“I’m going to miss this place,” I say. “Everything. Everyone. But I’ll be okay. Once I get back to work, I’ll find my groove and it will be like I never left.”
“Isn’t that the problem?” he asks, nailing the question on the head. And for once, I feel like someone actually understands. Sam wants as much out of life as I do. It may look different—his desire for grandiosity and luxury as opposed to my wide-open spaces and forward movement—but at the heart of them both is an unfulfilled need for excitement. Is that what drew us to each other in the first place?
I dare to meet his eyes.
“It’s not just this place,” I admit. “It’s all the things I’ve forgotten how to want.”
Sam reaches for me and I don’t move away from his hand as he brushes my hair from my shoulder.
He has that look in his eyes—the one from last night—and I feel like I could melt into him all over again. It’s good that I’m leaving. If I stayed any longer, things would get confusing.
“Don’t lose that spark,” he says. “Your hunger for life inspires people. It inspires me.”
“We all have to grow up,” I say, justifying the decisions I’ve made. “You’re the one who taught me that.” I say it without vitriol. It would have happened at some point and Sam only tried to warn me. Sure, we all want to live our dreams, the way my dad and Sam preach, but even when we do, the reality is different from the expectation.
“Maybe I was wrong,” he says futilely.
“Have you found a way out?” I ask.
He purses his lips, not wanting to admit the truth out loud—that his money doesn’t give him the freedom he’s been searching for.
I spot Kelly walking across the parking lot and step away from Sam. Kelly sees me and with a cautious smile, waves. Squeezing Sam’s shoulder reassuringly, I excuse myself to meet up with her, bringing a cup of coffee with me.
“It’s not as good as you make it,” I say when I hand it to her.
“I know,” she says, her smile growing wider. “Thank you.”
The light breeze sends her loose hair across her face and we both look up at the clouds, questioning them. Kelly isn’t wearing her braid today. I feel looser, too, unwound.
“You’re working on that tan,” I say, referencing one of our bucket list items. We’d wanted to start our freshman year with tans worthy of calling ourselves Californians. Of course, Kelly, with her fair skin, always struggled to get any color that wasn’t a shade of red. Turns out, all she needed was a day carrying grapevines.
Kelly laughs and touches her shoulder. “Maybe after today I’ll go from translucent to ghost.”
I laugh, my throat thick with emotion. It’s only one moment, this inside joke between us, but it’s the one I’ve waited a decade for.
Dad calls out over the crowd to get everyone’s attention and beckons us through the stables. Kelly and I walk together to join them where people coo over the horses and the clean stables Tyler keeps. We gather in front of the new plot, and standing on a chair so he can see, Dad instructs us on how to dig a hole deep enough and wide enough for the roots, then how we should place the plant, sack and all, into it and cover it before moving on to the next one.
After a few cheesy wine puns, making everyone laugh, he sets us loose on the grounds while Mom stands guard with sunblock and sprays anyone who isn’t sticky with it already.
Kelly and I glance at each other, wordlessly teaming up to share my shovel.
“So you’re flying out tomorrow,” Kelly says as we walk toward the far end of the new acreage.
“I am,” I say. I glance sideways at her, wondering if this is idle chitchat or a leading question.
“How has New York been?” she asks. “Everything we hoped it would be?”
Leading, then.
I switch the shovel to my left hand, my right hand suddenly sweaty. It would be an innocent enough question from anyone else, but from Kelly, it’s a question that doesn’t have a right answer. If I tell her all the things I enjoy about New York, will she be more envious of me and rediscover her anger toward me? Of if I tell her just how difficult my days have been since I left, will she consider me ungrateful?
The truth is, no one knows how much I’ve struggled since I left—I made sure of it. Partly out of pride, but partly because I didn’t want to let them down. When I made plans to attend Columbia University, I wanted more than anything to prove my family, Kelly, and myself wrong about my “whimsical” tendencies and how they might get in the way of my success. It was easier than I thought it would be because that free spirit slipped away from me before I got on my first flight.
“It’s been good,” I say noncommittally. “It’s been fine. I mean, New York is everything they say it is. The energy, the culture, the people. Honestly, I spend most of my time at the office, so I don’t get a chance to explore much.”
I motion toward a spot along the back trellises where we can work undisturbed. Kelly leads the way.
“And Columbia?” she asks over her shoulder.
We find two plants next to each other and I pass the shovel to Kelly so she can dig first. As we work, trading off digging and planting, I start at the beginning, telling her about my classes. That was what she’d been most excited about—all the things we would learn and then share over imagined hours-long conversations in our dorm, each of us curled up in our beds, avocado face masks and wet nail polish. I tell her about the endless hours researching alone in my dorm room, the many, many essays I wrote, and the speeches I gave in front of my classmates. I even admit to throwing up in the hallway outside the classroom before giving my first speech, which makes her laugh.
I tell her about the few acquaintances I made and spent most weekends with—all the intellectual types who were averse to showering and who often talked about things that were over my head but who preferred coffee shops, wine, and good food to wild parties, binge-drinking, and getting buried under pizza boxes. How different my choices about who to spend my time with became between high school and college. But my college buddies were always there when I got stuck on an assignment, and never questioned me when I disappeared for days or weeks when I was too overwhelmed by the monotony of daily life to think straight anymore. They were exactly the kind of friends I needed then.
I leave that last part out.
Instead I tell her about the few events I attended and what the transition was like from college to my internship to having a full-time job.
“It all sounds very professional and important,” she says, and I laugh. Truthfully, it feels professional and important. Which is why I feel so out of my element most of the time.
“It’s mostly city versus country, I think.”
“I think it’s more,” she says.
We work in silence for a while, the heat of the sun beading sweat down our backs. When we’re done, we step back and look at our work approvingly.
“I want to come with you,” she says, jarring me from my pensiveness.
“Wait, what?”
“I want to go back to New York with you,” she repeats. There’s so much hope in her expression it hurts. “I want to move to New York and get my master’s at Columbia. I could still have the college experience I’ve always wanted. I could live close to you.”
“But I thought you weren’t sure if you wanted to be my friend anymore,” I sputter. I’m not sure why I’m reminding her of this. “I mean, I want you to come, too.”
My heart leaps at the idea of her moving into my tiny apartment, the two of us exploring the city together in a way I’ve never done. Both of us dating—with her there, in my imagination, I would have the strength to be vulnerable and put myself out there—and sharing heartbreaks and horror stories in the dark before falling asleep. Expanding our friend circle and attending events every weekend. It could be everything we hoped it would be and more.
With Kelly there, I think I could find a way to be truly happy in New York.
“I’m serious, Mallory,” she urges.
“But, how?”
The shovel is abandoned now. Kelly shrugs and searches the air for answers. “I’ll hire an in-home nurse for Mom,” she says. “I can send money for food and medical bills. Anybody can make her meals. It doesn’t have to be me.”
I shift uncomfortably. “Would you be able to get a job making enough money while you’re going to school, too? And still send money home?” It doesn’t seem like the time to bring up the cost of living in New York, or the price of airfare.
“I’m sure I could get a job at a coffee shop,” she says.
I can’t help the skeptical purse of my lips. I want it to work as much as she does, but the idea seems off-the-cuff, which is unlike Kelly. Especially for such a big decision.
My tone soberer, I say, “You told me the other day that no matter where you went, you would never stop worrying about your mom.”
“I’ll call her every day. And visit as much as I can.”
I sigh and I can see some of the excitement leaking from Kelly’s posture.
“Maybe we can bring your mom with us?” I suggest but it’s a half-hearted attempt. If Kelly can’t afford a nursing home here, she certainly can’t afford one there.
This seems to sink in and angry tears form in her eyes.
I take a step toward her. “Kelly, c’mon. You know I would love to have you, but nothing has changed. Your commitments have kept you in Paso for a reason. I’m not saying there isn’t a solution, I just don’t think this is it.”
I see the ripple of muscle in Kelly’s jaw at this real reminder. It’s a delusion and we both know it.
“Mallory, I can’t stay here,” she pleads. “I can’t keep living the same day over and over again. I can’t survive one more day without any hope for a future. What if my mom lives another twenty years? What if I’m stuck here brewing coffee until I’m forty?”
Desperation makes her body rigid, like she’s ready to jump out of her own skin to get away from this life. I pull her into a hug. She shivers against me, overwhelmed by her emotions. I would give anything to take her with me, to give her a chance at living out her dreams. But I’m afraid we both know that on Monday, she will crawl out of bed, make her mom breakfast, and clock in at Monet’s Mug. Because that is her reality. And as I much as I want to, I can’t save her from it.
* * *
After all the vines are planted, Dad and his employees stay out in the field to make sure the irrigation lines are giving them enough water to acclimate to their new home. Hopefully the rain will come down like it’s threatening to. Everyone else goes home to clean up and prepare for the party tonight while Mom, Kelly, and Tyler decorate the stables for the evening. I take the opportunity to shower and pack.
When I’m dressed and everything is back in my suitcase, I sit on the bed and look around my room. There are so many memories here, every little detail a reflection of a part of my life. I have to admit there’s nothing here that made me think the life I have now is where I would end up.
I remember a conversation I had with my dad once, back when Kelly finally convinced me to start applying for colleges. My dad had made a career of something for which he didn’t go to school for, and my mom attended a technical college, so they never pushed me to attend a university. They were content to let me forge my own path and support me in whatever I decided. The only thing they didn’t support was me not making a decision at all.
When I sat down with my dad in his office one day, torn over which classes I should register for when I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, Dad set aside his work and shared his experience.
“Well, honey,” he said, “most people don’t know what they want to do at your age. There’s nothing wrong with that. Look at me. I tried several different fields before I finally figured out that I could put all that wine I was drinking to good use. I was thirty-two by then.”
“That’s so depressing,” I muttered. He laughed. At the time, thirty-two seemed so old, so very far away.
“What, being thirty-two, or taking that long to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up?”
“Both.”
He laughed again.
“Let me tell you a secret about being an adult,” he said. “Maybe it will make it easier for you, maybe it won’t. As kids—and yes, you are still a kid. You will be until at least thirty.”
I scoffed, but he continued anyway.
“As kids, we have this idealized notion about life. We think we’re going to avoid all the mistakes our parents made and fall into a job that fulfills us every day, meet the person of our dreams—”
“I do not want to meet anyone,” I countered. Getting married and having kids one day were more social standards that didn’t feel like they applied to me. This was before Sam.
“You will. And you’re going to want everything to be perfect. But there is no perfect, Mal. Being an adult requires a lot of sacrifice. Sometimes you have to compromise. Sometimes you have to do the grunt work before you can accumulate the knowledge, experience, and qualifications to do what you really want to do. Sometimes life is hard, and that’s okay.”
“So what you’re saying is, don’t expect to be happy.”
“What I’m saying is, don’t expect to have it all figured out now. Or maybe ever. Hell, I don’t have it all figured out. In fact, the older I get, the more I realize how little I know.”
I flopped back in the chair, defeated. “If this is supposed to be a pep talk, you suck at it.”
Dad sat back in his chair, too, grinning. He rubbed his chin in thought. “Okay, let me put it this way. Just take it one day at a time.”
“Simple as that, huh?”
“Most of the time,” he said.
So now, ten years after that talk, I take a deep breath, stand up, and put on my dress for the party.
As I’m curling my hair, Mom calls me from the kitchen. I find her downstairs, looking for something in the fridge, the zipper of her little black dress undone. When I come up behind her, she pulls her hair aside and I zip it for her.
“I thought the focus was supposed to be on Dad tonight,” I say.
She gives me a wink and pulls me into a hug.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving already,” she says into my ear. I breathe in the lavender scent of her perfume.
“We still have tonight,” I say, though I know it’s not enough. It’s never enough. That’s the thing about family—one minute you can’t wait to get as far away from them as possible, the next you want to curl up in their arms and never leave.
“We wanted to have a special dinner with you before it got so busy.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “It’s been amazing just to be here. Just to hug you.”
Dad comes down the stairs, freshly showered and adjusting the collar of his only suit, a crisp navy blue that never goes out of style. Very James Bond.
“Didn’t I say you were grounded?” he says to me. “Mandatory house arrest.”
Mom and I laugh because we know it’s all just a joke. Dad wants me back in New York, “following my dreams.” Somehow, having a dream has become its own suffocating expectation.
“Sorry, Dad. But I hope to visit more often. Maybe soon I’ll even be able to afford an apartment you guys can stay in when you come visit.”
I should tell my parents about the promotion. The contract is in my inbox. It doesn’t get more official than that. But I don’t want to see their excitement for me, thinking I’m getting what I’ve always wanted. I don’t want to pretend I’m excited, too.
“We would love that,” Mom says.
Dad comes over to smooth my hair and kiss the top of my head. “And now that the vineyard is doing so well, we should be able to affo
rd to visit more often, too.”
I bite my lip to keep my emotions from spilling over as I try to accept that I’ll be lucky to see my parents two or three times a year for the foreseeable future. Before, I’d always assumed our distance would be temporary. There’s no denying, though, that it has become our normal.
“We’ll get to a show next time,” I promise.
“Perfect,” Mom says, her eyes watery, too.
I make them stand next to each other so I can snap a picture with my phone, like it’s prom night. I catch Dad pulling at his tie and Mom looking at him with amused affection. I’ve managed to capture them exactly as they are, in this moment and in their life together.
Mom and Dad share a conspiring glance.
“What?” I ask.
“Well,” Dad says, rummaging through a kitchen drawer, “we didn’t want to send you back to New York with nothing. We really appreciate you working so hard to cover your own school loans while things were tight here and we’re really proud of your hard work. We’ve wanted to do something special for you for a long time and with the success of the last season and your mom’s bonus, we’re finally able to do it.”
Mom squeezes Dad’s arm.
“You guys didn’t have to do anything,” I say, embarrassed. It’s me who owes them, not the other way around.
Dad pulls an envelope out of the drawer and sets it on the counter in front of me. Wary, I pick it up and lift the flap. Inside is a stack of hundred-dollar bills. Mouth agape, I thumb through it. It’s two thousand dollars.
“You guys. I can’t accept this. This is too much.”
Mom pushes the envelope closer to me. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can.”
“We want you to use it on your apartment. For furniture or dishes or decorations. Whatever you need.”
A smile pulls at my lips but I’m too overwhelmed to find words.
“You can save it for when you get your new apartment if you want or you can use it when you get back. Either way, we just want to make sure you’re comfortable and that you can make your place feel like your home.”
Midnight at the Wandering Vineyard Page 14