Seven years ago, Eddie, Dennis, and Gloria and I were in Vegas doing a couple’s weekend. We mostly just went because I had never been. I wish I had more memories from that weekend, but you see, Gloria and I were still in our early twenties and got free drinks most everywhere we went. Her and I ditched the boys for a little bit and took a long walk down the strip. When we came back to the hotel later, they looked at us and wanted what we had.
But the one clear, distinct memory I had was when we were in a small club in the heart of downtown. The music was blaring, and we could barely hear each other. But we ordered martini after martini. Eddie and Gloria were happy then, hands all over each other. Such a different picture from today. Anyway, Dennis and I were making fun of them as usual.
But when Dennis got another martini in front of him, I plucked the olive from the bottom of his drink. Not very gracefully, I might add, as some of the martini sloshed out of the glass. “Hey, Olive, stop it!” I sucked the olive down and licked my fingers, arching one of my eyebrows. Dennis wasn’t really upset.
“Olivia’s an Olive now?” Eddie slurred.
“She will be!” Gloria asked.
I held my glass up in a toast, “You are what you eat, after all.”
“Olivia, you can eat anything from the bottom of my drink whenever you want.” I grinned at Dennis, but the grin faded as I saw the look on his face. It was a mixture of pure joy and panic. I couldn’t place that look. Then he knelt down on one knee, “But only if you, Olive, do me the honor of marrying me?” His voice shook as it got caught in his throat.