by Tif Marcelo
I stir the vegetables in my soup. Steam rises and dissipates in front of my eyes, taking with it some of my optimism. “We have no customers, which already puts Paraiso in the negative in the books. Every dollar from Food Right Now has been spent. If your lawyer hadn’t negotiated with Laurel . . . I’m just grateful the live stream still has viewers because of the drama; otherwise, I would have been sued for breach of contract.”
“This is a bump in the road. Your real customers will come through. The worst thing for you to do right now is to give up. Keep marketing, keep at your current pace, and don’t panic. You were going to do it without the show in the first place; you’re just back to your original plan.” He pats my shoulder. “And worst-case scenario, I’m always here to help you.”
“I know, Dad. Thanks, but—”
“Right. I know,” he says. The man hasn’t stopped offering me financial help, but as much as I’ve needed him here emotionally and physically, this problem is mine to endure and fix. There’s only one name on that business license, and it’s mine. “Anyway, it’s not the business I’m worried about, it’s you.”
I glance up at my whiteboard, at my to-do list that is now messy and unorganized, words crammed into every available space. I could spend the entire day crossing off any three items on that board, if that was what I wanted to do. But none hold any kind of joy or promise; none sound remotely helpful. “I’ll be okay.”
Dad grabs the coffee cup behind me, refills it. “When was the last time you spoke to him?”
Him, as in Mitchell.
“A couple of days ago—when we got back from San Francisco.”
“He doesn’t look well.”
“Good.” I crank out a smile, but I’m sure it comes out as a grimace. “Why are you still watching them anyway?”
“Sorry, I can’t help it. I’m hooked . . .”
“You mean nosy.”
“Curious.” The corners of his lips lift into a smile as he puts the pot back into the coffeemaker. He stands by the kitchen sink and looks out onto Dunford. “The guy has been wearing the same expression you have.”
“And what’s that?”
“A very sad one.”
“That’s just too bad for him, I guess.”
“So you’re admitting you’re sad?”
“Of course I am.” My voice is tight, and it comes out like a wheeze. “He was—is—special. He’s kind and sweet, straightforward. With him, I could be my best self. Like I could have it all—I could be vulnerable and strong. He didn’t force me into a box. I know you didn’t like him, and maybe you were right all along.”
He raises a hand up, halting me. “I had to give him a hard time. It’s a father’s duty to test his daughter’s suitors. We took our turn at their age. Your lolo, your mother’s father? That man didn’t test me with food. He took me out to the cane fields, to see if I could wield a machete and provide for your mom. Scariest time of my life, because I was a city boy and didn’t have a clue. But I showed up. Your Mitchell, not only did he show up, but he was ready to take whatever I was going to dish out.”
“Maybe you should have taken him out to the shooting range instead of feeding him. He would have known you were serious.”
“Believe me, Mary Bryn. Mitchell Dunford was serious about you, even if it was all supposed to be a sham.”
Shaking my head, I do my best to minimize the recent past, the time we spent in front of the camera. What happened beyond the camera’s lens—those intimate moments alone are the ones that haunt me. What did I miss? What were the signs that should have told me I had no power in our relationship? “It’s not about the parking lot.” My voice cracks. “He warned me in his own way. He told me once Levi took over, he would have a hard time saying no. It’s my fault I didn’t believe him.”
“Sounds like they have a pretty traditional relationship, like we do in our family.”
“I respect it, you know. But it’s all the more reason why it’s just no use. Even if we tried to make it work, there would have been another incident. And again he would’ve chosen Levi over me. I love him, Dad. I will for a long time. But I can’t compete. I won’t. The best thing I can do now is move on.”
Victoria slams the door open, making me jump. Her cheeks are ruddy from the wind. “Guess what?” She kisses our father on the cheek, then slams her phone down in front of me, to an open email.
My dad’s openmouthed stare says everything I’m thinking. Victoria left this morning for a Pilates class in town still upset, and this 180 is slightly disconcerting.
“Forget it, I’m too excited. I’ll read it.” She picks up the phone. “Dear Victoria Aquino. We have reviewed the sample video you submitted to our open call for a new television food show host. West Coast Eats would like to invite you to audition in person. Attached is our call-back schedule, and I look forward to chatting with you to confirm your appointment. Sincerely, Olivia Russell.”
Her words sink in, and slowly a veil lifts and excitement shoots me off the chair. “What? When did you send in a video?”
“A million years ago. I completely forgot about it.”
“Does this mean you’re being considered?” Dad yells above our noise.
“Yes! It means a shot at being on television!”
“I want to read this email for myself.” I snatch her phone and check all of the credentials in the email. I park myself in front of my laptop and start a search. I double-check the editor’s name against the email, and sure enough, it doesn’t look like a phishing scam. “Shit, Vic. It’s really real.”
“Oh, it’s real.” She threads her hand in her hair. “Man. I’m having whiplash right now. All the emotions.”
I hug her again, feeling her joy. “This is a step toward your dream, Vic. You did this.”
“Yeah.” She sniffs, and her eyes glaze over. I can tell she’s thinking of Luke, the man she fell for online, but who she realized after a surprise trip to see him was not who he said he was. “Fuck him, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. And you know what we say about risk, right?”
“That’s right, sis. Nothing’s gained without it.”
39
MITCHELL
My mother’s probably turning in her grave with the way we’re doing breakfast: Cody, Levi, and I are at the table, each with our own tablet or phone, scrolling for our morning news or social media. We haven’t said a word to each other. Then again, these days we barely do unless we’re in front of the camera.
How could I put into words the fucked-up way things turned out? How fickle viewers are, and how producers and media jump to the loudest noise, only to singularly cut out the rest. The media backlash was rough on all of us at Dunford. Being painted as liars wasn’t exactly good promo, and our business associates questioned our methods and practices, as if my love life had anything to do with the winery. Now we’re trying to fight this fire, salvaging Dunford’s good name by appearing extra professional on air, by taking on interviews, and now setting up tours even when we’re not 100 percent ready for them.
“Tell me how today is going to go,” I ask Levi, who’s answering an email, thumbs working overtime. He extended his stay by ten days, so he’s doing twice the work, managing his DC business with this one, not to mention dealing with his marriage. I don’t envy him, but it hasn’t taken away the sting between us.
“We have a preview tour of the tasting room as well as the vineyard. Thought it would be a good idea to bring in some community leaders. I also invited a couple of wine bloggers for some extra exposure. We’ve got to strike while people are still interested in us. Thanks to your girl down the hill spilling the beans, we have to take what we can get.”
“Levi, really?” Cody’s spoon clatters into his bowl. He kicks back the chair from under him, then brings his bowl to the sink.
“It’s the truth, isn’t it? See? Mitch know
s.” He points at me and my silence, to make a point. He crunches into this toast and talks while he chews. “All she had to do was go with it. It wasn’t my fault you guys actually fell in love. That would have been good information for you to share.”
“It wasn’t your fucking business to begin with.” I take my bowl of oatmeal and toss it into the sink, too, appetite destroyed, glancing briefly out the window to Paraiso’s deck. I cool my temper. “We were still working it out, you know?”
A hand clamps down on my shoulder. I turn to my big brother just as the doorbell rings. “Look. The tour, the question-and-answer session, and then the camera’s gone for good. We wash our hands clean, and we do what we need to do to get this place up and running.”
I nod, resigned. He’s right.
Cody opens the door, and the live stream crew walks in. They greet us with a simple nod, then undertake their daily task of setting up. I excuse myself and head into the bathroom to take a breath.
These days, Levi is the star, and I am A-okay with that. Not only did Laurel insist my role on air is to be an extra, a backdrop, she also gave Bryn and me strict orders to stay away from each other, lest we cause more trouble for the website. I haven’t seen Bryn since our return from San Francisco a week ago; she hasn’t been out to see her sunset. Her media outlets have been taken over by Victoria, the random online appearances left to Mr. Aquino.
Fuck. That’s another thing—her father.
Mr. Aquino called me out from the beginning, and I told him naively that I wasn’t going to hurt Bryn. And yet I did. In front of literally thousands of people.
I splash my face with cold water. One more day of this bullshit, and there’s no contract or camera to stop me from begging for Bryn’s forgiveness. Maybe then she’ll come out of her house and speak to me. Maybe then I can earn my way back in. No agreement, no camera, just us.
A knock at the door takes me from my thoughts. After scrubbing my face with a towel, I walk out, wishing that instead of the instant coffee I just had, I had some of Bryn’s. I’m back to tossing and turning, and I’m feeling every lost minute of sleep. I’ve yet to see Adam since returning from the city, ashamed to admit that I could have prevented this downward spiral of events.
I know I have to face the fight for myself and for Bryn, but right now, all I am is tired.
The tour is already in the living room when I walk out, all prepped by Joey. The group is a mixed bag of folks. Two businessmen in suits, two wine bloggers in hiking gear, Golden’s mayor, two folks from the chamber of commerce whom I recognize. And holy shit, Granny.
I throw my arms around her, relieved to see her smiling face.
“Mitchie.” She rubs my back in circles, then takes me by the hand into the kitchen. “I’ve been watching, and I’m sorry. Too much good has come out of you and Bryn coming home, and you’re so right for each other. I hope I’ve taught you enough to fight to keep the people you love by your side.”
“My hands are tied, Granny. I can’t put that parking lot back together. And these cameras—”
“Forget them. Goodness, where is that Dunford fire? You can’t fix that lot, but you can fix the thing between you and Bryn. Tell your brother to shove it, and choose love, Mitchie. Choose love every time.”
Granny is direct and firm, then leads me back to the tasting room without another word. We listen as Levi runs through his canned introduction, and without any questions from the guests, we all head out the back door, where Levi sells the shit out of the vineyard. By the time the tour walks down a row, they’re full of questions about the earliest we’ll be selling our wines.
“It’s a good match. This winery and the retreat down the way. You couldn’t have planned it better,” the mayor comments. “It could be beneficial for both of you. Will you be offering, let’s say, packages and discounts?”
“We’ll have our own packages and discounts.” Levi shrugs off the comment. Concern flashes across Granny’s face, and I’m compelled to jump in.
“We haven’t really discussed it with the retreat’s proprietor, but it might be something we can pursue. Right, Cody?” I draw in my youngest brother, whose noncommittal stare tells me I’m on my own.
“Are you worried about the success of the opening after your massive breakup online?” a blogger asks, his gaze on me. Laurel warned us about the questions that might come our way. Her advice was for us to slide out of these conversations. Change the subject.
It’s Levi who answers. “The retreat used to be our family home, and we are the landlords. It’s not really us who should be worried about the ramifications of their affair.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. Shut the fuck up is what I convey. What the hell is my brother trying to say and prove?
“That almost sounds like a threat.”
We turn to the person who just spoke: Granny.
My brother hesitates, then says, “It’s not a threat. Just the truth. This is business, right?”
“I don’t know, Levi. I think this might actually be personal.”
I’m watching the exchange between Levi and Granny, and I realize Levi will soon dig Dunford into the grave if we don’t turn this runaway conversation around.
I step up to the front of the group. “Excuse me, everyone,” and pull Levi by the arm, until we are out of hearing distance of the people. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m making sure they know Dunford doesn’t need anyone else to succeed. It’s bad enough that after Dad died things went to shit. Well, not on my watch. Dunford is us. We are Dunford. Where is your pride? This is our home.”
“I am proud. But this is her home, too.”
“No—not her home. That woman has a five-year commercial lease. Can you imagine the additional options we’ll have when we take back Lavenderhill? The ability to have extra living space? I can come back home and grow my family here. Cody can raise his kid here, too. And you . . .” He falters.
“Right? And me? What of me? You’ll push the woman I love off our property?” I wrap my hands behind my head, frustration seeping through my pores. It’s a moot point to be fighting over this, over a woman who probably hates me, but it’s just wrong. Damn wrong. It’s as wrong as getting into an agreement to fool viewers. Look at where that fucking got us. “Know what, Levi? I want you to go.”
“What?”
“I can take it from here.”
An eyebrow flies up, and a grin appears on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“When I came back home, I asked myself if I was meant to do this job. I thought I didn’t deserve Dunford because I was gone too long and only knew one facet of the business well. I deferred to you, leaned on you, when it’s me who has boots on the ground, because that’s what I’ve always done. You’re my big brother, and I looked up to you. But after following your advice, advice that has been disingenuous and the opposite of what Dunford stands for? I realize it’s you who doesn’t get what this place is about.
“Dunford was left to the three of us, but I’m the one who lives here. And with all my brotherly love, I’m saying: step off. You will not touch Paraiso, not one leaf on that property. Hell, you will not touch anything else on Dunford, because this place is best left to my care. I love Dunford. I love you. But I also love Paraiso. And the woman who lives there is my life, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting something you did keep me away from her.”
40
BRYN
I gasp at the computer screen. Victoria is shaking me by the shoulders, saying, “Oh my God. Did you hear him? He said you are his life on the Internet.”
“Shh, shh . . .” I push her hands away as the scene plays out in front of me, because this isn’t just about Mitchell admitting he loves me.
Mitchell is standing up to Levi.
I turn up the volume on the computer.
Mitchell looks directly at
the camera and does a double take. Yes, you’re being live streamed, buddy. I bring my hand to my mouth as realization plays on his face that what he said is no longer between him and his brother, no longer contained. He pinches the bridge of his nose, causing my heart to squeeze. It makes me want to rush out into the crowd, to hell with the rules that have kept me on this side of the hill. I want to stand with him and tell him I love him, too.
But shouldn’t love be easy? Because I’m still in crisis. My business is suffering, and is the fact it took too long for us to get here—for him to stand up for himself and for me—a sign of something else? The camera streaming Mitchell now conveys the reality of our life, because even after the cameras leave, there will be the expectations, the gossip, the questions.
How can we find ourselves in all of that?
But I keep my eyes on the screen. Below the picture, the comment section scrolls down rapidly as viewers weigh in on the current Dunford drama.
Mitchell clears his throat. “And my first decision is to end this tour. I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen. We appreciate you all being here, and we hope to make you proud of Dunford. I promise you that what you witnessed is less how we do business and more of the normal stuff our life is about. Besides making money, we’re also trying to keep and grow families. Maybe find new people to call family.”
The camera spins around and focuses on the people on the tour as they walk away. The laptop shuts in front of me as Victoria says, “The time delay!” She snatches the computer and heads into the living room.
“Hey!” I yell.
Time delay? What the hell?
A series of knocks makes me jump, and I look toward the French doors. It’s Mitchell, in jeans and his Dunford shirt and baseball cap turned backward. Behind him are Joel and Joey, and the rest of the tour, slowly catching up on the trail.
“Open the door, Bryn.” His voice is muffled behind the glass.
My heart hammers in my chest as I glide to the door. With a shaky hand, I twist the knob and the door slides open. Mitchell strips himself of his mic and drops it on the ground, steps in, and closes the door swiftly on the rest of the crowd. The camera remains outside, though the lens is trained on us as we walk deeper into the kitchen to the island, where I hang on to the marble edge as if it’s going to keep me from falling.
