“I can’t help but notice you’re still here,” Dad says, pulling my attention back to him. He smirks at me through his weatherworn squint.
“Well, you’re just full of flattery this morning,” I say.
He laughs.
“Yeah, I guess I am. My boss gave me another few days. I just don’t feel like I can leave Kelly right now.”
Or Sam. He’s given me a lot to think about. I don’t know how I’ll make such a big decision in only a few days.
“That’s very thoughtful of you. Must be hard for her.”
I nod. I hoped she would have called by now, but she hasn’t. I want to reach out to her, but I know she needs her space.
“Harder than I think she’s letting on,” I say.
Dad frowns and reaches his hand out to rub his calloused hand over my hair.
“I can’t imagine you being without parents at your age. I would never want that for you. I know you’re an adult and you can take care of yourself, but no matter how little I talk to my parents, there’s relief in knowing they’re there. And let me tell you, a person never gets so old that they don’t need their parents.”
He hooks his elbow around my neck and pulls me in close so he can rub his knuckle into the top of my head, making me squeal.
“Dad,” I complain, smoothing my hair, but I believe everything he’s telling me. I don’t want to know a world where Dad isn’t endlessly walking rows of grapevines and Mom isn’t dishing out life advice alongside chicken Parmesan. I don’t know what Kelly’s traditions with Shannon were—and maybe Kelly is only discovering them now that they’re gone—but she must be missing them. We’ve been good at staying distracted but we can’t evade the grief forever. That sick feeling in my stomach returns.
“How do you do it, Dad?” I ask. “How do you have so many strong relationships?” He makes it look so easy, navigating the intricacies of marriage, friendships, and managing his employees.
Dad looks taken aback but proud. “What do you mean?” he asks.
“Watching you the other night at the Libations party... People around here really love you. You’ve done so much for all of them and yet you still keep up with everything at the vineyard. And even though we’re far apart, you’re never more than a phone call away. How do you do it all?”
I’ve never in my life seen my dad blush. Until now. He reaches for another cluster of shriveled grapes and drops them in the bucket.
“Life is just about priorities, honey,” he says. “And they change as you get older. When I was your age, my priority was work, too. You remember. Although I’m sure you and your mom would argue that work is still my priority, and it is. But I wouldn’t hesitate to drop everything if you or your mom or anyone of our friends needed me, and I hope you know that.”
I think about it and come to the conclusion that, yes, I do know that. I struggle to ask for help, especially from my parents. I want to prove to them and to myself that I can handle things on my own. But I do know that if I ever released the hold on my pride, they would both be there in a heartbeat.
“There are a few things I’ve learned about relationships in my life,” he goes on. “Would you like to hear them?”
I laugh. Dad has always been careful about giving me advice based on my fierce independent streak.
“Yes,” I say. “Please.”
He smiles.
“Well, the first thing I think it’s important to do is let go of expectations. I’ve seen a lot of my good friends divorce because they had unrealistic expectations of their spouses. But this is true in friendships, too. Take what people give you and let that be enough. Because people usually give all they’re capable of giving, the way they’re capable of giving it, and expecting more than that is just setting the relationship up to fail.”
I nod pensively. I think about Sam and the expectations I’ve had of him to give up his career, not understanding that Sam’s work is an important part of who he is. It’s what makes him him. And I wouldn’t want him any other way.
On the other hand, I think about the offer he made me—moving to Washington, not with him but near him. What are his expectations of me? Is he trying me on to see if I fit in his world? And if I don’t, where does that leave me? Nothing about his life will change, but I’ll have given up my job, my apartment, the promotion I’ve worked so hard for.
“Okay,” I say. “What else?”
Dad grins, getting a kick of out me asking for advice for once.
“Don’t be afraid to ask for help,” he says.
“Did you come up with this one specifically for me?”
He chuckles. “No comment. Actually, most people struggle with this. Especially when we lived in the city. People these days value independence so much that we’ve become disconnected from each other. We think we can do it alone. But you come to a town like this where we have to support one another to be successful. To survive, even. Asking for help strengthens relationships. It lets people know you appreciate their place in your life. And gives them permission to ask for help in return. We need more support than we realize, or sometimes want to admit.”
I wish Kelly would ask for more help. I wish I had more to offer. Then again, I haven’t asked for her help since I’ve been home, let alone all the years I’ve been gone, quietly lonely and craving being surrounded by my people. I could have hopped on a plane. I could have made it work. I should have.
I stop walking. Noticing, Dad stops, too. He sticks his shears in his utility belt and places his hands on my arms, steadying me.
“And?” I ask. “The last one?”
He rubs his thumb along my jaw.
“Lastly,” he says, “relationships are the most important thing. It can take a while to figure that out, but if there’s anything I’ve learned from talking to people older than me, we all get there eventually. At a point in everyone’s life, after all the titles have been earned and the money has been made, we look around and realize none of those things have given us the happiness we’ve been searching for. But when you’re surrounded by the right people, a ten-minute conversation, walking through a vineyard with someone you love, can mean everything.”
I want to laugh and cry at the same time.
“That’s all it takes to make you happy, huh?”
I’ve tried so hard to be a better daughter for them, a better person. So much so that I’ve missed these moments with them...these little moments that end up being the most important ones.
Dad frowns at my tears. He pulls me into his arms and I melt against his chest, squeezing him close.
“Mal, if you’re happy, we’re happy. That’s all a parent ever wants. That’s all we want for you,” he says. “Wherever that might take you.”
“I just wish I knew where that was,” I say, my voice watery.
Dad tilts my chin up, looking me in the eyes.
“You always have a place here, baby girl. No matter how old you get, you’re always our daughter and this is always your home.”
TWENTY-FOUR
THEN
As the summer drew to a close, all the things I’d been avoiding came to a head. Kelly and I never talked about our fight and the cutting things we threw at each other so casually. Maybe we both felt stung and sorry in equal measure and figured that canceled everything out. This was how we finished our last summer at home: in denial.
We shopped for the dorm supplies, and I pretended I hadn’t said anything about not wanting to attend Columbia, even though the question haunted me every waking moment. Kelly left most of the decor choices to me as her unspoken apology. Mine was to check off a couple more items from our sorely neglected Summer Bucket List. Every time she pulled it out and I saw how many items we had to finish, acidic guilt coated my tongue.
I escaped on the back of Midnight, tracing trails of hoofprints up and down every acre of The Wandering Vine
yard property—places I’d never traversed before in the search of freedom and answers. I found none.
Sam and I planned a party to introduce the tasting room to the Paso Robles wine community. We spent many nights working late, designing it down to the last detail, wanting it to be perfect for Dad, for us, and for all the work we’d put into creating a new vision for the vineyard.
Many nights we worked at the little table in the guest house, poring over guest lists and wine lists and catering orders—Sam often lubricating the task with a glass or two, whether my dad joined us or not...and oftentimes he didn’t.
When we reached the point where our eyes were crossing and we couldn’t plan anymore, Sam would crawl into bed, I would curl up in the chair in the corner of the room, and we would talk about our views on life, love, and the future.
They often differed—he was more of a pusher, a big dreamer, while I had a simpler view on life, preferring to go with the flow. But the passion with which we discussed our ideas stimulated us and bonded us in a way that agreeing on everything never could have.
The one thing we did agree on was the necessity of adventure and we elaborated on our vision of weeks in the mountains, being led only by the pull of the wind and our whims. The call to that lifestyle pulsed through my veins and I could see in Sam’s eyes that it did for him, too.
We amused each other and challenged each other, and sometimes, we kissed each other. But it wasn’t about the kissing or the way our bodies molded against each other, our senses heightened by the enticing secrets we shared. It was about finding someone who truly understood the other, or at least wanted to try. In that way, we were exactly the same and every moment of it was exhilarating.
I grew used to Sam’s hot-and-cold behavior and stopped taking it personally. He got over it quicker, taking only the day to withdraw, opening up by nightfall so we could start our dance all over again. Kelly was wrong about him, but I knew she would never admit it.
That’s why, as the party drew closer, my internal debate about whether or not to invite Kelly grew more heated. I couldn’t believe I’d kept it a secret from her for so long already, baffling myself when she asked me what I’d done that day and I glossed over the details, avoiding any hint of the biggest celebration we’d ever had on the property.
The truth was, I wanted Sam and myself to go to the party together. Together together. After spending every evening with each other for three weeks, I thought it was time we came out of hiding, whatever we decided to do afterward. Our summer had become the most important thing that had ever happened to me. It opened me up in places I didn’t know existed. I wanted that to mean something. I needed it to. And if Kelly was at the party, I would feel her judgmental eyes on me with every move I made. She didn’t even try to understand, didn’t want to. I wouldn’t let her steal this summer from me and with it, everything I’d discovered about myself.
So I did the unthinkable: I didn’t invite her.
It was easier to keep the secret than I thought it would be. She worked at the coffee shop and heard about everything that happened in our little town, so I was fully prepared to give up the cause if she asked about the party. But she didn’t. Our conversations had become so polite anyway, that offering up no more information than was solicited was our new norm.
On the day of the party, the vineyard was abuzz with visitors, and Kelly was working a double shift. A few fellow winemakers wouldn’t make it to the party but stopped by to wish us luck, weaving around caterers, suppliers, Sam, and me. There was a restless excitement between us as we strung lights around the trees, assembled tables, and lined up our wine selections for the night. Their new labels with Sam’s logo design glinted silver under the recessed lighting above the bar. Everything we’d created together would be put on display tonight, and while the party was about Dad and the vineyard, it was clear we were both reveling in the display of our success.
As the sun began to descend in the sky, we dusted our hands off and called our work done. Sam’s grin was filled with relief as we went our separate ways in front of the porch steps.
I glided down the stairs an hour later in a dress I’d bought for the occasion—a little black dress that clung to my curves and tied at the back of my neck. My mom was in the kitchen, attempting to raise the back zipper of her dress and put her shoe on at the same time.
“Let me help you,” I said with a laugh. I took charge of the zipper while she worked her foot into her heel and responded to a work email on her BlackBerry. When she finished, she smoothed her dress and turned to me.
“Mallory Victoria,” she said, almost breathlessly, running her hands over my shoulders. “You are a woman.”
I blushed. I’d been wanting someone to acknowledge that fact all summer, and now that the time had come, I didn’t know what to say.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
Everything was perfect. More than a hundred people showed up, including most of the local vintners, restaurant owners, and wine sellers from every city in a hundred-mile radius. Even the local news appeared to capture the event.
The DJ we hired played Frank Sinatra and other swanky jazz music to set the tone, and the lights we’d strung from the trees lit up the dirt parking lot turned dance floor in front of the tasting room. Some danced, some huddled in groups and talked wine. Dad spent the night where he felt most comfortable—behind the bar, serving wine samples hand over fist and entertaining guests with stories of how the tasting room came to be, Sam the willing butt of all his jokes.
He was so far away, showing no indication I’d crossed his mind.
My vision for the night evaporated slowly, leaving me feeling empty.
Mom circled the perimeter of the party and every time she caught my eye, I could see the question there. It asked, Where is Kelly? I asked myself the same question with exponential frequency as the night wore on and the distance between Sam and me grew more palpable.
But finally, as the food ran out and the DJ started to loosen up with his song choices, Sam caught my eye across the crowd. He looked more handsome than ever in a perfectly cut suit and pale pink tie, his hair long and his skin glowing from his summer under the vineyard sun. He nodded toward the makeshift dance floor and every inch of my skin flushed.
I met Sam in the middle of the dusty patch of ground that had been packed down by the shoes of our visitors. The film crew had long since left, and the crowd had begun to thin but there were enough people left that we could disappear into them. Sam put his hands on my hips but left a respectable amount of distance between us. His touch was becoming familiar but never normal. I cautiously wrapped my fingers around the back of his neck and fell recklessly into his smile.
“Fit for a duchess, Mallory Victoria,” he said, looking me over. I tilted my head down so he wouldn’t see me blush.
“It’s been a good night,” I said.
“It has. Even better than I expected. Every one of the wine sellers who showed up left their cards for your dad. They want him to call on Monday to discuss terms.”
I gasped, barely controlling my urge to hug him in gratitude and pride. The success of this tasting room wasn’t just about the vineyard—it was about my parents not having to work so hard, not having to worry about money, being able to take care of themselves when I was gone, wherever I might go.
“That’s amazing,” I whispered. “You have no idea how much this means to my parents. To me.” There was an unguarded intimacy when I said, “Thank you, Sam. For everything you’ve done for the vineyard and...everything you’ve done for me.”
It was a risk. Sam had the tendency to pull away when I got too close, and we were out in the open for everyone to see. Maybe that was what gave me the courage to say it. We were holding each other, however innocently, where my parents could see. Where anyone could see.
“Thank you,” he returned. “You’ve done so much to help me this summer. I reall
y couldn’t have done this without you.”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” I mumbled.
Sam looked away, suddenly antsy in my arms. But he didn’t pull away. He leaned closer to my ear.
“Thank you, too,” he whispered. Nothing more than that, but in his eyes, I saw everything I needed to see.
Someone tapped on my shoulder and I turned to see who it was. There, her eyes swollen and red, her work apron still tied around her front, stood Kelly.
I froze, so overcome with panic I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. There was nothing I could say that would erase the clear sense of betrayal on her face anyway.
TWENTY-FIVE
NOW
After the talk with my dad, I lock myself in my mom’s office and I get to work on the brochure copy. I find that once I close out the distractions, the words come easily. I fall into the zone I’ve become comfortable with and am known for around the office.
And as I work, inspiration from the grapevine fresh in my mind, a thought creeps in: I didn’t choose this work for my parents, for Kelly, or for Sam. I chose this work because marketing has always come naturally to me, and because I enjoy it. I’m good at finding the right words to convey a message, and when I do, it’s the most satisfied and fulfilled I feel these days. It would be unfair of me to blame anyone else for the choices I’ve made—unfair for them and for me. My decisions are what have gotten me a coveted position at a top marketing firm. I earned that all on my own. Now the question is, what am I going to do about it?
After a couple of hours, my brain is fried and I need a break. I stretch and hunt through the kitchen to find something to eat. I steal some of the cheese Sam restocked the day before and walk barefoot onto the porch to get some fresh air. The warm breeze calms my nerves and draws me back into the present.
Maybe moving to Washington could be like this. I could work normal hours, breaking up the time with walks by the shore and smoothies from the in-house organic juice bar. Maybe I’d have my own office with a view. Maybe what I’ve struggled with in New York isn’t my job, but the lack of anything else. The lack of nature, the lack of friendships and relationships.
Midnight at the Wandering Vineyard Page 27
