Midnight at the Wandering Vineyard

by Jamie Raintree

  Kelly glances toward Tyler and he clears his throat, looking away. Maybe it wasn’t me her expectations were centered on after all.

  “Do you guys need a minute?” I ask her, unsure of how else to break the tension. “Or do you want to go for a ride?”

  “Let’s go for a ride,” she says, pretending that’s the reason she came over in the first place. As any good friend would do, I go along with it.

  Tyler saddles up Tiramisu while I resaddle Midnight and ignore the awkward silence between them.

  Once we’re on the horses, I lead the way out into the vineyard at a walk. Kelly trails behind me like she always has.

  The sun hits its midpoint in the sky as we make it to the top of the hill. We hide under the cover of trees, greedy for cooler temperatures. We bring the horses to a stop a few feet from the edge—Kelly on the right, me on the left, like a married couple shares their bed. This ride used to be our morning ritual before each school day. We never ran out of things to talk about—gossip, boys, our parents. More times than I can count, we held each other while we cried, curled up together in the dirt on this very spot.

  “You stayed,” she says over the birdsong in the trees around us.

  I look at her, wishing she didn’t sound so surprised. We left things between us open-ended, no rules or plans. But no matter how she feels about me, I’ll always consider her a sister. A sister would do nothing less. But instead of saying all this, I simply nod.

  “How are you doing?” I ask her, even though I know it’s the most pointless question I could ask. But I have to ask because what else is there to say? It’s impossible to convey my sympathy with words.

  “I feel...uprooted,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Her braid is back. “Without something to anchor me. I built my whole life around taking care of her, and just like that, she’s gone. Last night, I wandered around the house like a tiger in a zoo for hours.”

  I’m more familiar with the feeling than I’d like to admit. That’s how I walk through life—unsettled is my permanent state of being. Always searching for more, never quite feeling like I’ve found it.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I wish I could be that tether for you.”

  With remarkable clarity, she says, “No, you don’t, Mallory. That’s too much responsibility for anyone to carry.”

  I swallow hard, her declaration profound. At least to me. I, too, have built my life around what other people need. Or what I think they need. I’m coming to discover I’m not as in tune with those needs as I once believed I was. I’m not able to fulfill them like I wish I could either. It turns out people can only truly take care of themselves.

  “Sam is still here,” she says, speaking, no doubt, of the one I hoped would be my tether. “We haven’t talked about him.”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  The childish part of me hoped if I didn’t draw attention to Sam, Kelly might not notice him, like covering your own eyes to play hide-and-seek.

  “How have you been doing?” she asks. “With him here?”

  I purse my lips to control my gratitude. I didn’t realize how much I needed her to ask until she did.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner.”

  “I didn’t want to scratch at old wounds.”

  “You loved him,” she says, the three words I never told anyone. But she saw it.

  “I was stupid,” I say. “I was blinded. And let’s face it, I was young. It was the first time I’d ever felt that way about a guy and I didn’t know what to do with it.”

  Kelly sighs, her body deflating. “I should have tried harder to understand.”

  “I didn’t exactly give you all the info.”

  Kelly smirks. “I didn’t exactly make it easy for you to talk to me.”

  I want to refute that, to make her feel better, but it’s the truth. The pressure Kelly put on herself and our friendship to withstand the stress of growing up amplified her tendency to try to control the things that scared her. So instead, I allow the silence to stretch out.

  “Are we talking about men for a reason?” I finally hedge, thinking of the obvious strain between Tyler and her. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  She shakes her head. “There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing important.”

  “You know you can talk to me, right? Whenever you’re ready?”

  “I do,” she says, meeting my eyes. “And same to you.”

  This is new, this opening I’ve been waiting for. Did my decision to stay change things in her mind?

  “I want to tell you everything now,” I say. “About what happened that summer. If you’ll let me. If you’re up for it.”

  Kelly shrugs. “Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it does. I don’t know.”

  “I have to be honest with you,” I say. “You told me to call you when I was the Mallory you used to know. I don’t think I am. I don’t think I have been since that summer, and I probably never will be again.”

  “Well, I’m certainly not the girl I used to be. I don’t think any of us are. Isn’t that the point of growing up?”

  My feelings on the subject are mixed. I always thought the point of growing up was to become more myself, but over the years I feel like I’ve grown further away from the woman I thought I would be. People keep telling me it’s called maturity, but it feels more like a straitjacket.

  Kelly shifts on Tiramisu and reaches into her back pocket. She pulls out the sheet of lined pink paper, folded twice, and holds it out to me. I take it in my fingers, the familiar texture of it like the smell of Mom’s cooking, the words of a favorite song.

  “I’ve missed you every day, Mallory,” she says, bringing tears to my eyes. When she looks at me, there are tears in her eyes, too. I reach for her hand and to my relief, she allows me to take it.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I say, barely above a whisper.

  “And I could use a distraction.” She nods toward the paper.

  “You want to do the bucket list?” I ask.

  “If you want to. For as long as you’re here.” I smile, thinking of the possibilities. I may not be able to bring her mom back, and I may not be able to be Kelly’s anchor. But, it seems, she’s allowing me to be her friend. And that, I’m equipped to do. “What’s first on the list?” I ask.

  * * *

  “I feel like we should update this bucket list,” I say to Kelly that night as we sit behind the stables, out of view of the house, with a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of butterscotch schnapps on the dusty ground between us. Kelly pulls her lawn chair closer to mine, framing the evidence of our rebellion. At least, it would have been rebellious...when were teenagers.

  “No,” Kelly urges. “Reliving it like we would have back then is the whole point.”

  “Yes, but...” I pick up the pack of cigarettes—a brand I’ve never heard of. “I don’t feel as adventurous as I did ten years ago. Not this kind of adventurous.”

  “That’s because we’re not young and stupid anymore. Well, not that young.”

  Still, getting a little drunk and stupid might be the shortest distance to distracting Kelly from her grief, and for getting her to open up about what’s going on with Tyler. I’m not going to let it go that easily.

  Kelly sits back in her chair and crosses her legs, her worn jeans bunching up at the crease where her thighs meet her hips. Her deep green T-shirt brings out the color of her eyes.

  “But with all the added experience between us, butterscotch schnapps was the best we could come up with?” I ask. I peel open the cigarette packaging and slide one out with the tips of my fingers. I hold it like it’s made of glass, not sure how much pressure will crush it.

  “I don’t know,” Kelly says. She picks up the bottle and examines it in the sunlight. She also listened to my dad all the times he taught us how to properly dr
ink, though I’m not sure this is what he had in mind. It glows like liquid amber, shooting color in every direction. “I just asked the guy behind the counter at the liquor store. He told me chicks apparently dig this.”

  “The funny part is,” I say, “I think my dad would be less mad about me smoking a cigarette than about me drinking alcohol that’s made from something other than grapes.”

  “You’re probably right.” Kelly leans forward and pulls a cigarette out of the pack, then places it between her lips. She holds the lighter up and flicks it a few times with her thumb until the flame finally holds.

  “What are you two up to?” a male voice asks from behind me. Kelly and I both jump, the cigarettes falling to the ground. Kelly hides the lighter behind her back like we really are teenagers. Tyler stares down at us, his arms crossed, amusement pulling at the corner of his mouth.

  I giggle. “Oh, you know, getting hammered.”

  Kelly plucks the cigarettes out of the dirt and brushes them off. “Want a drink?” she asks, though her focus is more on the cigarettes than him, not a real invitation.

  “As much as I’d love to witness whatever trouble you two are going to get yourselves into, I have to get to work.”

  “You’re better off. I assure you,” I tell him. “I get all emotional when I drink... Start professing my love to everyone. Sometimes inanimate objects.”

  “I remember. Better you than the rednecks I serve every night.”

  “Call in sick,” I say. Kelly hands me my cigarette and returns to trying to ignite the lighter.

  “Big plans, Mal. Big plans. You okay?” he asks Kelly, leaving plenty of distance between them.

  “Sure,” Kelly says, slinging the lid of the lighter open and closed.

  “I’m here for you,” he says, but his body language says he’s only offering to be polite. “I’ll see you ladies tomorrow.”

  Kelly snorts and gives him a tight-lipped smile. I listen to his footsteps disappear through the stables.

  “What was that about?” I ask when he’s out of earshot.

  Kelly sighs. “Smoke first?” she asks, leaning forward, lighter out.

  I place my lips around the cigarette as she places the flame to the end. With my eyebrows furrowed reluctantly, I breathe in like I’ve seen in movies. The first puff of smoke fills my mouth like hot ash and I choke on it, pushing it out my nose and mouth.

  “Eww,” I say, my voice reedy as I hold my breath in an attempt to avoid inhaling any more of it.

  “My turn.”

  “My reaction didn’t deter you at all?”

  She puts her cigarette in her mouth. I hold mine out to her and she leans in to light hers. She closes her eyes against the burn of the smoke and coughs, too, though not as much. We sit back in our chairs, both of us taking short, intermittent drags and watching each other’s reactions.

  “So. Are you dating anyone?” she asks.

  I make a face. “Straight to the hard stuff, huh?”

  “Have we ever beat around the bush?” she asks.

  I flick the ash off the end of my cigarette to disguise the fact that I’m not smoking it. Kelly takes another drag and it goes down smoother, with just a hiccup of a cough.

  She’s right, and I’m thankful for a positive reference to our past, rather than just the negative ones.

  “Not at the moment,” I say. “I’ve dated a couple of people. Nothing serious.”

  I breeze over the subject because it’s embarrassing and because they were mostly attempts to be a “normal college student” and to forget Sam. The two short relationships failed on both accounts.

  “Really?” she asks, incredulous. “You were supposed to come home with sweeping love stories so I could live vicariously through you.”

  She makes a joke of it, but it’s obviously too soon for both of us because neither of us smile. I clear my throat and move on.

  “What about you?” I ask. I try to imagine Kelly in a relationship and it’s impossible. It’s not that any man wouldn’t be lucky to catch her attention, it’s that Kelly has always been too shy to date. She used the reliable and understandable excuse of taking care of her mother.

  “Kyle McGraw,” she says. I balk.

  “Wait, wasn’t that Kyle’s mom you were talking to at the Libations party?” There was something about the way they interacted that was more familiar than a barista-customer relationship. I should have realized.

  “Yeah,” she says, her cheeks darkening.

  From what I remember from our junior year, Kyle was tall, handsome, and fascinating to our classmates with his stories of working on his grandparents’ farm each summer. He would come back every year with bigger biceps and an air of maturity gained by reuniting with his long-distance girlfriend. Kelly had a crush on him back then but nothing ever came of it because of Kyle’s unfailing loyalty. In that way, Kyle and Kelly were perfectly suited for each other.

  “For two years,” she says. Kelly inhales deeply from her cigarette and blows it out slowly, her lips pursed into a tight circle.

  “Two years? And I knew nothing about it?”

  She shrugs. Of course, the only person who would have told me would have been Mom and I had long since stopped asking about Kelly. It was too painful to realize that my parents were more in the know about her life than I was.

  “How did it happen?” I ask.

  “How else? He came into the coffee shop a lot and one day, he finally asked me out. No sweeping love story.”

  “That’s all?” I ask. This jaded Kelly is hard to swallow. “You were crazy about him.”

  A hesitant grin creeps across her face. That’s more like it.

  “Okay, I was thrilled. I was crazy about him. For the entire time we dated he gave me butterflies. He had this sturdiness about him. Not just physically but mentally and emotionally. Like not even a tornado could pick him up. I felt safe with him. I knew he would never hurt me, and he didn’t. He made me feel loved and taken care of.”

  “Loved?” I ask.

  Kelly nods. “He wanted to marry me. Move away. Start a family in Wyoming.”

  “Married?”

  She laughs again. “Is it really that hard to believe? Yeah, I guess so.” She answers her own question. “To be honest, when I look back on those years, it feels like they happened to someone else.”

  “Is that why you aren’t together anymore? Because he wanted to leave?”

  “His heart has always been in Wyoming, hasn’t it? I couldn’t blame him.”

  I bring the cigarette to my mouth but just the scent of it turns my stomach, so I fake it, not wanting to break the moment. I want Kelly to keep talking. I want her to tell me everything.

  “And Tyler?” I ask. “What’s going on there?”

  Tyler was the other person Kelly had a crush on during our teen years, but we hardly ever talked about it. Truthfully, I avoided the subject, worried about how it would change our dynamic if they ever did date. I hoped my silence would discourage the notion, and it seemed to have worked. Besides, he was too old for her anyway.

  Kelly doesn’t answer right away and I’m surprised to find my palms sweaty, eager for her response.

  “We dated,” she finally says. “For a couple of months at the end of last year. Nothing came of it.”

  I nod, but inside, my thoughts are spinning. I shouldn’t feel as bothered as I do that my friends dated. It wasn’t exactly behind my back and they’re both consenting adults now. I shouldn’t feel as relieved as I do that things didn’t work out, but I’m ashamed to admit that I am.

  “Did you guys...?” My cheeks warm. Kelly and I never got to the point of talking about sex and I avoided the conversation with college friends and coworkers, uncomfortable with the vulnerability of it. But in this instance, I’m painfully curious.

  Kelly purses her lips. “No.”
She flicks ash at the ground. I sense a bitterness about the topic. “Did you sleep with Sam? Before?”

  “No,” I say a little too emphatically. “No. It wasn’t really like that.”

  It could have been like that. I would have given Sam anything. Everything.

  “What was it like?” she asks.

  “It was...exciting. And sexy. And unexpected.”

  “Unexpected?”

  “C’mon. Neither one of us ever really believed I’d ever fall in love. And a guy like him? Liking me back?”

  “Like him? Mal, please. No one is out of your league. But I’ve never really understood why you weren’t interested in guys,” she says.

  “I guess I thought,” I say, “that if I didn’t have any attachments I could just live. Go where I wanted, do what I wanted. In a way, I was already doing that. I was too busy looking in front of me to notice anyone standing beside me.”

  Kelly nibbles at her lip the way she does when she’s thinking. “You do know the problem with that theory, right?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “You can’t live without relationships. They come with challenges, sure, but what does anything mean if there’s no one there to experience it with you? When you die—” she swallows hard “—who will carry your memories for you?”

  I don’t know what to say to that. So much for distraction.

  I take another puff of my cigarette and press my lips together to keep from coughing, but nature takes over and the smoke climbs back up my throat and bursts out of my mouth against my will. I clutch my chest as I hack the last of it out of my lungs.

  “Okay, I’m done,” I say.

  Kelly bursts into laughter. “Aww, Mal. You’re so pure,” she teases.

  I drop the cigarette on the ground and stamp it out with my boot. Kelly watches the whole thing with the hint of a grin. I lean back in my chair, trying to compose myself. She watches me and I watch her as a curtain of seriousness falls over her face.

  “It’s because of him, isn’t it?” she asks. “The reason you haven’t dated anyone. I saw the way you’ve been looking at each other since you got back.”