The Gift, page 24
“I wouldn’t miss it. How do you feel?” His voice echoes off the building.
“It was truly epic. I’ll never forget flowing in rhythm with the other musicians, all while the audience enjoyed what we were doing for them.” I pause then add in a whisper, “It was for me too.”
“This audience member is extremely proud, watching you in your element up there on stage.” Dad’s smile matches the passion remaining in my body, amplified by seeing him. “You almost made your old man teary. What a performance.”
“This viewer almost cried too,” Mom inserts.
“Almost?” Dad asks with a hint of friendly sarcasm.
“Okay, okay, but I can cry a little, seeing my baby on stage. Toni, you could be offered the position, you virtuoso, you.”
“Fat chance, but thanks.”
“I can’t believe you still think that. You just played with that orchestra in there.” He points toward the concert hall. “You always wanted to, and you did it. What makes you so sure the other candidate can match what you gave us tonight in your performance?” Dad crosses his arms and widens his stance.
“Don’t diminish yourself. You’re here for a reason.” Mom nods in emphasis.
“I know you’re both right, but I…I can’t get ahead of myself on this. Plus, I…”—my voice lowers—“applied for an agricultural loan too.” My eyes travel to the side.
Both take a beat before responding.
“I’m not going to say I’m happy about it, but I always want you to be happy.” Dad uncrosses his arms.
“I am.” But am I? I was positive until tonight that the winery is the way to go.
And look at Dad, trying to release his dream for me. Oh, his face, with those downturned lips and heavy eyes. I can’t take it. My heart can’t take breaking his heart either.
“I don’t understand why you’re going through all of this if you’re just going to change careers anyway.” Mom’s brow furrows.
My mouth opens to give her an answer but stalls. “I don’t understand anymore either.” I never thought I’d make it this far, and I never expected that fulfilling my childhood wish of playing on stage with LA Phil would feel as full circle as it did. I need to savor the last round tomorrow because who knows what the future holds.
Dad’s face loses more light, but he manages to say, “You will. We all go through tough times.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I say. If they only knew the extent of my marriage debacle.
No matter how many times I want to convince myself Dad will be fine with whichever path I choose, I can’t ignore reality. He would be disappointed if I left the music business. I know it. But I also know he loves me regardless and, as he just said, wants me to be happy.
“Come on, let’s go and get something to eat,” Mom suggests.
“Yes!” Anything to get me out of this loop, and food is always a healing distraction to solving life-altering decisions.
Chapter
Forty-Six
"This is really unbelievable, Toni. I can’t believe you know the exact location of our Pietro’s winery.” Dad’s eyes open wide as he drives Mom, Flora, and me to the spot listed on the deed.
“Not the exact location, but the best estimate I can make, so yeah, tell me about it. We’re so lucky to have the information Uncle Roberto sent. Gazing at that document and that picture are moments I’ll never forget.” There are a lot of those in my life this year.
“I’m stoked. But hey, tell us about last night’s concert.” Flora nudges my thigh from the other side of the backseat of my parents’ car.
“It was…fun, wonderful, otherworldly…” I stare out the window, lost in the simplicity of playing with LA Phil, which is ironic for how difficult it’s been to get to this point. The experience last night topped both the rehearsal and the concert the night before somehow. While flying through the songs, I was able to be at ease and cherish every single second. The times when my playing glides through time in a state of flow are times I never take for granted.
But I don’t want to talk about it right now, risking convincing myself that it’s the right place for me—I won’t be chosen anyway. The idea of being in LA Phil was just an exciting few months of thinking it was a possibility while planning for what I can control—opening my business. See, I’m being how Christian wants me to be, with more logic and less dreaming. Wouldn’t that spin be shocking to him?
Flora shifts her weight toward me. “And? Tell us more. I wasn’t as fortunate as Mom and Dad to be able to see you play in the first show.”
“There’s not much more to say. I loved it, had the time of my life. Now, I wait.” She should pick up on my attempt to shut down the topic, but my parents are another story.
“Oh, it was beautiful, Flora.” Mom looks back at both of us and smiles.
Right on cue.
“It’s too bad there weren’t four tickets available, one for you and one for Christian.” Her voice trails off at the end like she’s revealing a secret.
I glare at Flora with intensity. If she didn’t catch my drift earlier, she will now, if I know my sister.
She mirrors my fierceness and says, “Yeah, that’s okay. I was busy at the shop. But it doesn’t mean I’m not proud of you, Toni. When will you hear if you got the position?”
What the heck? Who is this stranger?
I exaggerate my unblinking glare this time, scanning the front passengers for any traveling eyes.
Flora mouths, “Oh.”
“Soon,” I snip.
“How far is this place today, anyway?” Flora finally gets a clue.
“From Grenada Hills, the way I drive, twenty minutes, tops.” Dad grins. “Hey, let’s play some Christmas music and sing along.”
“Like the old days! Yes, Carmine, great idea.” Mom starts scanning the radio for holiday stations.
“Viola, I’ll use my playlist.” Dad presses a few buttons on his dashboard, which looks like the cockpit of a commercial jet, and a few seconds later, his chosen Christmas song blasts from his high-end speakers. If there’s two non-human loves in his life, they’re technology and music, so uniting them in his car is obvious.
All of us belt out the lyrics to Dad’s favorite singer’s classic song, “Blue Christmas,” as we travel on the freeway, trying to imitate every inflection Elvis exudes. We don’t miss a beat, being the musical family we are. Mentally, I brush my shoulders in copycat pride. Hey, it’s the little things, right?
Stress isn’t possible when Christmas music is playing, but if Christian were here, he’d scowl at the family choir these days. Maybe the music could even win him over, though—it’s that powerful. If it could help me forget Christian ignored me for one of the most important weeks of my life so far…
Elvis carries us through the rest of the ride to where we park, near the Garnier building in the El Pueblo area. “Here’s a fun fact for you. The Garnier building”—I motion to it with my index finger—“once had an Italian restaurant inside called the Cavour Restaurant. They served Italian immigrants the food of the homeland.”
“I wonder if Pietro ate there.” Mom gazes at the red brick building with 1890 P. Garnier carved into the sole peak on the intricately carved roofline.
Flora walks alongside me. “It’s the Chinese American Museum now. Hmph. I need to come down to this Olvera Street area more often. Never knew this was here.”
“I’ve said the same thing,” I agree. “We have a lot of treasures under our noses. Now let’s punch in the best current-day address I could find and start walking to the old winery.” Seconds from closing the car door is too late for us to continue the voyage. I can’t wait any longer! “Alright, we walk this way, toward Union Station Square, and it’ll take seven minutes.”
“Let’s do this.” Flora keeps up with me, but when I look back, Mom and Dad are far behind.
“Speed it up, you two.” I make the capiche hand gesture and turn back around before they can respond.
“This is how you girls were at Disneyland way back when!” Mom yells.
“I remember trying to keep up with them then too,” Dad says. “Be kind to your elders.”
Flora and I glance at each other and laugh as we continue to walk at our brisk pace.
Just as I saw online for the spot, we set foot in front of Mozaic at Union Station, the apartments where I estimate our family’s winery existed in 1911. Blood drains from my legs when I halt, leaving them tingling as my heart races. Is it from speed-walking or history tickling my soul?
“Here we are,” I inform my family. “We’re standing where Mary Lane used to exist. The Agosti Cellars winery was right here.” I turn around, extending my arms while I spin. Traffic whizzes by us while standing near the modern-day homes with paved roads and every luxury our Italian immigrant family would never have been able to imagine, I bet.
All of us refrain from speaking once I announce that this is it.
“It’s a beaut, Clark,” Dad finally breaks the silence, and we have a group chuckle.
“You haven’t been watching too many Christmas movies or anything,” Flora teases.
“I call it like I see it.” Dad walks over to me and grabs my shoulders with his arm. “How about this?” He nods and has a smile a mile wide. “Our family started right here in the United States.”
“Yeah, after a long train ride across the country from Ellis Island, according to Uncle Roberto,” I add.
“I wonder what Pietro thought it would be like in California,” Mom says. “It must’ve seemed like another planet from Stradella back then. It is now.” She walks toward the corner a few feet away and peeks around it. “Nope,” she calls out, “no wineries here anymore.”
“Really? Oh, darn. I was expecting that there would be one. Ugh, now we have to walk all the way back seven whole minutes to get to a drink.” I drop my head on Dad’s shoulder.
“Speaking of food—” Flora begins.
Mom returns to us. “How fast we jump to food.”
“We’re Italian. It’s bound to happen.” Flora continues, “I didn’t eat breakfast, so I’m ready for lunch anytime you are.”
“Can we give it a few minutes longer?” I pull away from Dad. “This is pretty incredible.”
“I get it.” Flora pushes her palms toward the ground a few times. “Calm down, sis. You can have all the time you need.”
“That’s right.” Dad increases his volume over the street noise. “Besides, this is something many people don’t get to experience, to have documentation of family history.”
“Truth.” Flora turns around and takes in more of the sight, ambling to and fro.
“Thank you,” I say, feeling the gravity of the ground in my soles.
Mom and Dad meander away from me, leaving me mesmerized in thought.
This isn’t just a spot where our family began in the States. This is where a dream was lost. I know what that’s like, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Every time I have to use my own time to plan for music lessons at school, eat an unpaid fee for a student not showing up to their lesson, or the variety of other annoyances—have your pick—that have led me to my midlife crisis, I’m reminded of not being an LA Phil cellist. This Agosti refuses to lose a dream ever again, be it an old or a new one.
The forces underground, deep in the layers of soil from its wine days, waft out in spiritual signals to me in the present. I must carry the torch of Pietro—my brave and persistent ancestor who begs to be remembered. And the connection I feel to him, to be able to sustain his American dream, will probably be even more fulfilling than playing on the stage last night. As I think about starting my winery in Temecula Valley at this moment, my heart flutters in reassurance of where I’m meant to be led. A purpose from decades of generations ago continues to call my name.
I made sure to take the scrap P paper with me today, so I mentally draw attention to it in my jeans pocket. Did it just move on its own? Nah, but there’s no harm in pretending it wiggled in response to my intention to revive the vines of my roots.
After my family allows me the time I need to reflect on the significance of this land, I’m grateful for it—and for them. All of them. The family back in Stradella, Mom’s family in the Tuscany region, and the family I’ve created here, even when a certain man throws me for a loop, are all part of me and this journey.
“Okay, let’s eat! I know just the place.”
Stopping our walk in front of La Golondrina, I ask, “In the mood for Mexican?”
“Always. It’s my favorite cuisine next to Italian.” Flora pushes my shoulder.
“Hmm, I think I know that about you already.” I push back.
“Sure, that’s good with us.” Dad looks toward Mom, and they exchange agreement through familiar eye contact.
The outside of the restaurant is decked with boughs of holly (Are you singing the song now? Because I am.) along the straight roofline above the door. There are two old agricultural carts in front, also draped in garland. “This must be beautiful at night,” I say as we approach the host stand.
After Dad requests a table for four, I notice a brown plaque behind a post. “Oh, look. It states how this is the Pelanconi House, and it’s the first brick edifice in LA.”
“What’s the Pelanconi House?” Flora asks me.
“I’ll tell you inside. But wow, we’re standing in history,” I continue as we’re led inside to be seated.
“Once again,” Mom adds.
Sitting on the lower level, the restaurant echoes with lively consumers. Utensils ding on the plates, and their chimes bounce off the tiled floor in a progressive melody. Protruding red brick surrounds vivid Mexican paintings covering the walls. Glancing up, I’m in awe. “This place is somethin’ else. Even the lights are colorful.”
“How have none of us eaten here before?” Mom twists her head. “I love it already.”
“As you should. Let me tell you about the history you’re sitting in.” I reveal what I learned online and that day with Christian, recalling tidbits of facts in the pride of our heritage.
“Who knew?” Flora closes her menu. “I do know what I want to eat, though.”
“Me too. And that’s some history in this place, Toni.” Dad looks around the room now since he’s done picking his feast.
After the server brings our drinks and takes our meal orders, Dad asks, “So, this winery gig. You want to do it, huh?”
The question shakes me. Not only is it a hard question to continue admitting has a yes for an answer, even coming off the hype of my shows, but this is my dad asking. He wants me to be happy, though, I remind myself, so I go ahead continuing to be honest with him for the desire that can’t be silenced. “Yeah, I do.”
I stir my pink paloma with the tiny red straw as I wait for a response.
“After seeing you perform this week, I know you’re going to get that position.” The passion in his eyes makes my breath cease.
“Dad—”
“—Toni, let me finish.” He directs his palm toward me and leans over the circular table. “I know they’d be fools if they didn’t hire you, but all that matters is what you want. I’m proud of you in whatever you do for a living. The person that you are is what I care about.”
“Really?” I whisper, breathing again.
He looks at Mom, who reinforces his sentiment with a grin.
“We’re at peace with whatever you decide,” she says.
I turn to Flora, who’s viewing the scene over her glass of beer in the air, holding it with both hands, ready either to sip or place it down.
Dad continues, “I saw your face when we were at the apartments. And it was just a plot of land that doesn’t have anything left of a vineyard. Your calling may be different than we expected.” He throws up his hands in submission.
I take a huge breath, like I haven’t had oxygen in years. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear you both say this. I don’t want you to be disappointed in me. I really loved performing last week, like I can’t even explain how much, but—”
“Disappointed! Never,” Dad blurts out, loud enough to drown out the chiming sounds of eaters for a moment.
My eyes travel down, and a nervous giggle escapes. “You know, Dad, I found something recently. That paper you gave me when I went off to college.”
Mom jumps in, “The life is short phrase?”
“Yeah.” My head moves up and down.
“Exactly what I’m saying. Yes, yes.” He agrees with Mom.
“People can have more than one talent or interest, after all.” Mom places her hand on my forearm resting on the table.
“I can grow a mean plant.” I cover Mom’s hand with my free hand.
“See?” Mom agrees, with curving lips.
Dad holds up his beer bottle. “To Toni making her dreams come true. Salute.”
We all raise our glasses.
“And to the best family in the world,” I interject as we all clink glasses and take a drink.
“Enough of the love fest. I’m ready for my soft tacos already. You know, me, the other business owner in the family.” Flora smiles and waves her thumbs toward her chest.
“Aww, we would never forget our other little star.” Dad leans to his right and yanks Flora toward him in a teddy bear hug.
“Yeah, we love our Flora.” I make a heart shape with my hands.
Today brings two gifts into my life, one past and one present, both influencing the future.
Chapter
Forty-Seven
Since us Agostis spent time as a family yesterday, we decided to skip Sunday dinner today. The times we veer off from our routine always seem odd, though. I find that I don’t know how to occupy myself besides catching up on work for the school, which is one hundred and eighty degrees from what Sundays are meant for in an Italian home.
