, I suppose. And like I told you girls, something changed when I got cancer. He’s still sweet and kind, but he hasn’t so much as kissed me since I was diagnosed, besides a peck here and there. We’re basically living like good friends—without the benefits.

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