by Lauren Layne
Craig is quiet for a minute. “Spock’s always been a little…driven,” he finally says. “She announced when she was like, ten, that it wasn’t enough for her to know wine, she wanted to teach other people about wine. You knew that about her.”
“Sure,” I mutter. “I just didn’t know how annoying it would be.”
How inferior it would make me feel.
“Just tell her to shut up,” Craig says. “That’s what I do. Spock’s passionate, that’s all.”
You have no idea, I think, remembering how generous and eager a lover she is.
Craig’s right. Lucy’s passionate, and not just between the sheets. She’s passionate about everything. Work. Love. Life.
I want some of that. I want to absorb it and claim a little bit of it. I want to beg her to save some of it for me.
She won’t though. Lucy’s a girl with a plan. And I’d bet serious money that her long-term plan involves someone who’s not satisfied with minimum wage.
“What’s going on with you?” he asks. “You’re not usually wound this tight.”
“She’s so fucking complicated.”
He snorts. “They all are.”
“I just wish I knew what she was thinking,” I say, cringing at the sound of the whining coming from my mouth.
“I’m surprised she hasn’t told you. She’s always been the blurt-it-out type, at least around me.”
Yeah, well, you didn’t break her heart, I silently add.
I’d give just about anything to know what Lucy’s thinking these days.
“Hey, hold on one sec,” Craig says. “Boss is calling on the other line.”
“ ’Kay, ’kay.” I sit back down on the bed, then immediately stand, unable to shake the restlessness.
I wander to the desk as I wait for Craig to come back, idly picking up one of Lucy’s earrings, putting it back down again on top of her travel journal.
I freeze.
“Hey. Sorry. Still there?” Craig asks.
“Yeah.” My gaze is still on the journal.
He’s silent for a second. “Look man, I get it. My sister’s infuriating.”
“Yup,” I say, when he doesn’t finish his sentence.
“Don’t hurt her.”
I rub a hand over the back over my neck. “I don’t know if I can promise that.”
My thumb finds the corner of the journal.
“Bullshit. Promise.”
How can I promise not to hurt her when I don’t even know what she’s thinking? Feeling.
I open the cover of the journal. Close it again and close my eyes.
I could though. I could know what she’s thinking.
“How about this,” I tell my best friend. “I promise that if I hurt her in the short term, it’s only so that I don’t hurt her more in the long term.”
“Fair enough,” he says slowly. “And for what it’s worth, I’d tell her not to hurt you too, if she was the one that had called. She’s my sister, but you’re like my brother. You both matter.”
“Yeah. Thanks for that,” I say. “Gotta run.”
I hang up before I can tell my best friend that I’m seriously contemplating doing the shittiest thing on the planet: reading Lucy’s journal.
He doesn’t want her to hurt me? Probably too late for that. Lucy’s already reopened a part of me that only she can, and is poised to pour salt on the wound.
But maybe…maybe I can protect myself. Brace myself for the pain before it hits me full force.
Even as I open the journal, I hate myself. I hate myself even more as I start to read it.
Long, long minutes later, I slowly close the journal once more.
I still hate myself.
But now I hate her a little bit too.
Chapter 36
Lucy
Something is up.
Reece has been weird for two days, ever since Los Angeles. Not a big deal. He’s always weird. But this is different weird.
I thought I’d seen every side of the guy, but this is new. I’ve dealt with angry Reece, jerk Reece, teasing Reece, hot Reece, impatient Reece, even seen too few glimpses of sweet Reece.
But this? This is indifferent Reece.
He still talks to me, but only when spoken to. He hasn’t made a single complaint about the country music on the radio—I’m not sure he even noticed.
And though he made love to me in Los Angeles, and again last night when we spent the evening in San Francisco—except, actually made love wasn’t the right term for what it was—it was just sex. Clinical, a little rough.
And worst of all, cold.
Although the weirdness of the past couple days is nothing compared to the tension that’s descended upon Horny as we approach my new apartment in Napa.
Napa’s only an hour or so from San Francisco, and we opted to spend most of the day in San Francisco itself, doing touristy stuff.
Well actually, I opted. Reece more or less followed me around like he couldn’t care less until I finally gave up and, with a lump in my throat, climbed into Horny for the last leg of our journey.
It’s late as we near the Napa city limits, and I realize I can’t keep quiet anymore. He doesn’t know the address of the condo I’m subletting. I rattle off directions from my phone in a monotone voice.
He follows my directions but doesn’t say a word.
During our silent standoff, it’s occurred to me that I don’t know if he has a place to stay tonight. He mentioned that he’s crashing on his new boss’s couch while the guy’s on his honeymoon, but I don’t know if that starts immediately, or if he’s planning to get a hotel room, or what.
I want so badly to ask him to stay, but I’m too afraid that when I open my mouth to ask him to stay the night, it’ll come out as Stay forever, and right now I don’t think I can handle the rejection if he says no.
He pulls up in front of the three-story condo building on the outskirts of downtown Napa. “This it?”
I glance down at the address in my email, then up at the dimly lit building. The numbers match. “I guess so.”
He nods and gets out of the car. I do the same, grateful to stretch my legs. Grateful to be home.
I stare at the building. It feels…lonely.
“Got a key?” he asks, already pulling my bags out of the trunk.
I nod, digging around in my purse for the envelope that the girl I’m subleasing from sent me via FedEx.
We both load my bags onto our shoulders, Reece grabbing a couple boxes and jerking with his chin to show that he’ll follow me.
My apartment’s on the second floor, and we walk silently up the steps. It’s quiet. Of course, it would be. It’s past eleven on a weeknight.
I take a deep breath as I open the door to my new home. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, but it feels…hollow.
I tell myself it’s because I’m tired, and a little grumpy, and already aware of the fact that I don’t have toilet paper or coffee or groceries, but I know the real reason: the man beside me.
I flick on the light and step inside. Reece follows, and I try my best to ignore him as I take in the condo.
It’s nicer than I thought it would be, which is a pleasant surprise. My experience with Craigslist is that the reality rarely lives up to the Photoshopped pictures, but the apartment is actually as it looked in the photos.
Not new, but clean. The furniture not exactly modern, but not falling apart either.
It’s a one-bedroom, which is all the space I really need, and the kitchen is an open concept, with a big counter and lots of windows in the main living area.
The couch is as ugly as promised, but the little white kitchen table is cute, as is the old-timey-looking trunk that doubles as a coffee table.
I wander into the bedroom. The mattress is new. No bedding, but I knew that and brought my own. Tiny closet, but that too I can deal with.
I take in a deep breath. Home.
I’m home. This is everything I’ve wanted.
Reece follows me into the bedroom and sets a box labeled Bedding on the dresser.
His eyes flick around the room, avoiding me. “Not bad.”
“Yeah, it’s nice,” I say in a wooden tone that sounds nothing like mine.
“There’s one more box in the car,” he says, just as flatly. “I’ll grab it then be on my way.”
I nod but can’t bring myself to say anything else.
A quick glance in the small bathroom shows that the girl I’m leasing from is a good soul. There’s a roll of toilet paper after all.
I hear a soft thud on the door, and I open it for Reece, who must have kicked it to get my attention since he has his hands full with the enormous box of my few kitchen belongings.
He sets it easily on the counter and stretches his back. “Good?”
I can only look at him. Seriously? Good? No. I’m so far from good, I’m not even sure there’s a word for what I am.
“Yup,” I say. “Thanks for carrying my stuff up.”
He nods in acknowledgement and turns toward the door.
“Wait,” I say. “Where will you stay tonight?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Motel. I texted my boss, he leaves tomorrow. I’ll settle in there for a few days until I can find a cheap rental.”
I nod, silently begging him to say, but unable to say the words. I don’t know how to talk to this Reece.
He looks at me for a long minute, and I swear there’s something akin to disgust on his face before he nods and heads toward the front door. “Enjoy your life, Lucy.”
“Wait, what?” I say, just as he reaches for the door handle. “That’s all you’re going to say? After all of this?”
He gives a weary sigh, his head dropping forward as though he’s been expecting this conversation as much as he’s been dreading it.
I half expect him to walk out the door without a backward glance, but he turns around and gives me a slightly bored look. “What do you want me to say?”
I have no idea. I want him to stay. I want him to go. I want him to apologize. I want to apologize.
“Okay, what’s going on?” I say, forcing a smile. “Are you just doing that skittish guy thing?”
“Sure.”
“Damn it, Reece,” I snap. “You’ve got to give me something. What the heck happened? Why are you acting so weird?”
“How have I been weird? We’ve talked. We’ve screwed. We’re good.”
“No, we’re not good!” I shout. “Is this how we’re going to end this? To just fizzle out with a haphazard Have a nice life?”
His smile is colder than I’ve ever seen it. “Not part of your plan, was it, babe?”
Babe? He’s never called me babe in his life.
“What plan? What are you talking about?”
“You don’t have a problem that this is ending, you have a problem that it’s not ending your way. That you’re not in control.”
I blink rapidly, trying to follow, then give up, and drag my hands over my face tiredly. “Okay, can we do this tomorrow? We can both get a good night’s sleep, get on the same page in the morning.”
His hand is already on the doorknob, jerking the front door open, and I feel a surge of panic. “We’re already on the same page.”
“Really?” I say with a nervous laugh. “Because nowhere on my page is it written that you walk out that door.”
He turns away. “I’ll shop for a new car tomorrow and drop the keys for Horny off as soon as I can.”
My panic surges into full-on terror. “Reece, wait. I don’t want Horny, I want…you.”
He goes rigidly still for a moment.
Then he shakes his head, and without another word, shuts the door in my face.
Chapter 37
Reece
Good news: four days in, the new job is going great.
Better than I could have expected, really. As promised, the winery’s got a small-family feel with a big-time budget. The wine’s damn good, my coworkers are chill and friendly, and even coming in as the new guy, my pay’s better than at my old job, courtesy of Sonoma’s higher cost of living.
Granted, all I’ve done so far is shadow other people, learning their processes, their lingo, and most importantly, their grapes.
But in under a week, I’ve already got ideas. For the first time in a long-ass time, I feel excited about possibilities. Not only about the grapes and the blends, but about how they’re underselling their merlot and treating their cab like it’s a happy-hour special instead of a robust, steak-night special.
I mean, not that I give a crap about the marketing mechanics. That’s for fancy-pants like you know who to worry about. But I do know grapes. I know wine.
And Abbott has some good stuff.
It’s going to be even better once my training wheels come off and I get my hands dirty. Literally.
So that’s great.
What’s not so great?
I still don’t have a place to live. Joe, lead winemaker, and my official boss once he gets back from his honeymoon, returns in two days. And though I know he’s grateful to have someone to feed his ugly cat, and I’m grateful for the place to stay, he’s going to be none too happy to find his new vineyard worker still sleeping on his couch.
Blowing out a long breath, I lean back, thumping my head on the headrest of the blue Chevy pick-up.
This damn second-hand car is a big part of the reason I haven’t yet found an apartment.
I’ve never been a crackerjack with math, but over the past few years I’ve learned a thing or two about basic budgeting. I got damn good at figuring how much I needed to take care of Dad, make the mortgage payments, and still have just enough left over for basic groceries and one-ply toilet paper.
I’d figured out how much I’d need to make it on my own in Sonoma down to the penny.
I just hadn’t figured buying a new car into the equation. I’d been counting on having Horny. The piece of shit wasn’t just supposed to get me across the country; it was also supposed to get me to and from my new apartment and my new job.
Instead, the morning after I left Lucy’s place, I’d taken a chunk out of my savings, driven to a used-car lot, and bought the cheapest and most functional truck I could.
I’d given the kid on the lot twenty bucks to follow me in the new car to Lucy’s place, where I’d left Horny parked outside.
My motives were only partially good. We hadn’t talked about what the two of us would do for transportation once we’d parted ways, and I hadn’t wanted her stranded on her first day in Napa.
But giving her Horny was a little selfish too. After the two weeks that had just passed, I also hadn’t wanted to see that car again. Not for a long while. Maybe not ever. Too many memories of how good it had felt to look across the car and see Lucy sitting there, chattering about the use of complementary colors on wine bottles, or singing along to a horrid country song, or just smiling back at me.
Yeah, I hadn’t wanted any of that.
So here I am, poor as shit and on the verge of being homeless.
My stomach growls, and I realize I haven’t eaten since before I left for work a good ten hours ago. The apartment I’d just toured is next door to a sandwich shop, so instead of starting the car, I climb back out, hoping that the faded sign on the door of the shop means that their prices aren’t as astronomical as some of the fancier places around here.
The whole damn area is expensive. Gorgeous. Breathtaking, even, if you love the business of grapes like I do. But expensive.
It’s time to lower my living standards, obviously. All chances of getting my own place, no matter how crappy, are out. I’ll need a roommate, and not one whose apartment smells of weed like the first place I’d visited today. I’m too old for that shit. And not one whose girlfriend laughs like an angry Chihuahua like the second guy I met.
I ignore the part of my subconscious that tells me I’m delaying finding a place to live so I’ll have
something other than Lucy to occupy my thoughts.
As I wait for the bored-looking girl behind the counter to make my ham and Swiss on white, I wander over to the bulletin board to see if there are any promising leads on somewhere to rent.
Like I said. Anything to occupy my thoughts.
And no. I haven’t talked to her since I walked out on her. Haven’t returned a single text.
And go ahead, tell me I’m an ass.
But you didn’t have to read page after page in her stupid journal about how I was a summer fling and that two weeks of stupid with me might be just the thing before she started her real life. You didn’t have to read about how she wishes she could instill some sort of drive in me, make me care about something—anything.
Joke’s on you, Lucy. I care. I care too fucking much about you.
Correction. Cared.
Ridding my brain of her feels impossible, especially given that she won’t stop texting and calling, asking what’s wrong.
What’s wrong is that I want to hear that she misses me like I miss her. I want to hear that she can’t sleep like I can’t sleep, and that every time her phone buzzes she hopes it’s me, like I hope it’s her.
I want to hear that she doesn’t care about the distant past, because what happened in the recent past trumps it.
I want to hear that she misses me so much she sometimes wakes up thinking the loneliness will kill her.
I want to hear that she wants to try again, and this time she won’t leave, and that…
I force myself to focus on my meandering, pathetic thoughts. My gaze falls on a Napa Academy flyer.
I look away from it with a snarl. I know wine. I got hired without a degree, and unlike Princess Lucy, I don’t need a fancy piece of paper to tell me that I’m qualified.
What’s your endgame?
Just remembering her chipper question sets my teeth on edge, and my gaze goes back to the purple flyer.
The girl calls out my sandwich order, but I don’t turn, my eyes are locked on the bulletin board.
What’s your endgame?
For the first time in a long time, I let myself think about it. What do I want?
I’ve spent so long feeling older than my age, trying to just make it one day to the next, that it hits me that I’m twenty-five. In my prime.
