The Gift, page 13
“It must have made some sense, because you got it! Now repeat what you just did, over and over.” I smile and walk away.
“Thanks!” she screams again.
“You’re welcome.”
Scanning the room, everyone else seems in the zone. Too bad the bell is about to ring. But I can’t wait for them to leave so I can practice my audition pieces. Who’s the worst teacher ever?
What does my urge mean on a deeper level, though? Now that I have another chance at my original dream, is my heart trying to tell me to stay with it? But being in Temecula Valley with David felt right too. I must be even more messed up than I thought if I want two careers now when a few weeks ago I didn’t even want one most days.
Ring.
“Okay, class, see you in a few days.”
Everyone shuffles away, and I set up my chair and cello to wait out the traffic.
“Toni?” Christian’s familiar voice echoes in the band room.
“Hey! What are you doing here?” I set my bow down on the chair and approach him.
He enters and closes the door, pulling out a bouquet of burgundy peonies from behind his back.
“What’s this?”
“These are for you, Tone Tone.” He hands me the flowers, and their sweet scent fills the space between us. I bring them closer to my nose and breathe in their beauty.
“Thank you, but what’s happening? Why are you here, at my school, on a Wednesday? With flowers?”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“You did.”
“I figured we’d have a date night. You’ve been working so hard, and I wanted to give you a night of fun.” He wraps his arms around me and plants a kiss on my lips.
I’m still in shock at the turn of events, all the way around, so my lips barely move.
“What’s wrong?” He keeps me in his grip but moves his head away from mine.
“Nothing. I’m just…”—I pause to choose my words carefully—“happy to see you.”
“Clean up. Let’s go. I want to take you somewhere we haven’t been in a while,” he says.
“Alrighty then. Let me put these flowers in water, and I’ll get them later when I get my car.”
Yup, I was right to stop those other thoughts.
After driving for a while, he asks, “Any ideas for where we’re going?”
“I can honestly say I have no idea. Wait, are you taking me to our new mansion in Beverly Hills? You got us a house. Well, don’t worry because I’m not angry you didn’t see if I liked it first. I’ll live in whatever mansion you bought.”
Christian straightens his arms and extends his back so that his angled head almost touches the roof. “Yes, how’d you guess? I also sent a driver to pick up your car so you won’t have to fetch it later.”
“You do love me.” I flutter my eyelashes while my hands meet in prayer form under my chin.
“Of course I do,” Christian’s tone turns serious.
“So, where are we going, then?” I bite the inside of my lip. Please forget my poor choice of words, Christian.
“We’re almost there. One last chance for a guess.”
Looking at our surroundings, it hits me. “The Apple Pan!”
“Ding, ding, ding. You’re a winner.” Just as he proclaims my win, he parks in an open space on the street, a victory for both of us in this busy city.
“It’s been forever.” Images of our whirlwind romance before marriage enter my mind, filled with greasy, satisfying burgers and mounds of salty fries. “How did you even think of this place?”
“It’s all part of the anniversary extravaganza.” He feeds the meter and reaches for my hand.
I clutch his hand in return while we start walking down the street to one of our first dating locations. “Is it now?”
“Yes, I made reservations at the restaurant you told me you liked from Taste of Italy, but the rest is a surprise. So, I figured why not start the fun now?”
“I like this thought.”
“I’m glad.” He holds the door of the restaurant open for me, and we fill two red vinyl seats at the 1940s U-shaped counter. “I already know what you’re having.”
“Oh, you know me so well.” I roll my eyes.
“I’d like to think I do. You’ll have the hickory burger.”
“Well, obviously. The sweet-and-smoky sauce combines with the mayo in a way words can’t express. Then the crunchy lettuce and cheese—”
“Excuse me, but cheese is extra.”
“And necessary.” I exaggerate a smile.
He turns his head both ways. “The place hasn’t changed at all.”
“That’s why you brought me here in the first place, remember? You said it stood the test of time, just like you and I would.” David’s face pops into my head, but frustration I’ve never felt toward him follows. Get out of my head. Vamoose!
“That’s right. Good memory, Toni. Just like I’m seldom wrong and right again.”
I’m not sure if he’s kidding, but whatever. I’m about to be in a food coma.
Once we’re almost at the finale of devouring the last bites of the famous food, Christian dabs his mouth on his napkin and says, “I spoke to Tad this week.”
I remain clutching my ice-cold glass filled with soda and lean on the counter for support. Who knows what’s coming? “You called Tad?”
“Yeah, I wanted more information on cost of this whole thing and to see if there are any wineries for sale in the ‘Bu, not just land for a vineyard.”
“Oh.” My eyebrows must be at my hairline. “You’re full of surprises today.”
“This seems to mean something to you, so I thought I’d get the facts.” He bites the end of a fry.
“And?”
“There aren’t any wineries for sale that also have land available. We could buy a tasting room, but the vineyard would be in another location. It’s not the best scenario, but it’s more cost effective.”
The more-cost-effective option doesn’t sound like my dream scenario, though. “How much would I be able to be hands-on with growing my grapes?” I’m trying not to feel the sadness creeping into my throat, stifling my voice.
“I’m not sure, but Tad thinks—”
Tad is getting on my last nerve all of a sudden. Doesn’t anyone understand my vision?
“—that it wouldn’t be that different because we’d have to hire people to take care of the land anyway.”
The difference is my soul would be separated from my heart, but I can’t rock the boat just as Christian steps aboard. “That’s something to think about,” I murmur, hoping I sound convincing.
“There’s a lot to this, Toni. You don’t know what it all entails.”
“I’ve been getting more familiarized with the industry, but I’m sure I won’t know every little thing until the plan is in motion.”
“We can’t function like that going into a business.”
Where did this businessman come from who doesn’t remember what it’s like to have a dream? Instead of causing a fight at a place of a cherished memory, I nod. “I know. You’re right.” And he probably is right.
“We’re going to at least give Tad’s idea a chance.”
The chilliness of my soda glass has turned into a hand warmer. I wipe the sweat from it onto my pants and force a smile. “I guess we will.”
Focus on the movement, Toni. Focus on almost being in unison with Christian. You’re a step closer to the career you want—at least for the moment.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Murphy’s Law is in action for my audition pieces. Of course they’re coming easier than ever to me, and I’m not nearly as nervous as in the past for my audition in two weeks. You know why? Because I have another career passion now, and I’m not placing all my eggs in one basket. Maybe the judges smelled my desperation in the past.
“Nala, what did you think of my performance tonight?”
She continues to toss around a thread that must’ve fallen from a piece of clothing. It’s way more important than my question. The nerve of her, acting like a cat.
Spotting my laptop on the couch, I say, “You know, I should try to find something on Pietro’s winery again,” continuing to talk to Nala like I’ll receive a response. I was sucked into all the info about wine and vineyards so fast before and never got back to looking into what prompted the search. “The need for change overtook me, principessa. Ooh, maybe I can find a bit of info to help me sway Christian away from Malibu. Something’s not right over there, Nala. Don’t ask what I’m looking for, but it’s worth a try to search for it.”
She rolls over and away from me, extremely interested.
But as I open my laptop, I see her stop moving then glance back at me, as if knowing she’s being naughty. “What’s going on over there?” She’s chewing on the string, so I rush to pull it from her mouth. “Hey, that’s not for eating.”
She stares at her lost toy in my hand with an unchanging downturned grumpy mouth.
“We gotta keep you alive, amore mia,” I say as I pet her lioness mane of fluffy fur.
She lifts her head so I can rub under her chin more effectively. I know her game.
“Oh, you cutie. That’s right, here you go. Now be good. Momma’s gonna look up something.”
Back at my computer, I wonder what terms I can enter that’ll bring up my ancestor. And I won’t get distracted this time, I swear. Pietro Agosti is such a common name, though, jeez. There are pages upon pages of men with his name.
Scrolling, scrolling…
Nothing looks favorable.
Hmm, maybe I need to enter the year he came to the US with his name. So, I type in Pietro Agosti, 1911.
Oh great, now every entry listing is in Italian. I don’t know that many Italian words. Let’s try Pietro Agosti, 1911, Los Angeles. Come on, English.
After I click enter, the first listing that appears seems promising. Yet, all I see is a story about another man mentioning Pietro Agosti as a fellow Italian immigrant. I’m not even sure this Pietro is my Pietro.
By examining a few more links, my attention is captured by an article explaining how immigrants not only followed advice to start their livelihood making wine from friends and family in this foreign land—owned by Mexico at the time—but also their hearts. Just like Pietro! And all because that one man, Jean Louis Vignes, took a chance to pave the way, influencing American history.
Wait a second. His name was Vignes. I remember seeing a street downtown called Vignes Street. It all comes together now…
I type in the last name plus the word meaning into Google, and sure enough, it shows what I thought—the word vines. Mr. Vines, make way for Ms. Vines. And since all of this happened at around fifty years old for Mr. V, I’ve still got plenty of time. Good for you for reaching success in later life, Mr. Vignes. I stop and stare out the sliding glass doors, imagining possibilities planted by pure belief.
Searching deeper online, I see how wineries covered as far north as Macy Street and south to Washington Street, with Los Angeles Street in the west to Boyle Heights in the east. Wow, to think I’ve driven in that area countless times and never knew its history, passing through Little Tokyo and the oldest area of downtown. Some of those streets may not even exist anymore, but they were there and made an unforgettable impact.
Come on, Google, let me find more on Pietro.
After what feels like seconds turning out to be hours, I come across a picture of a list of wineries and their owners. Oh my God, there’s his name, listed almost at the top because of alphabetical order. Pietro’s winery was called Agosti Cantine. But isn’t the word cantine or cantina Spanish?
My mind speeds in a million directions. I have to find where his winery existed. I need to visit! But first, I type cantina into Google Translate, which reveals the meaning of cellar in Italian. Alright, so Agosti Cellars. The stunning name makes me sit taller.
“Nala, I know the name of my family’s winery!”
She continues sleeping without a movement in reaction.
I return to a previous tab and examine one article again, hoping I missed a clue about Pietro’s winery location in something I read tonight. Spoiler alert: I didn’t, but there is an encouraging link at the bottom titled “Prohibition and the End of an Era.” That’s a must-click.
Scanning it, I see what Uncle Roberto told me matches this information to a tee. Poor Pietro was forced to watch all he built slip away during those years of Prohibition. It’s heartbreaking.
But what’s this?
A section of the article has quotes from various winery owners of the time. I wish Pietro was one of them, but regardless, here’s more emotional evidence that I’m on the right track.
“I knew this was the land for me when I saw it, no matter what happens now. I do not regret anything.”
Emiliano Nelli
Another man’s words sum up how I feel about the immigrants that built America.
“I will start again, until I die. Nothing will stop my dream.”
Marco Zanoni
That’s the Italian American way right there, and it lives in me with every beat in my chest.
Even though what I found tonight aren’t cold hard facts to pursue my vines, I take them as omens that I’m headed in the right direction, placing my sights in Temecula Valley. Christian will be hearing his own bit of advice—he needs to give my idea for location a chance as well. And I need to uncover the guts to let him know about it.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
"This is a great place, Toni. I’m glad you found it at Taste of Italy.” Christian eyes the dimly lit room.
“I’m tempted to get the same cacio e pepe spaghetti I had there, but I probably should have something else.”
“Why change if you know it’s good enough?”
Lucky for me, he turns his head at the sound of a utensil falling to the tile floor, or he would have seen my eyes widen. I don’t want good enough in my life in any way. This is our tenth anniversary—we made it!—and our survival needs to be celebrated in a way that’s more than good enough, starting with the pasta. I already need to convince him that he’ll love land down south, which fills my stomach with butterflies, and that Malibu is not good enough. Instead of releasing my innermost thoughts, I softly reply to the question he probably didn’t know I’d answer. “I think I need a change.”
You know the other change I need, and thank God it isn’t involving my husband. David, you were wrong. But thanks for being a friend.
Friend.
“What are you thinking about, then?” Christian holds up the menu and interrupts my trainwreck stream of consciousness.
“Umm…” I take a look at the choices. “I’d like caprese to start. What about you? Wanna share?”
“Yeah, I could go for that,” he replies. “And I assume you’d like wine. Maybe I’ll try yours, but I don’t want to try my own again tonight.”
“Sure.” I’m pleased he’s even thinking about sipping wine nowadays. “Let me see what they have… Oh, I’ll try this sauvignon blanc”—I point to it on the menu to show him—“because I think I’ll have veal piccata for dinner. I’m already learning a little about pairing.” I leave out that some of my knowledge was gained from the day in Temecula Valley, eating on the patio with David.
“Impressive. I’ll have the ziti with sausage and peppers. What beer pairs with that, in your professional opinion?” He smirks.
“Well, I’d suggest a…”—I scan the choices—“medium type beer.”
He laughs. “A medium beer. I think we have some work to do on your beer terminology.”
“Good thing I don’t want to start a brewery.” I throw my hands in the air, and my shoulder pinches in pain.
Christian, oblivious, says, “Toni, I know tonight is supposed to be fun for us, but—”
“Hello, you two. May I get you started on drinks?”
The server couldn’t have appeared seconds later?
I rub my shoulder and take a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” She leans down, making closer eye contact with me.
“She’s fine,” Christian answers for me.
“Um, yeah.” I look from him to our kind server. “I have an injury, but I’m alright.”
She proceeds. “I’m sorry to hear that. Now, what would you both like?”
After our order has been taken, I ask, “So, what were you saying? Something about tonight being fun.”
“Oh, yes. I want to make sure you love my surprise later, and you will, but right now, I’d like to mention a development.” He smiles and seems like he’s about to announce he won an Oscar from the way he puffs out his chest.
“A development? Are we entering a contract?” I joke.
“Not yet.”
Giggling to release those butterflies through my mouth, I ask, “What?”
“I set up another meeting with Tad so we could see about the new options. Isn’t that a nice anniversary gift from your loving husband?”
Tad strikes again. I should’ve known from what Christian last said that he’d be quick on the draw. I just hoped there’d be time to convince him of other options, once I got my courage up.
“Toni? Did you hear me? Isn’t that great?”
I stare at the corner of the room, focusing on a server spreading linen cloth over a table. Ripples form mid-air before settling into smoothness, just like the ocean’s waves outside these restaurant walls. Tonight is for fun, I remember. Be a good wife, play along, go with the flow, and stay as smooth as the tablecloths.
Gripping the edge of my own table’s linen above my lap, I respond, “I thought we’d wait a minute, but alright.” How could I not be involved in the decision-making for my own winery? Breathe.
