Wendy reached for the bottle of cabernet sauvignon. The fireplace roared, sending a glow through the rest of the room. But Wendy was still cold. She poured her second glass of the night, setting the bottle down on the abstract art book that was less a book and more a very large wine coaster. Her knuckles came away white. Flexing her hand, Wendy took a sip, the red wine coating her throat. She sighed and glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was barely 10. She'd spent the whole night trying to convince herself she wasn't lonely. It wasn't working.
It was funny. At first. Josh, who ate religiously at Wendy's, and Wendy, who showed up to frat parties and football tailgates with a bottle of Josh cabernet sauvignon tucked on her hip. The odd couple around campus. But strictly not a couple, rather, best friends that everyone thought should date. Josh and Wendy, Wendy and Josh. The two of them against the world. Until one day, Wendy was alone again.
She picked up the bottle again and flipped it around to look at the label. In college, her best friends called her room, "The Josh Wine Cellar." It was a joke that became more and more true as college wore on, much to the dismay of Wendy's parents. She had all of the birthday cards Josh made her in a shoebox shoved somewhere deep in her closet. Six years of meticulously peeled off Josh wine labels, the descriptions whited out and rewritten. "Our Cabernet Sauvignon was the first wine we ever had together." it read in Josh's shaky cursive. That was for the year they became best friends. The year Wendy finally knew what it meant, what it felt like to have someone unconditionally on her side.
During their spring semester junior year, Wendy was studying 18th century British literature at Oxford (again, much to her parents' dismay) and Josh was eating his way across Asia carrying nothing but a backpack, before hunkering down at law school. Wendy was certain the tradition would fizzle, what with being on opposite sides of the world. Wendy spent that April 14th wandering the city alone. She went to a cafe for lunch with a friend, but didn't bother mentioning it was her birthday. They weren't close, and besides, her friend wasn't Josh. In her mind, he was the only one her birthday really mattered to. She Skyped her parents, who wished her a happy birthday from Ohio. And then she changed into pajamas and fuzzy socks and settled in for a night alone with a large glass of wine and CSI reruns. So, maybe it wasn't her most memorable birthday. It wasn't her worst either.
At 9:30 that night, there was a knock at her apartment door. Against better judgment and every Youtube crash course on living abroad alone as a woman in her early 20s, Wendy cracked the door ajar and peaked out. A guy roughly her age, in sweats and sneakers stood awkwardly in the hallway, holding up a bottle of Josh cabernet sauvignon. He barely said a word as he handed her the bottle and shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweats. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to tip him? What was the procedure when a stranger shows up at the door of your study abroad apartment with a bottle of wine that isn't even sold in the country? Wendy's Youtube videos had not covered this topic.
She thanked him and gingerly closed the door, bringing the bottle of wine into the little kitchenette to examine under better lighting. At first glance, it looked like a standard bottle of Josh wine. But upon closer inspection Wendy noticed the bottle was a different color entirely. Lighter and a little more opaque than her beloved Josh. She scanned the label. The edges were torn and a little jagged, as though someone had ripped it off and then reattached it. It wasn't an original Josh wine. It was Josh Abroad. She took a closer look at the label. "A wine that is bold and expressive but unassuming, and approachable. It's funny how these characteristics seem to remind me of someone that I know. It's a wine I made for my friend, a girl I call Wendy," it read.
The last line was fully crossed out and rewritten, in a looping print that she knew immediately was not Josh's. But the words were all his. There was a little card taped on the bottom. "I'm sorry this isn't Josh, and I'm sorry the human Josh isn't there to share it with you. But I hope this does the trick. All my love, Your Human Best Friend Josh." Wendy slept better that night than she had all semester. Maybe it was the wine, but she liked to think it was because she knew that even across an ocean, her best friend was still right beside her.
But it wasn't a one-sided friendship. During their sophomore year, when Josh's birthday coincided with a particularly rough week of midterms (one of which he completely bombed, though Wendy had to gently explain to him that an 86 was not most people's definition of "bombing"). Wendy called the nearest Wendy's (as usual, a weird phone call for her to make) and asked how many fries they were legally allowed to sell her. She got 16 Vanilla Frosty's and dumped them into a gallon bucket. She filled a comically large basket with fries, and laid out two Baconators next to a bouquet of daffodils she'd plucked from the campus garden when no one was looking. It was perfect. And... It did not go unnoticed to Wendy that it was slightly romantic. She popped open a bottle of Josh cab and the night was all set. She'd enlisted their mutual friend Andy to take Josh out to lunch and then invite him back to Wendy's dorm for an impromptu study session. Their birthday gift to him was making sure he didn't "bomb" another midterm. Instead, Josh was met with a year's supply of Wendy's. He could afford to bomb another midterm. She was pretty sure that was the first time she'd seen Josh cry.
They graduated together, Wendy holding back tears as Josh walked across the stage triumphantly. Undergrad had been hard on both of them. Late nights spent in the library, friendships gained and lost, messy nights and messier breakups. But they had done it together. Together, they'd get through anything.
Which was why the thought of being apart for the first time made Wendy nervous. She'd gotten used to having a default second opinion. Another pair of eyes to edit her lit papers and short stories, a voice of reason to tell her if she was being ridiculous or overthinking. And sure, both Josh and Wendy had grown accustomed to the constant nagging from friends that they needed to just hurry up and date. To everyone on the outside, it made absolutely no sense. They were together almost all the time, and when they weren't together they were texting. Josh and Wendy. Wendy and Josh. The inside jokes, the side glance. And that is precisely why they both clammed up at the thought of dating. Wendy went as so far to say Josh was kind of gross. Who would like Josh, anyway? With his crooked smile, thick glasses, and poorly-timed jokes, he was quite the opposite of the tall, sporty guys Wendy often brought to their weekly dinners. Josh wasn't threatening, per se, and if any of Wendy's college flings were threatened by Josh, they never told her.
Wendy knew she was pretty by conventional standards. With thick red hair tied into a bun at the base of her neck and a sarcastic bite to her personality, she was hard not to like. If Josh ever had feelings for her, he kept them to himself. It was part of their informal pact not to ruin things. Not to take a chance they could never take back. And it worked for them. Until Josh met Stella.
Stella was loud and drank beer, two qualities that made Wendy immediately dislike her. Josh met Stella on his first day, of his first class, of his first year at law school. The sudden meeting only strengthened Wendy's worry that distance, law school, and the pursuance of different paths would separate them. Life would come between them. Wendy tried to befriend Stella. She tried to smile through her nausea when Josh got a dreamy look in his eyes talking about her during their Facetime calls. She tried to laugh at Stella's jokes and long, winding descriptions of their law school classmates, kicking her hastily brought date, a friend named Danny, under the table so he'd sit up straighter.
Wendy tried to date. She thought maybe she could erase the feelings with enough painful small-talk and "Wanna get drinks sometime next week" messages. But nothing stuck. And as Wendy's first year at the New York literary agency turned into her second, Josh prepared for his second year of law school, and to move in with Stella. Wendy muted his accounts on social media. Their phone calls grew strained, long awkward silences interspersed with hasty catch-ups of their friends and families' lives. Before she knew it, Wendy realized it had been two months since they had talked. But she was starting to think it was better that way.
The crackle of the fire snapped Wendy back to reality. The memories were fuzzy, tinged on the outside with thoughts of what could have been. Her life now was work in the mornings, brunches with Jackie and KC, slogging through hot yoga, and dates whose names she couldn't remember even after they kissed goodnight. Back to the green velvet couch, the glass in her hand, the apartment she wasn't all that attached to. The friends she still didn't feel comfortable with, even after two years. The life she'd built, that sometimes when she let herself, wondered if it was all wrong. Her fingers scratched at the wine bottle's label. She tore off a piece and tossed it into the flames. It was just the wine. Just Josh. In the morning, she'd peel herself out of bed, drag herself the ten blocks to hot yoga, and everything would be okay. She'd have to make peace with just being okay.
Her intercom buzzed. Someone was downstairs for her. That was strange, she thought. She wasn't expecting anything, let alone anyone. Sighing, Wendy pulled on an old college sweatshirt and slippers. Probably a package she'd forgotten about.
He was standing outside the door to her building, in the pouring rain. Water dripped off his glasses, his hair plastered to his head. In one hand he held two Baconators. In the other, a single, damp rose.
"We broke up—" he started abruptly, and then stopped. "Technically, Valentine's Day isn't over until midnight," Josh gave her a crooked smile.
Wendy laughed, wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She wasn't sure if it was tears, rain, or a little of both. She didn't care.
"Come in," she breathed.