Midnight at the Wandering Vineyard

by Jamie Raintree

“That depends on how often you behave yourself,” I say, as if I would ever deny him.

  “Damn,” he says. “That’s never going to work.”

  I laugh and scoot up so that we’re face-to-face. His brown eyes sparkle at me. The wall air-conditioning unit kicks on with its monotone hum but it does little to dry the sweat wherever our skin meets. We hardly notice.

  “You really want that? For me to move to Washington?” I ask casually, as if I haven’t been thinking about it in every spare moment. Since talking with Kelly and Anna, I haven’t been able to stop asking myself where my dream lives.

  “Of course I do.”

  “What if things don’t work out between us?” I ask.

  “What if they do?” He kisses me playfully.

  I allow it for a moment, this naive optimism, but then I pull back. Sam and I have a long history of not being on the same page, and I can’t uproot my entire life under any misconceptions.

  “Sam, I need you to be serious for a minute. It’s not like you’re asking me to move in. You’re not making any commitment to me here. I’d be stupid to jump into this with my eyes closed.”

  Sam’s smile falters. “I know.”

  “I know moving in together would be a big leap. I’m not even ready for that. But if I moved to Washington, it would be for you. There’s nothing else for me there. You have to know that.”

  “That’s not true,” he says. “You’ll have a job.”

  “I won’t have my parents. I won’t have Kelly. If I were to leave New York, why wouldn’t I come back here?”

  Sam traces his finger along the side of my face, brushing my hair behind my ear.

  “You wouldn’t have a job,” he says and I know he’s right, though his tone is regretful. This town isn’t big enough to sustain a marketing firm, or much else that isn’t related to tourism or wine. “I’ve already told Todd how amazing you are. Believe me, the job is yours.”

  I’m less certain about taking a job I haven’t interviewed for and know almost nothing about. But marketing is marketing, I suppose. And Todd must have an idea of how competitive he would need to be to convince me to move.

  “What if it isn’t right for me?” I ask.

  “You’re going to love it there,” he says. “I promise. Imagine it. We could go out to dinner every night. Walk along the bay. Do that hike we talked about. Go to the theater.”

  “You like the theater?” I ask. But it’s Sam. “Of course you like the theater.”

  “Go to the farmers market on Saturdays,” he says, ignoring my teasing. “Whatever we want. Whenever we want.”

  I exhale, trying to imagine it. Sam could show me how he lives, share his passions, let me into his world. That was all I ever wanted from him, to get just a peek behind the facade, and now he’s offering to show me everything.

  “We could look into shipping Midnight out. Boarding her somewhere close. Somewhere you could ride her whenever you want.”

  He’s saying all the right things, but something in my gut is still unsure.

  “What if I don’t want the job?” I ask. I don’t know how Sam will take the idea or how much of what he finds attractive about me is attached to me living a similar lifestyle to his. But if I’m going to leave New York, I could get out of marketing, try something new.

  “Then we’ll find you a job at another firm.”

  Sam shrugs, unfazed. In his mind, there are no obstacles, only challenges to be overcome.

  “No. I mean...what if I don’t want to do marketing anymore? At all?”

  “Oh.” Sam pauses. “I thought you liked your job.”

  “I do. But I don’t think it’s what I want to do forever.”

  “Well, what do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  Sam traces his finger along my collarbone while my words hang in the air between us. I search his face for signs of what he’s thinking, frustrated with myself for, yet again, hoping for Sam’s approval.

  “What if,” he says, then stops. “What if you do move in?”

  It’s an offer he doesn’t want to make. His hesitation proves that. It’s the offer of a man who doesn’t want to lose me and I can’t discredit the sacrifice he’s willing to make just to have me close to him but I don’t want to be anyone’s charity case, especially not his.

  “And do what?” I ask.

  “Whatever you want. You could take the time to figure it out without any pressure.”

  “And you would support me?” I ask, incredulous. The proposition is unrealistic. We are not that kind of people. There’s nothing traditional about us.

  “I could,” he says. He pushes his pelvis closer. “We could do this whenever we want.”

  I push him back. I can’t fall into his charm. I won’t.

  “You’ll be busy,” I argue.

  “I’ll make time,” he says emphatically. “I want to. I told you. I want a different kind of life. I want you to be a part of it.”

  And it sounds like a great life. But it doesn’t sound like my life.

  “Are you just asking me to come with you so you can change?” I ask, mumbling against his collarbone, almost hoping he doesn’t hear me. I want to ignore all the warning bells going off in my head. I want to be the girl who has her happily-ever-after with the notoriously un-gettable prince.

  Sam leans away so I can’t hide in him.

  “Mallory. I want the kind of future we could have together.”

  I force myself to be brave, to look into his eyes.

  “But do you want me?” I ask. “Do you understand the difference?”

  I need to know that if reality doesn’t live up to his fantasy, I’m not going to be left broken and alone again. I can’t put myself in the position to give up myself to be who he wants me to be. That carefree eighteen-year-old girl he’s been searching for is still part of me, but she’s not everything I am.

  Sam opens his mouth but he can’t seem to find the words. I can tell he wants to give me the answer I’m hoping for but he doesn’t know what that is. It hurts me to see him so uncertain.

  “What do you know about me, Sam?” I ask.

  “Who are we, but what we make of ourselves?” he asks.

  I snort a laugh. “That’s a big philosophical question that means absolutely nothing.”

  Sam rubs his hand over his forehead, leaving a red mark above his eyebrows. “I don’t know what you’re asking.”

  I sit up, pulling the sheet over my chest.

  “Come here,” he says, trying to pull me closer, but I don’t let him.

  “Tell me one thing about me that doesn’t have to do with marketing or vineyards or horses,” I say. Those are interests anyone could pick up from a twenty-minute conversation with me. If I’m going to be with someone, I want it to be the person who knows what scares me, the way I like to be held, just how important my family is to me.

  Sam’s irises flit around as he racks his brain, but he won’t find anything there. Sam has never asked me about my ideas, my thoughts, my preferences. Any conversation we’ve had has revolved around him. I only realize it now. I used to be okay with that but not anymore. Not for the rest of my life.

  I get out of bed, leaving the sheet, no longer embarrassed by whatever imperfections Sam might see. I was never going to fit into his perfect life and we both know it.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say,” Sam says as I pull on my pants.

  “I don’t want you to say anything,” I say. I button my pants and then stop, sighing. “You can’t help who you are, Sam.”

  He doesn’t argue the point. He’s worked hard to discover that for himself.

  “And I can’t help who I am,” I add. “Whoever that might be. I don’t know. But what I do know is that you can’t love me until I figure it out.”

  �
��Come with me,” he urges, moving across the bed toward me. He reaches out for me, but I step back, grabbing my shirt. My body still wants to go to him. I think it always will. “We’ll figure it out together.”

  “No,” I say. “We won’t. Because if I go with you, I’ll become the woman you want. I won’t be able to help it. I’ll lose myself in you, and maybe I’ll be just happy enough with that. But a piece of me will always be missing. There will be an ache of wondering that will never go away. You wouldn’t be happy either. You don’t want half of me.”

  Sam drops his hand to the bed.

  I pull my shirt over my head, then I lower to my knees beside him. I place my palm against Sam’s chest and feel his heartbeat beneath his skin. His hand covers mine.

  “I want to go with you,” I say. “And there’s a good chance I’ll regret this for the rest of my life. But a lot of people, you included, have been telling me to follow my heart. And I think that’s what this is.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” he says, his stare obstinate and surprised. This time, he won’t get what he wants and he doesn’t know how to handle it.

  “Maybe,” I say. “But it’s my mistake to make.”

  His hair falls over his forehead as he lowers his head. He nods.

  “I love you, Sam,” I whisper. “I have from the moment I first saw you.”

  I haven’t figured out much in my life, but I do know what love feels like. I’ve been blessed to be surrounded by love my entire life.

  Sam looks up at me, but he doesn’t say it back. I don’t expect him to. The fortune-teller was wrong about that. Sam still isn’t ready to love. I hope, for his sake, that one day he will be.

  “Go live that life you’re picturing,” I say. “It sounds amazing.”

  When my fingers slip through Sam’s, a piece of my heart stays with him. I grab my shoes and before I leave, I look back at him. He gives me a small smile that tears at my insides.

  When I close the door behind me, I can’t imagine how I was strong enough to get on this side of it, but I know I can’t go back. I clutch my chest to hold myself together and will myself to take another step forward. When I do, I look up, and Tyler is standing on the path, his jaw and fists clenched, his gaze boring straight through me.

  “Wow,” is all he says as he tosses the bucket in his hand. I startle as it clatters to the ground.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  When Tyler shows up to feed the horses the following morning, I’m in the stables waiting for him. I spent most of my last night here trying to decide if I was angry with him for his reaction, for storming off. I finally decided I wasn’t. I’m not mad at him. He’s one of my best friends because he cares. Because he isn’t afraid to tell me when I’m being stupid. I know he only wants me to be happy.

  He comes in whistling, making me smile. Nothing ever rattles Tyler for long. I admire that about him. When he sees me leaning against a saddle stand in the tack room, though, he stops, unsure, like I am, of where we stand.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, cutting right to the chase. I’m not waiting a decade this time to let my friends know how much they mean to me.

  He flips his keys over into his palm and shoves them into his pocket.

  “You don’t have to apologize,” Tyler says, though his tone says otherwise. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Actually, I do,” I say, pushing myself to standing. “I owe you a lot. You’re the only person who has ever supported me without any expectations of your own.”

  Tyler lets out a dry laugh. “If that were true, I probably wouldn’t be so pissed right now.”

  I shrug, giving him that. If Tyler has had expectations of me, though, they’ve always been aligned with the ones I have for myself. That’s probably why I never felt pressured by them.

  “Last week, you said you knew me better than I knew myself,” I say, stepping closer to him.

  He rolls his eyes, maybe sheepish over his presumptuousness, maybe doubting whether he still believes it after yesterday.

  “What do you know about me?” I ask him.

  “I don’t want to play games, Mal.”

  “C’mon,” I say. “Humor me.”

  Tyler sighs, wandering over to the halters. He inspects them instead of me. Then again, there’s a lot of me to be found in this room.

  He sighs again.

  “I know you hate mice,” he says, giving in. “You’re like an elephant. If you even hear the squeak of a chair, you’re climbing up the closest thing you can find.”

  It’s such an unexpected answer, I laugh. But it’s true.

  There was a time, I remember, when Tyler was the closest thing to me. He ran me out of the house, piggyback, until Dad caught the offending chew toy Dad’s best friends had left behind from their visit with their incredibly yappy Yorkie.

  “Okay,” I say. “What else?”

  Tyler turns to lean against the saddle stand on the other side of the room. His smile, though reserved, has returned.

  “I know you have terrible taste in headwear,” he says.

  I narrow my eyes and point a determined finger at him. “It’s happening. Prepare yourself.”

  Tyler’s eyes light up with humor, and a little bit of the weight lifts from my heart. Maybe he’ll forgive me for not knowing myself the way I should and making mistakes with Sam all over again. Maybe he’ll forgive me for not taking his advice the first time.

  “I know that you would do anything for someone you care about,” he says more seriously.

  I hum a tone of agreement. “That’s been my problem all along, hasn’t it?”

  “I don’t see it that way,” he says. “It’s a rare trait and I think it’s something to be treasured.”

  “But it’s gotten me so far off track.”

  “That’s part of the journey. Usually the best part.”

  Only Tyler could make me feel better when it’s him that I’ve hurt.

  “Sometimes it leads you to bad choices,” I say.

  But no matter what happens, I don’t regret being with Sam. I can’t. Now I know what we could have had. Now I know for sure that it wouldn’t have worked.

  I also know that I can fall in love and that heartbreak doesn’t have to be the end of my story.

  “I shouldn’t have reacted like that,” Tyler says. “I know how much he means to you. I know what you’ve gone through. It’s only natural.”

  Even though he’s trying to be supportive, I can see it pains him.

  “I wish I could tell you it turned out differently than it did last time,” I say. “Well, this time we did say goodbye.”

  Tyler frowns and slowly closes the small space between us. He takes my hand and briefly, I observe how different it is from Sam’s. Tyler and I have never touched each other this way before and I’m surprised at how at home it feels—not electric, but right.

  “I’m sorry, Mal.”

  I’m sorry, too, but I don’t feel as sad as I thought I would. I know I made the right decision, for once.

  He lets go of my hand and it feels empty without him.

  “So what now?” he asks.

  “I can’t go back to New York,” I say.

  He nods, like he expected this. He does know me. “Your parents will be glad to have you back.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think I can stay here either.”

  At this, he raises an eyebrow.

  “I love this place,” I say. “It will always be my home. But it’s my dad’s dream. Not mine.”

  “So what is your dream?”

  I shrug. “I guess I’ll have to figure that out.”

  “You know,” Tyler says, pulling a halter off a hook and tossing it to me, “the offer to come visit me in Montana still stands.”

  * * *

  I sit on my bed and stare at my riding bo
ots. The brown leather. The worn toe. The symbol that used to represent who I was—simple, reliable, warm. I let something someone once said to me make me forget who I was. I let him make me feel like I wasn’t enough. I tried to be who I thought he wanted me to be and in the process, I lost everything.

  Then again, I chose that. I was the one who stepped out of those shoes and walked away.

  I grab the boots from the corner and, one at a time, pull them onto my socked feet. I place them side by side, touching, and examine them. They feel like me—a little foreign, the leather a little tight, but still me.

  “They look good on you,” Kelly says from the doorway. I look up at her. “I thought you got rid of those. I can’t believe they’re still in one piece.”

  “Tell that to my toe,” I say, wiggling it against the thinned leather. She smiles.

  “It’s nice to see you wearing them again.”

  “Thanks. I guess, no matter how hard I try, I’ll always be riding boots,” I say. “And Sam will always be dress shoes.”

  “Tyler told me,” she says. “I’m sorry. How are you feeling?”

  “Directionless. But that’s always been where I’m happiest.”

  Kelly comes into the room. Her hair is loose today and she’s wearing black again. I’m finding my way back to who I once was and Kelly is finding someone new entirely.

  “You must be going somewhere,” she says. “You’re packed.”

  I look to the suitcase in the corner. It’s overflowing, the clothes I’ve taken from my dresser—the ones I feel more comfortable in—stacked on top of my work clothes.

  “New York?” she asks.

  “For now,” I say. “I have to go buy an inordinate amount of expensive shoes to try to bribe my boss into not hating me.”

  “I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

  Kelly leans over to look at the framed pictures lining my dresser, most of them of the two of us.

  “For leaving?” I say. “Not likely.”

  Kelly straightens. “You’re quitting?”

  I nod.

  “Wow.” She pauses, soaking that in. “What are you going to do?”

  I get up and go to my suitcase, reorganizing my clothes so I can get the zipper closed. “First, I’ll need to pack up my apartment. And see if I can break my lease.”