It was too early for an aperitif, so I offered her a lemonade, which she refused. A glass of water, then? “I don’t drink water,” she said. “I have a cold white or rosé.” “I drink red wine,” she said. “I have a red in the fridge left over from lunch.” “Perfect.” I poured her a glass, and with my wife watched Lulu down it in one go—just as if it were a glass of water. Glug, glug, glug, gone. “That’s good. I was really thirsty with this heat.” She didn’t sniff it, didn’t want more. Christ turned water into wine; Lulu gets right to it. She skips the water.
