by BT Urruela
“How are you not drunker?” I unintentionally ignore his question, but I wait for my answer anyways.
“More drunk, you mean? How am I not ‘more drunk’?” He smiles and winks. I don’t say anything, and he continues. “I’ve done my fair share of drinking over the last few years. I am twenty-seven, after all.”
God, that smile.
“Oh, well you only have three years on me.”
“Were they serious?” he repeats, ignoring my comment.
“Why? Would you consider it?”
“I am considering it—if it were legitimate. How are you not more drunk?”
“My mother cut me off, remember?” I roll my eyes. “She loves to treat me like I’m still fifteen. Anyways, it was a legitimate offer. My dad may be drunk, but he knows what he’s saying.”
Xander sits quietly. He looks to be deep in thought.
“Well, I think you should.” I smile, the kind of smile that is meant to say so much more. “I guess we better go meet my mom, but just so you know, I hope to see you and Rowdy in the morning too. You forget the dog, and you might as well just take your ass right back down that gravel road.”
Sunlight floods the dingy Sunshine Valley Motel room, filling my foggy eyes and making my temples pound. Six hours of toss-and-turn-riddled sleep and the repercussions of last night are making themselves perfectly clear. A drinker I may be, but resistant to hangovers I am not. With age, it seems, the worse they get.
I’d love nothing more than to stay in bed, but I fully intend on taking the Watsons up on their offer. I could use the money and, hell, there’s something about this family that’s comforting. Something like what I had at Fort Benning. Something a guy like me soaks up every bit of.
Family is foreign to me. Always has been. When I get even a glimpse of it, it’s hard to let go.
I manage to shift my legs over the edge of the bed and drag my body from the mattress, but that’s about all I’ve got. My large torso hangs weightlessly over my knees. My stomach lurches, calling for me to lie back down. I swipe a bottle of Aleve from the nightstand and down four of them with a swig of last night’s water. Rowdy is wide awake now and pawing at my feet, his vibrant eyes unyielding. He wants breakfast, and he’s relentless until he gets it.
“Not yet buddy…please.” I nudge away a crowd of beer cans and grab a pre-packed bowl from the nightstand, the vibrant green and purplish weed tempting me from its mouth. I’m immediately thankful I had the wherewithal to pack it last night, as doing so this morning would’ve been a bitch.
I light it, take a drag, long and slow, and release the billows of smoke in little O’s. Rowdy hops at my feet for his morning chow. I take another drag and feel a tingling sensation trail down my back and arms.
“Alright, buddy, I got ya.”
My 1970 Ford F-100 is loaded with most of my belongings, which equates to two military-style A-bags, my guitar and a backpack. Not much, but it’s enough. Rowdy relieves himself one final time before our five-minute trek to Watson Wineries. The hangover has subsided a bit, and I silently thank the weed gods for that.
With a tip of my Browning cap to the Sunshine Valley Motel, I load Rowdy onto the bench seat and hop in alongside him. And with that, my adventure in Truman Valley truly begins.
It’s not hard to spot Watson Wineries. As Jack stated last night, it’s the first thing you see. You can’t help but notice miles of grapevines in neat rows that act as a gateway to the town of Truman Valley.
Large wrought iron gates give way to a never-ending gravel driveway. The two-story, white-as-snow farmhouse with navy blue shutters—hand-built by Jack’s father, as I was told last night—centers the endless rows of grapevines around it.
I park, open the door, and step out of my F-100 with bags in hand when Rowdy comes rushing out behind me. He nearly knocks me over in the process.
“Well hello, Mr. Evans, you’re late,” Paige says, squatting down to welcome Rowdy as he runs into her arms. “Aw, what a beautiful little baby you are.”
Another girl walks right past Paige and Rowdy and she stops just before me . She extends her hand and smiles weakly. “I’m Brandi.”
“I’m Xander. Nice to meet you, Brandi.” I shake her hand gently and release it, my eyes barely leaving Paige. “Late? I thought your dad said to show up at nine? That was tough enough as it is.”
“I know. I’m just messing with you.”
The soft smile she gives makes my heart buzz. Perfectly pearl-white teeth are set behind lips ideal for kissing. Decked out in short shorts and a tank top, she’s wearing her hair curly today, her golden waves pushing the limits of a hair tie. I find myself even more attracted to her like this.
“He’s been up since like six, though. I don’t know how he does it. I woke up in a whole lot of pain this morning.”
“Yeah. Tell me about it. Well, if you guys want, you can take Rowdy here inside while I’m working. Is it okay if I throw my stuff in the guesthouse?”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re fine. Door’s unlocked. Dad’s in the field and said just to meet him out by the barn,” Paige says as she leads Rowdy to the house. Brandi reluctantly follows.
“Enjoy your first day of work, Xander,” Paige says over her shoulder. “Don’t you worry about Rowdy here. He’s in good hands.” The three of them head through the front door, closing it behind them and leaving me with the quiet countryside to figure out what exactly just happened. Two minutes in and I’ve already managed to get my dog stolen. It’s not surprising he’s the star of the show, that’s usually how it works out, but I figured I’d get a little more attention at least.
I head back to the truck and unload it. I lug my baggage up to to the guesthouse and drop them off inside. I’m taken back by the size of the place, which looks like a mansion compared to the motel room I stayed in. There’s a kitchen and bathroom all the way in the back, a bed and vanity just before it, and living room with two loveseats and a TV when you first walk in the door. I could definitely get comfortable here.
When I’m done exploring the new place a little bit I head to a large maroon barn with paint chipping at the corners, set back a bit in the middle of the vineyard. Jack is huddled under the hood of a tractor, a grease rag tucked into the side of his overalls. His arms are buried in the engine.
“Jack, it’s Xander,” I call out. I hear a thud from Jack’s head meeting the hard steel hood. He lets out a groan and then a quiet laugh.
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I thought you heard me coming.”
“No problem at all. You’d think I would have, as quiet as it is. I think I’m still in a daze from last night.” He shakes his head and smiles. “Or maybe I’m just getting old.”
“Yeah, to be honest, I woke up and thought maybe your offer was a dream.”
“Nossir. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t drunk as all hell by the time my head hit the pillow last night. I definitely need some help out here,” he says, then hesitates for a second before continuing, “and I like you.”
Flattered, but not knowing what to say, I mumble, “I like you all too, sir.”
“Good. Well then, we should get along just fine. It won’t be terribly hard work, but they’ll be long days. I’ll pay you handsomely for your assistance, and I hope you’ll at least stay with us until mid-summer. And remember, just call me Jack.”
“That sounds great, Jack. I’m happy to help in any way I can. What kind of help do you need? I’ve done a lot in my life, but not much in the way of winery work.”
“Not a problem. I’ll always be around to direct you, and it won’t take long to get the hang of it. Some of what I’ll need from you goes beyond the winery. Did my wife discuss her business last night? I can’t for the life of me remember.”
I scan my brain but come up short. “I know she mentioned owning a business at the bonfire last night and that Paige works with her. I don’t think she gave specifics though. That, or my drunken memory fails me.”
“Okay, we
ll she and Paige run Watson Metalworks down on Main Street. You see it down there yesterday?” Jack leans back against the tractor, wiping an arm across his sweat-beaded forehead.
“I remember seeing the sign for it…big metal sign welded together, right? Looks badass, like it belongs outside a heavy metal venue or something.”
“That’s the one… My wife is a sculptor. Only I guess it’s sculpting with a twist. She hits junkyards, recycling facilities, pretty much wherever she can find scrap metal. We’re talking anything from screws to forks to bike rims. Whatever she finds that strikes her fancy, and she welds them together into sculptures using those parts. Started it years and years ago as a hobby, but things have really taken off over the last few years. Got so busy that Paige even started working for her when she finished college.”
He stands a bit taller now, pride pouring from his words. It’s the kind of pride a man should have for his wife and daughter. It’s endearing, but the only thing I can think of is how in the hell he can be so talkative this early in the morning… and after so much booze the night before.
“Watson Metalworks is one of the most popular stores in at least the nearest five counties and the internet side of the business has just started to explode this year.” He grabs another rag, this one clean, from the other side of his overalls and wipes his forehead again. This man sweats like he’s just finished a marathon. “Listen to me going on and on. Long story long, she often needs my help, which takes me away from the million-and-one things I need to do around here. They get so caught up on a new piece, shipping out orders or dealing with customers, they can’t seem to pull themselves away very often. A few years back, I could complain and make Paige do it, but I’d be lying if I said the store isn’t making as much money as this damn winery by now.”
I can barely make out what he’s saying. My head feels like a helium balloon seconds away from takeoff.
He cocks his head to the side. “You alright, Xander?”
“Yeah, I’m hanging in there.”
“You look like shit.”
“I feel like shit.” I smile—or attempt one, at least—and he laughs.
“Well, if I learned one thing in the Army, it’s that you’ve gotta work through hangovers.” He lifts himself from the tractor, laughing as he passes by. “Let’s go get you acquainted with the winery.”
I sit back down in the front room, grabbing my now lukewarm coffee and taking a nauseating chug of it. Only the Bailey’s helps keep it down.
Rowdy lies at my feet, rolling onto his back and pawing at me for attention. The sight of it is almost too much to bear. It’s been hard since our pit bull, Scout, died, so it’s nice to have a dog around again.
“Holy fuckin’ balls, bitch. You didn’t say he was that hot!” Brandi plops down beside me and swipes a forearm dramatically across her forehead.
“I did tell you!” I reach a hand down and oblige Rowdy’s begging. He laps a tongue against my arm in appreciation.
“You said he was hot, but he’s like… smoking hot. Dibs on that shit!” She laughs.
“Dibs?” The sound of my voice takes me back a bit. I didn’t mean for it to come off so… territorial.
She curls a lip and shoves me. “You bitch. You like him!” She swats my arm. “I mean, I don’t blame you, but I’d think with your parents right upstairs, he’d be off-limits.”
She’s right, of course.
“I don’t like him! I don’t even know him. He could be a complete creep.” I don’t even believe my own words.
“Okay, Paige, I’ve known you for how long now? Going on fifteen years. I’ve known your parents about the same. Your dad isn’t going to let some creeper near his family, so he must have seen something in him. He’s good at that shit.”
She’s right. My dad has always been protective of our family, especially with my mom and me, and at times, it’s almost too much.
“He was over here for like five hours last night drinking and talking with Dad. You think I like him? My dad’s in love. And the way he didn’t hesitate to put Benji in his place, I just think Dad’s got a good feeling about him.”
“Shit, I’ve got a good feeling about him too… and it’s in my panties.” She laughs and motions toward her crotch. “If I had been working and saw him do that to Benji’s fat ass, I would’ve let him fuck me right on top of the bar…and I would’ve let everyone watch.”
“Brandi!”
“I’m serious. Fuck it!”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Paige, don’t tell me you didn’t notice that anaconda stuffed into his jeans?”
“What?! What the fuck are you talking about? Anaconda? I wasn’t looking at his damn jeans.” I laugh, finding it hard to not to love this girl who has become like a sister to me. She’s the craziest bitch I know, but she’s got my back no matter what. She’s had it since day one. She’s never really had much in the way of family, so she became an unofficial member of ours a long time ago.
“Why wouldn’t you look at his jeans? That’s where his dick is! Well, you definitely missed out on quite a show! I’d bet he’s packing at least a niner. Maybe even a ten.” She says it so matter-of-fact that I can’t tell if she’s serious or just pulling my leg, but the chiming of the grandfather clock makes it irrelevant. I’m already late for work.
“Listen, I’ve gotta go, you little nympho. Can you put Rowdy in the guesthouse whenever you leave? You work at Whittaker’s tonight, right?” I stand and Rowdy hops up instantly to join me.
“Yeah, I’ll probably just hang out here and head out around five. You gonna stop by tonight?”
“I might. It depends when Mom lets me leave. The way it’s looking, I won’t get in to work until about ten.”
“Alright, well text me if you end up going. And, dear Lord, please bring that fine-ass specimen with you. I’m gonna go take a long nap in your bed and dream about Mr. Anaconda slithering into my cave.” She stands and heads toward the hallway.
“You have got to stop reading those romance novels.”
“Oh no, it’s not the romance novels. The erotica ones are what really get my pussy percolating.” She cackles and makes her way down the hall to my room.
“You need serious help, you know that, right? How are we even still friends?”
She turns her head, feigning a look of disgust, and then she flashes her wide, beautiful smile. “You love me, whore, and you know it.”
She blows me a kiss and disappears down the hall.
I slipped through the front doors of our shop, my hands full of lattes and donuts. Mom just rolls her eyes and laughs. A welder’s mask sits over her long brown hair, which is tucked beneath a blue bandana. Our latest project is in front of her, half-finished but actually starting to look like a dragon.
“Tough morning, my dear?” Mom pulls off the welder’s mask, setting it aside and sliding her reading glasses on top of her head.
I set the lattes and donuts on the massive wooden work table amongst different metal pieces and parts picked from junkyards and garage sales. There are also several projects in varying stages of completion. Mom never works on just one project at a time. Her mind is always going.
She’s taught me a little of the skill over the years, and though I truly enjoy it, I’m primarily the business side of Watson Metalworks. I got my degree in finance at Mizzou, and I’ve been running the books here ever since. I give Mom shit all the time, but she really is the greatest part of my life.
She came from the other side of the tracks, worked her way through art school and met Dad along the way. Their love is something I dream about. It’s something I long for. Not just yet… but one day.
“It wasn’t too bad. Brandi came over late last night, so she kept me up talking awhile. You know how she gets.”
“Did your new friend ever show up.?”
“Why is he my friend? Dad’s the one who took him in like a lost puppy… And yeah, he showed up right before I left.”
“Oh yeah?
Those two were quite drunk last night. I didn’t think either would remember.” She slips her glasses over her wise eyes and sits back down on her stool. Then she pulls pencil-drawn plans from a drawer and starts going over them. As if talking to the papers, she asks, “What was he wearing?”
“Mom?!”
“What? I’m just imagining a wife beater and a sexy pair of jeans. Maybe some work boots and a bandana.” She closes her eyes and throws her head back, letting out an exaggerated sigh, followed by a wicked laugh.
“Both you and Brandi need sex addiction therapy.” I head to my desk just a few steps away, take a seat and power up my computer.
“I’m forty-five, dear. That means I’m in my sexual prime.”
My thought: Mom and Dad naked, the sound of skin slapping skin.
My reaction: coffee creeping its way back up my throat.
“Please, mother of mine, keep all talk of your sexual activity with my father to yourself. I may not eat the rest of the day now!” I ball up a piece of paper and throw it at her head. It hits her squarely in the forehead—twelve years of softball weren’t wasted—and falls to the ground.
“The sexual activity we should be discussing”—she leans in and whispers as if telling a secret—”or lack thereof, I should say… is yours!” She chuckles.
“Mom, I think we have talked enough about my sexual activity to last me a lifetime. As an employee of Watson Metalworks, I could no doubt sue you for sexual harassment. Don’t you make me go there.”
“Well, good thing I’m your mother then, huh? And remember, I can still fire you.” She winks. “Now spill the beans!”
“Fine, he was wearing a wife beater, damn it. And holy shit, I almost fainted.”
“Did Brandi get a look at him?”
“You know she did.”
“I can only imagine how that went.”
“If I wasn’t there, I’m positive she would’ve undressed on the spot.”
“Oh boy, I love that girl, but I hope he steers clear!” She stops fiddling with the plans and looks at me. “Who was he eyeing more?”