“What would you think of being a more permanent chef here?”
“For what?” she asked.
“I have an idea for a little inn. So you’d just need to cook breakfast when there are guests. It might not be every day. And put together cheese plates for the afternoon, but you wouldn’t need to be here to serve them.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” she said. “That house is so giant.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sitting in a gorgeous window seat on the third floor.”
“I didn’t even know there was a third floor,” she said.
“Exactly,” I said. “It’s an old nursery. But I think we could turn it into a honeymoon suite one day.”
“There could be weddings . . . ,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Yours could be the first!”
“Mine?”
“To William!” she said.
“Who told you that?” I asked.
“Just a little idea Celeste had.”
“I never said anything to her . . .”
“I think it’s cute,” she said.
“Really?” I asked.
“I just want everyone to be happy,” she said. “But I don’t care either way. Your life is your life.”
“Well, nothing’s happening yet,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I clicked the phone off but realized I finally had the courage to call Ethan. I hadn’t talked to him in almost three weeks, and so much had happened. I officially felt awful for being so out of touch. I looked at my watch; it was around two o’clock in New York, and maybe he would be busy. I clicked call and he picked up on the second ring.
“Hannah!” he said. He sounded happier to hear from me than Annie had, which was a start.
“Hi,” I said. I wanted to seem neutral. I didn’t want to get his hopes up. Or, alternately, let him think that I was having too much fun.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Good,” I said. “I mean, weird; it’s been intense. Linda is teaching me about the business. And Everett had an accident, so it’s been crazy.”
“Wow,” he said.
“How’s your stuff coming?”
“Coming,” he said. “We have a prototype and we met with the venture capitalists today.”
“Wow,” I said.
“But they turned us down. There was a woman there who technically was our demographic and said that she would never use it.”
“But it’s a good idea,” I said. “A dating app for people who don’t want to write to one another sounds great to me. What does she know?”
“She said the name ‘LazyDatr’ was a turnoff.”
“You can change the name,” I said, kind of agreeing that it was a potentially polarizing name.
“It’s heartbreaking,” he said. “But I have to pretend that it isn’t. The guys went back to work after, but we’re meeting up later.”
“What are you going to tell them?”
“That we can do this without venture capital. We just need to get the thing finished and in the app store, and I’ll pay for ads with my own money; maybe they can contribute some too. It’s not like we need salaries or office space. We just need a server, and they already had a server that they played World of Warcraft on that they don’t use anymore, so we’re just repurposing.”
“That’s smart,” I said. “Shoestring app development.”
“It’s not hip, but I guess it’s what they mean when they say don’t quit your day job.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“About what?” he said.
“The venture capitalists,” I said.
“Oh,” he said.
“You want me to be sorry about something else?”
He was silent.
“I’m looking out the window at this beautiful landscape. It’s hard to be sorry,” I said. “And I’m throwing a party in two days.”
“Hard to be sorry? You can be so cold sometimes.”
“I’m not cold,” I said. “I’m just focused.”
“On a party?” he asked. “That’s insulting.”
“At the winery,” I said, instantly regretting it. “It’s like a promotional party. To get them more business and some publicity.”
“Is it sold out yet?”
“I didn’t really put a cap on tickets; I figured people would come and go. But we’ve sold a bunch and there will be food and wine and jazz.” Ugh. Nervous talking. He didn’t care about any of those details. I was being callous.
“You’re good at stuff like that. The party you threw for my birthday was really great. And I was even surprised.”
I nodded. It was a good party. His birthday was in early February and he always said the thing he missed about New York was how it would be cold on his birthday, which was a strange thing to miss, but people are weird. So I made a deal with the local ice-skating rink that we could use the rink in the evening when it was supposed to be closed just by paying the staff overtime. I invited all of our friends from school and made spiked hot chocolate and s’mores. Everyone was skating and drinking hot chocolate when Ethan and I arrived. He was truly shocked but had so much fun—there was even an impromptu hockey game for which they got me to wear a goalie uniform that we found in the locker room.
“That was fun,” I admitted.
“Well,” he said. “I miss you a lot. I wish you were here with me. I wish you cared, but it sounds like . . .”
“This was the right decision for me,” I said. “I’m sorry that it has affected you too.”
“But, Hannah,” I could hear the anger starting to rise in his voice. “I just still don’t understand. We’re right for each other. You’re throwing that away.”
“I don’t feel that way anymore.”
“You don’t feel that you’re throwing away our relationship? Or you don’t care?”
I didn’t know what to say. Should I tell him about William? The longer I was away from Ethan, the more I learned about myself during my time in Sonoma; I was coming to the conclusion that I had never come to in Iowa, New York, or Berkeley. I was enough. I didn’t need a boyfriend or a fancy job to complete me. I could complete myself. It was freeing. Not needing anyone.
“I don’t know what I think,” I said. “But I guess I feel like we should be on a break.”
“A break?! This wasn’t what you said when I left California.”
“Things have changed.”
“It’s been two and a half weeks. We were together for almost two years.” He was yelling now.
“I know, I know,” I said.
“I was going to propose to you.”
I was quiet. I had had a sense, but I didn’t know for sure.
“That was a misguided idea.”
I was still silent.
“Don’t be a jerk, Hannah. This is serious.”
“I’m sorry,” I finally said.
He paused. “Do you love me?” he asked. I could tell he was now trying to contain his rage.
“I have to go now,” I said. I clenched my jaw as I hung up. I didn’t want to tell him that I loved him when I just wasn’t sure anymore.
I hadn’t cried on the call, but the stress of it all, the rage, got to me the minute I hung up. I sat on the beautiful window seat and just let it all go. Tears about my loss of Ethan, about my loss of my past, about my uncertain future. My confused feelings. I liked William, but in order even to explore the possibilities with him, if there even were any, I needed to break Ethan’s heart. What was I going to do?
* * *
—
When I was finished crying, I washed my face in the beautiful vintage porcelain sink that was below a window that looked out on a gorgeous mountain vista. Sometimes beauty exacerbated sadness. When I looked
presentable again, I headed back downstairs, where I ran into Linda. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
I wondered if she could tell that I had been crying. “I was making breakfast, and then the nurse brought me to see Everett, and then I wanted to work on my idea.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m going down to the office. Are you coming?”
“Of course,” I said, following behind her.
“What was your idea?” she asked as we wended our way through the downstairs hall to the kitchen and out to the back.
I thought about telling her about the inn idea, but I realized that really, it wasn’t my place. If they were going to do it, Everett and she would have to decide together.
“I’m working on some centerpieces for the tables that kind of document the history of the winery,” I said. “Did you see the photo I took of Tannin licking one?”
“I didn’t, but it sounds nice,” she said. “Is everything else ready?”
“Jackson is coming to set up his equipment tomorrow and do a sound check.”
She didn’t visibly react to this fact, but I could sense that it made her excited. We settled in the office together, me calling local press to make sure they were promoting the party and she deeply engrossed in her e-mail. We didn’t talk about anything serious, or really anything at all, but it felt nice to be together.
* * *
—
That night, Celeste came over with a whole Mercedes full of food from Costco, which would be for the party, and a bag of tacos from her favorite food truck, El Coyote, which would be for us. We put away all the fancy cheeses and greens and then settled on the patio for sparkling rosé and al pastor tacos. She was wearing a white jumpsuit and a pink shrug. I was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt.
“What’s happening?” she asked as she unpacked the tacos. “Are we ready for Friday?”
“I guess so,” I said. “Jackson is doing a sound check tomorrow. Annie is prepping. I’ve sold a lot of tickets and they’re going to promote it on KRCB tomorrow morning and Friday morning. What else can I do?”
“Sounds about right,” she said.
We both sipped our wine and looked longingly at the remaining tacos, which we were too full to eat.
* * *
—
When Celeste was ready to leave, we went back inside together. I gave her a hug, and after she was gone, I collapsed on the couch. I stared at my phone for a little while and tried not to close my eyes. I was pretty much totally asleep, though, when the door opened and William came inside bearing kindling. “I was thinking I’d make a fire,” he said as I looked up sleepily from the couch.
“Okay,” I said. “That sounds nice.”
“You’re exhausted,” he said, settling himself in front of the fireplace. He made a little tepee of sticks and put balled-up newspaper in a line in front of it. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit the paper. The fire quickly roared to life. He examined the pile of wood that was stacked neatly next to the hearth. He picked a medium-size piece and put it on the blaze. It immediately died down. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’ll work.”
“I believe you,” I said.
“My dad told me that you came to visit him,” he said. “He really appreciated it. He likes you. And he wanted me to tell you that he really does want you to have the party.”
“Really?” I asked. He settled next to me and put my legs in his lap. We watched the fire together in a version of caveman TV. “I like him. We had a nice talk.”
“My mom seems to be acting weird,” he said.
I didn’t know what to say, so I just said, “She is? I haven’t noticed.”
“She is,” he said.
“I don’t know,” I said, feeling a bit deceptive about not telling William about what had happened right before the accident. It wasn’t my place to say. But I also hated keeping secrets. Although I seemed to have so many these days. “Maybe they had a fight before his accident and she feels bad?”
“She made him stay in my grandma’s room.”
“He does have to sleep in a hospital bed and have round-the-clock care,” I said.
“Good point,” he said. “I think things are okay here, though, right?”
“I guess,” I said.
“I mean, what I want to say is that I should go back to New York.”
This made my heart fall. I tried not to look as sad as I felt, but I don’t think I did a very good job. “Oh?” I managed.
“I promised myself this summer. My dad is okay. You’re here.”
“But . . .” I reached out and held his wrist.
“I know,” he said. “But we have plenty of time.”
“The party is in two days,” I said.
“You’ll be fine,” he said.
I wilted; the idea of losing to New York made me feel sad. William scooted over and hugged me. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I promise.”
CHAPTER 19
We were almost ready for the party. The food was staged in my giant refrigerator—the things we would need to prep last minute at the front, then the things we would serve first, and then the things we would serve later at the very back. I now understood why the cottage was arranged the way it was—Linda had planned it to be a prep station for events in the tasting room. Even though they rarely actually happened, Linda had been smart enough to plan for their eventuality. The stuff would be arriving in the morning, but for now, the cottage was empty for the first time in what felt like forever. Even though I was the only one actually living there, everyone was constantly coming and going out of the place. I was in desperate need of some time to unwind. I posted a photo of the full refrigerator on the Bellosguardo social media. “It’s not too late,” I wrote.
Celeste and Annie were gone for the night. William was gone for the summer. I was glad for the busy day of preparing for the party because I didn’t have time to notice that William had left in the middle of it. I mean, I told myself that I didn’t notice, but I did.
By the end of the day, I poured the last of a bottle of Chablis that had been used to make a white wine sauce into a juice glass—all the wineglasses were spoken for—and collapsed into the overstuffed white couch across from the fireplace. I wished I had enough energy to light a fire because it was chilly in the cottage—a proper Northern California night in June. But I also knew I would be asleep soon and it felt like a lot of effort. So instead I swathed myself in the alpaca blankets that Linda left scattered throughout the room.
William’s fire the night before had been the perfect thing. We had fallen asleep bathed in warmth and I had woken up in my bed, where he had tucked me in.
* * *
—
But now the day of the party was almost upon me. After a few sips of wine, I looked at my phone. I had been texting with William a bit throughout the day, but he hadn’t responded to my latest missive, a photo of the packed refrigerator. But what was there to say really? I felt incredibly anxious. What was he doing? In New York, there were people everywhere, and many of them were attractive. I knew that things could change in one minute there—you could meet eyes with someone on a subway platform or on line for a sandwich and magic could happen. My first year in New York, it had felt like magic happened every day. I was sure he was experiencing the same, if he ever had time to settle in. What was funny was that I wasn’t worried at all if Ethan was experiencing that magic. I even wanted him to find someone else, someone better.
Somehow I had managed not to let Celeste in on my secret romance with William, despite the fact that Celeste had been my most frequent companion the past few weeks and she was not shy about asking questions or about prying into bathrooms and even garbage cans. It was entirely possible that Celeste had talked to William and knew his side of the story—they were, after all, childhood friends—but he wasn’t much of a talker, so I was p
retty sure that he hadn’t told her anything. It was also possible that Celeste had gleaned small details from our conversations or things she had heard from people in town. Surely someone had seen us on our trip to Dillon Beach. Celeste loved gossip, so really nothing was off-limits. And she had, as I knew, dropped a hint to Annie that she thought we were together. But she hadn’t said anything to me directly, so that made me think she didn’t have any concrete evidence. Not that there really was anything to know, or so I told myself so I wouldn’t get too excited.
I texted William, “I miss you. xo,” and a photo of the unlit fire. As I hit send, I received a text that had been sent the night before but somehow hadn’t loaded into my phone.
From Ethan. “Good luck at your event,” it said.
He remembered. I experienced a momentary feeling of warmth toward him, immediately followed by guilt.
I wrote back “Thanks!” but then didn’t hit send. I didn’t really want to encourage him.
Yet again, I fell asleep on the couch in my clothes. And woke to Celeste shaking me awake. “Hannah! It’s party day! Get up!”
My first thought was to grab my phone, hoping that Celeste hadn’t seen a text on it, but even if she had, it didn’t matter. William still hadn’t texted me back. There is nothing worse than waking up to a blank phone.
“Okay,” I said, stretching as Celeste herded me toward the bathroom to take a shower. I shivered. “I’m ready. But why is it so cold?”
“You left the back door open,” Celeste said. She turned on the shower and handed me my face wash. “And the heat is off because it’s June. You’re lucky the cottage isn’t filled with snakes.”
“Snakes!” I splashed my face with water and scrubbed it with grapefruit scrub.
“You haven’t seen them on the patio?” Celeste asked as she handed me a towel to dry my face.
“I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Do you want to shower now? Or wait until later? You might not have a chance . . .”
“It’s five o’clock in the morning, Celeste,” I said. “I have to have time later.”
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