I suddenly have a feeling that he’s not really here to see me. “Did you come here to scope out the property?”
“I’m looking for land to grow a special reserve. I’m going to buy Russet Ranch.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s not for sale.” My tone is defensive.
“Babe, everything’s for sale.” He laughs, putting his arm around me.
I swat it away. “Not everything.”
“Seriously, Crystal, the land is being leased. The owner will be happy to sell when he sees my offer.”
Remember how I said Brent was like Bruce Wayne? More like Two-Face.
A clicking sound echoes from the back of the room. “She said the land is not for sale.” For heaven’s sake, Ed is standing in the doorway with a shotgun.
Brent puts his hands up and smirks. “Wow, no need to get dramatic. Mr. Martin, my name is Brent—”
Ed holds the gun up to his left eye. “I know who you are. And if you’re not off my property in thirty seconds, I’ll make sure the lead in your foot is a staunch reminder of why you should never come back here.”
“You wouldn’t shoot me.”
“Watch me.” Ed steps forward, forcing Brent to back up and out the front door onto the gravel.
With his hands in the air, Brent pleads his case, “I don’t understand why you want this place. You haven’t harvested in years. You’re letting someone else bottle your grapes. There’s no business here. I’ll offer you more than you can get on the lease.”
Ed shoots at the ground by Brent’s feet.
“Holy shit!” Brent screams as he dodges behind his car. “Are you fucking crazy?”
I step up beside Ed and shout at Brent, “We said, it’s not for sale!”
Brent stops and does a double take at me.
“Oh, and, Brent, I do not, will not, and will never want to go to Sausalito with you. Or Tahoe. Or anywhere.”
“Excuse me?” he asks incredulously, even with Ed pointing a shotgun at him.
“I’m busy. I have a vineyard to run,” I state proudly.
Ed shoots at the ground again, forcing Brent back into his car and kicking dirt up with the rapid speed he is driving away.
With Brent’s dust in the air, Ed lowers his shotgun and gives me a shrug. “Looks like it’s time to start harvesting again.”
chapter TWENTY
New York City has a reputation for people who sit on stoops and look out at the neighborhood. I’ve spent thirty years in the greatest city in the world, and I’ve never spent more time on a stoop than I have since moving in with Naomi.
I’m watching three of the neighborhood kids playing Star Wars in the front yard. When I was a kid, we’d hold a hairbrush and pretend there was a lightsaber pouring out the top. You’d have to announce to the crowd what color it was, so they knew what to picture in their heads. Today, kids have actual lightsabers, like in the movies. There’s no imagination involved.
Eh, listen to me, an old crabby lady complaining about the neighborhood kids.
Maybe this is who I’ll be. Most single girls worry about being the cat lady. I’ll be the lady on my lawn chair on the sidewalk, yelling at the kids to get off my grass.
The porch door closes behind me, and light footsteps approach. Scarlet takes a seat beside me. Together, we watch the kids.
“Why don’t you play with them?” I ask.
“They’re not my friends,” she answers.
“Why not?”
“Because they’re just not. Why? Because they look to be my age, you would assume I should just walk over there and play with them?” Her mouth is pursed. She is awfully defensive on the topic.
“Well, yeah. That’s what kids do. You’re kids. You play.”
“That’s like me telling you to marry a man just because he’s single,” she retorts.
Okay, she has a point. But still. “I’m not proposing a lifelong friendship. Just an afternoon of laser tag.”
“I don’t play laser tag.”
“Manhunt?” My suggestion earns me a scowl. “I don’t know. What do you like?”
She shrugs. “I like to read. I like to play chess and watch Harry Potter movies. I don’t like trading Shopkins or playing games where you have to find a base.”
“Scarlet, you have a million years to exclude yourself from things. These are the years to cherish your inability to isolate people.”
She is staring at me like I just spoke to her in another language.
“What I mean is, maybe there’s something you do have in common with them. You can’t choose your friends based on them only liking the things you like. Maybe you’ll learn something new from them. Or, better yet, you might be able to teach them something new. Like chess. Go on, and give it a try.”
Scarlet rolls her eyes at me and then looks back at the kids. “You really think they’ll play with me?”
I give her shoulder a little nudge. “You’ll never know unless you try.”
“All right.” Scarlet blows a loud puff of air out of her mouth. Then, she rises and walks across the street.
There are two boys and a girl playing. When Scarlet walks over, the little girl stops running and walks over to Scarlet. They talk for a moment, and then they shake hands, their fists jumping up and down rather dramatically. The little girl asks Scarlet something. Scarlet shakes her head and says something back, and the little girl shakes her head. Then, the little girl picks up a piece of chalk, and Scarlet agrees. The two fall to their knees and start drawing on the sidewalk. The other girl seems bossy, which could be good for Scarlet. They draw and laugh, and after a while, Scarlet looks back over to me, still on the stoop, and smiles.
Naomi settles next to me with a cup of coffee in her hand, another being offered to me.
“Good job, Aunt Crystal.” She leans into me and puts her head on my shoulder. “You’re gonna be a great mom someday.”
“Yeah, someday,” I sigh. “Believe it or not, that’s not the end game for me anymore.”
“What is?”
I lean my head on top of Naomi’s. “Happiness. Being surrounded by good friends. If I meet someone and fall in love, then I will. If I don’t, I know I have you. I have my family. I have things that matter.”
“Love matters. Just because it didn’t work out with Steven or Nate or Brent—”
“Or the countless dates I’ve been on since I was sixteen,” I interrupt with a grimace.
Naomi offers a half-laugh and then continues, “It doesn’t mean the right man isn’t out there. What happened to the girl who made it her life’s mission to fall in love?”
“I still want that. I still want love. And not with someone who checks all the boxes. I want a real-life love with fighting and making up and sharing each other’s interests even if they’re not your own. The problem with Steven wasn’t just that we had nothing in common. The problem was, we never loved each other enough to try.”
Naomi leans up and offers me a sad smile. “As much as I’ve wanted you to admit that to yourself, it doesn’t feel as victorious as I thought it would.”
“You’re a great friend, Nay. You’re the only person I could love for a decade from three thousand miles away.”
“And you’re the only permanent house guest I would ever allow in my house. To the contrary of the old saying, you are not like fish.”
“Glad to know I don’t smell.”
“Well, sometimes, when you use those bath oils…”
“Ass.” I push her with the side of my body. Her coffee swims in her cup.
“Nerd.” She pushes back.
We look back at Scarlet, who is now playing hopscotch.
“You’re a really great mom. I don’t know many women who, at such a young age, would have created such a beautiful life for their daughter. I don’t think I tell you enough how amazing you are.”
“I had you by my side the entire time. Even if it was through a phone call, you were always there.”
We sit in silence. Sipping coffee,
watching life happen.
“I think I should call Steven.”
“I think you should, too,” she says. When she feels my body tense beside her, she adds, “Were you hoping I’d talk you out of it? Give him a call. It’ll be good for you. Both of you.”
I nod into my cup. Naomi picks my cell phone up off the floor, and with a forceful look, she hands it to me and walks back into the house.
The phone feels like a million pounds in my hand. After seven years, I am doing something I should have done…well, seven years ago.
I stand and pace on the porch, listening to the phone ring and hoping it goes to voice mail. And then I hope it doesn’t go to voice mail because then I’d have to think about what to say on said voice mail. But, if he picks up, I’d have to actually talk to him and—
“Hello?” the baritone of the man I met in Paris pours through the phone.
I stop pacing and think of something to say. “Hi.”
“Hi.” And then there’s an awkward pause. “Crystal?”
“You knew it was me. Yes, of course you did. You have my number.”
“Same number I tried to get you to change when you moved to Michigan. Good thing you didn’t,” he jokes. Then, it’s followed by silence. A silence that’s broken by a baby’s cry in the background.
“I was calling to wish you congratulations. On your daughter. Addison, right? I’m still friends with your aunt on Facebook.”
“Addison. And, yes, she is a little diva.” He laughs, and then his coos can be heard through the phone, calming his daughter down. “I saw you moved to California. Good for you.”
“Gotta love Facebook. Yeah, I moved in with Naomi and her family.”
“Tell her I said hello. Jeremy, too. I assume they’re still together. Did they have any more kids?”
“No. Just Scarlet, and she’s amazing. She’s eight and like a little Doctor Ruth. She gives the best advice sometimes. It’s scary.”
“How are you?”
“I’m good. You? Married, baby. Sounds like you have a great life.”
“I do.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Crystal, hang on a second.” He puts the phone down, and I can hear him talking to someone in the background.
“Hold Addison for a moment. I’m on the phone with Crystal,” he says to someone else.
“Crystal, Crystal?” the other voice says.
“Yes. Just one minute.” Then, coming back on the phone, he says, “You still there?”
“Yes, I’m here.” I wave in the air and then put my hand down, realizing he can’t see me.
“I’m glad you called because I have to say something to you.” He pauses a beat. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not following you when you left. I was your husband, and I should have tried to make it work. I made you leave your home, your friends, everything you knew, and I never gave you anything in return. And, when you left, I should have at least tried to get you back. But I didn’t.”
“Steven, that’s not why I called—”
“Jenny, my wife, made me realize what a husband should be. What a man should be. I wasn’t one for you. And I’m sorry about that.”
“You didn’t owe me anything. You were a great husband. I’m the one who was wrong. I didn’t even try to fit into your life. I fought it every step of the way. Looking back, I know you tried to make me happy, and I did nothing to reciprocate. You just weren’t for me. And I wasn’t for you.”
“And that leaves me to say the one thing I’ve wanted to say to you. Thank you. Thank you for ending something that wasn’t right. If you’d stayed, we probably would have stayed in the same circle of discontent. That’s not the life we deserve. I didn’t understand it until I met Jenny, and I swear to you, when I held Addison for the first time, I knew I was in the exact place I was meant to be. With the people I was meant to be with. I never would have been with them, and I wouldn’t be the husband I am if it wasn’t for you.”
“You’re a good man, Steven. I’m happy you’re happy. I mean that.”
“I’m really glad you called.” He chuckles lightly. “Stay in touch? It’s good to hear your voice.”
“I will,” I say even though we know this is the last time we’ll ever talk to each other again. It’s the closure we both needed.
“And, Crystal,” he adds just before I'm about to hang up, “I'm not really such a ducker, am I?”
I let out a small laugh. “No, Steven, you're not.”
I hang up and then take a breath of relief. A chapter of my life is closed, no longer lingering on the present.
I pick up the phone and dial my friend Emma.
“Thank God you called. My ankles are swollen, I’m on permanent bed rest because of an incompetent uterus, and my controlling husband won’t let me move an inch. He even gives me a hard time about peeing! I need some real entertainment that doesn’t come from Netflix. Please tell me you have a story for me,” she bellows through the phone.
“Oh, have I got a story for you.” I lean against the railing and talk to my friend. I love my friends.
I did something really monumental. I deleted my dating apps. And not just to replace it with a new one. Nope, I am off-line—dating-wise, that is.
It’s liberating in a way. It doesn’t mean I’m giving up on finding Mr. Right. I’m just not going to pick him based on a résumé. I’m going to give the world of organic dating a try. And cooking. I’m teaching myself how to cook.
And, to my surprise, it’s not as scary as I thought—the organic dating part, that is.
Case in point—Simon. I met him at the market. I decided it’s time I learn to cook, so I came out here to pick up some fresh produce to make dinner tonight. He caught me staring wistfully at a piece of sea bass. As I wondered how I could transform it into the teriyaki-glazed goodness I had at a restaurant in Miami, he came over to place an order for fresh clams, six of them, for a sauce he was making.
We started talking. He joked, and I laughed. I left the market bass-less but with a new phone number plugged into my phone.
Tonight is our first date.
Wearing a pair of jeans and a silk top, a camisole, and knee-high boots, I am waiting for Simon to pick me up. Yes, I am letting him pick me up like a normal date. And I am letting him pick the place.
We head south. I’m surprised we’re not going somewhere in St. Helena, as we’re both from here.
“You like music?” he asks. “I know a place that has a great band.”
And can you imagine my surprise when said place with a great band is the one place I have been avoiding for weeks?
“You like The Barge Poppers?” I ask when we pull up to Henley’s Bar.
“You know them? My cousin, Justin, is the in the band,” Simon answers with a huge smile, proud he chose right for our date tonight.
If this were any other circumstance, I’d be excited that we had a common interest. No, I am excited that we both like The Barge Poppers. I’m just not excited that I have to walk inside. It’s Wednesday night. Nate works on Wednesday nights.
“I love them,” I say before realizing I shouldn’t have said that. Now, there’s no turning back.
“I knew I liked you, Crystal Reid.” He gets out and then swings around to my side of the car to open my door.
Together, we walk through the door of Henley’s.
The place is packed. Simon sees his cousin and gets waved over. Justin saved a table for us by the front. He recognizes me and asks if I’ll play. Of course I’ll play. I love this band. I can’t help but look around the room. I don’t see Nate anywhere. That doesn’t mean he’s not here though.
Laurie approaches the table. “Hey you! And you! Fancy seeing you two together.”
Simon looks at me with a grin. This couldn’t be more right, yet it feels so weird. Laurie hands us menus. Actual menus. Apparently, Simon likes to eat here. I order a burger and fries. He gets a steak sandwich. I order a vod
ka tonic. He gets a Captain and Coke. He looks at the band as they begin to play. I look at the bar.
“What are you going to play tonight?” Simon asks.
“Huh? Oh, I don’t know. Any requests?”
“I’m not good at that sort of thing. Justin is the music guy in the family.”
Nate appears by the bar with his back to me.
I try to keep my attention on Simon. “What is it that you do?” I ask.
“I have a distribution route. Some wineries don’t grow their own grapes. I transport them up and down the state.”
Our drinks are served. Mine is exactly as I ordered it.
I look up, and see Nate. Maybe he doesn’t know I’m here. Maybe he does. Doesn’t matter.
“What do you do?” Simon asks.
“I work at Russet Ranch, off Eldorado?” It’s the first time I haven’t told someone I am a cellist.
Simon shakes his head, not familiar with the vineyard.
He talks about the wineries he works with, and I can’t help but look over at Nate. He is pouring wine, serving beer, mixing cocktails. His sole focus is on his job, so much so that it’s like he doesn’t want to look up.
Nate stops what he’s doing when he reaches in his pocket and takes out his phone. His forehead wrinkles at the sight of the caller ID. With the phone to his ear, he holds the other hand up to his free ear and leans down, trying to hear the call. His eyes darting back and forth, his face is pinched in frustration. He can’t hear the caller on the other end. He steps back from the bar and swings around, getting away from the noise. Walking through the crowd, his hands still up to his ears, he charges out of the room and out the side door.
It isn’t my place to care what is happening. We had a moment, and now, it’s over. Yet…
Goddamn it, I know that look. I’ve seen the confusion and panic on his face before. Something must have happened to his wife, and if he’s walking away from the bar, it must be bad.
“I’ll be back,” I tell Simon. I am instantly on my feet.
Following Nate out the side door, I see him standing by the river’s edge.
“Say that again. What happened?” His back muscles are taut and tense, visible from the thin long-sleeved shirt he’s wearing. “Oh my God. I—okay, I’m at work, but I’ll be right there. I’m on my way.” He hangs up the phone and then shouts to himself, “Fuck!”
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