The Gift, page 27
Uh-oh.
I better do something now to help me later. Placing my hand on Christian’s lap this time, I squeeze it and lean to the side, bumping him with my shoulder. This grin may lighten the atmosphere if he looks at me.
He returns my grin and continues eating.
To the untrained eye, all is fine. It’s great. It’s a holly jolly Christmas.
To me, I better prepare for another round of probable silent treatment.
Flora: Just wanted to check on you.
Toni: Thanks. You felt it today too?
Flora: Someone in space would feel Christian’s gnarliness. Is that a word?
Toni: LOL, why not? And yeah. I’m pretty sure Mom and Dad suspect something’s up with him, or us. He said three nice words the whole time.
Flora: Don’t worry about them. Worry about yourself and what you want. Congrats again on your non-marching band offer. I’m so happy for you.
All of the expressed pride from my family warms my heart. How did I get so lucky to be part of a group who understands artistic need? I know Mom and Dad mean it when they say they’ll be happy for me if I’m happy, though we all know they’d love it most if I join LA Phil.
Nala rubs her body against my feet at the base of my bed.
“Sorry for the noise at Mom and Dad’s today, Nala,” I say as I pick her up and hug her, running my face against her coat.
She starts purring and nestling my neck as my phone lights up again.
Flora: Sis?
I place Nala on the bed and pick my phone up from my side.
Toni: Sorry. Cat break. Thanks so much! So, you won’t believe this, but Christian was alright on the ride home. I feel like he assumes I’ll take the job and all will be fine again. Now he’s watching A Christmas Story in the other room, happy as a clam.
Flora: Uh, mostly good to hear.
Toni: Yeah, I was expecting him to yell or go mute tonight. There’s usually no middle ground.
My words make me stop texting, thumbs hovering mid-type. How am I in this cycle with my own husband? I’m really trying here, but what are we doing?
“Nala, I wish you had the answers.”
She tightly shuts her eyes and yawns.
“Yeah, you sleep on it.” I scratch under her chin, and she tilts her head to allow me to continue.
Flora: I’m sorry.
Toni: It’ll be okay. I know if I accept the offer, we’ll be okay too.
Flora: Just make sure it’s what you want.
What I want. The question of the year.
“Toni?” Christian edges the door open, and it squeaks.
I jump. “Oh, hey.”
He comes to the bed, moves Nala over, and sits in her place.
“Whatcha doing?” He peeps at my phone, so I click the off button to make the screen black. Now that I changed my passcode, he can’t snoop later even if he wanted to.
“Just chillin’ here with Nala.” Ahem, who you shouldn’t have moved, and I hate when you disrupt her.
“Come out and watch the movie with me.” He grabs the hand without my phone.
“I’m kind of tired. I was just going to read in bed or something. Rain check?” I need some alone time.
“How about we stay in here instead? It’s been months since we’ve been together.” He places both hands on my face and yanks me toward his lips.
This emptiness from his kiss is new. He’s always sent flutters into my stomach—the good kind—when his soft lips touched mine and I smelled his signature beachy cologne up close and personal. And his face is always as smooth as Nala’s fur whenever I embrace it, but right now, none of it is doing anything for me.
Yet, I place a smile on my face as I pull away. “I’m really tired.” I exaggerate my eyes. “Sorry. Soon, though, alright?”
He exaggerates a frown. “Alright. I was hoping for a Christmas night gift, but I understand.”
As he leaves the bed, he turns around and says, “I love you, Toni. You’re the only gift I need.”
Cue that coaster, from awe to an abrupt stop, the kind where the ride’s safety bar digs into your abdomen. But still, I answer as the wife he’s known all these years. “I love you too.”
And I do, but maybe it’s not enough anymore.
Chapter
Fifty-Two
"Uncle Roberto! Buon Natale, a day late.” He catches me lounging on the couch and watching reality TV while Christian starts his New Year’s resolution to run a week early.
“Ay, la mia bella nipote. Merry Christmas to you as well. Aunt Pia and I both want to wish it to you and Christian. I’ve called your father and next will call your sister.” His voice radiates from my phone, leading to my radiating smile.
“Did you have a good day with the family yesterday?” I ask.
“Oh, sì, sì. We have food for days. Jesus.”
I picture him shaking his head and looking up to the ceiling.
“Same here. I took home the leftover mostarda di Cremona to enjoy today.” I lick my lips, tasting the imaginary sweetness paired with the spicy zing.
“What, no casoncelli? I need to call your mom again and yell at her.” He sounds serious but is obviously joking.
“There weren’t any to take home. Can you believe it?”
“Yes, I can. We did not have any left either. They are too good.” His bouncing cheerfulness sends the love my way, and I embrace it in my open heart. “How are you doing with your winery?” he continues.
My open heart drops to the floor. “Well, I don’t know if that will happen. I found a place I adored, but I can’t seem to find a bank that’ll give me the money I need for it—not without a co-signer anyway.”
“That is bad news, la mia gentile nipote. Ah…” He grows silent.
“Yeah, it’s been…difficult from the start”—if he only knew—”but I’ll keep thinking about it.” How can I not? “I did get offered a position in the Los Angeles Philharmonic, though.”
“Congratulazioni!” He must be pushing the phone away from his mouth, since now I hear a muffled sentence with my name in it, probably telling the news to Aunt Pia.
Yup, I hear her in the background, repeating the congratulations.
“Oh, you two. Thank you. It’s been a highlight of the year.” Kind of. My God, LA Phil should be the highlight, Toni! “But,” I quickly continue, “we’ll see what happens.”
“We go where the wind leads us in life. Take it from this old uncle of yours to listen to what life tries to tell you. Then you make decisions.”
Wind. Whoa.
“Well, I wish it would blow me on the right path right now. If I could get approved for a loan, that would help. Or would it complicate the situation further?” I think out loud, crinkling my eyes.
“You know…I could talk to your aunt about helping you out.”
My train of thoughts screeches to a halt. “What do you mean?”
“I still have my accordion business.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I don’t do much there these days, but I still have the, how you say it, equity. And since I can’t take money to the grave, maybe it would be nice to help you carry on the family legacy—if you wish to, that is.”
My jaw hits the ground. “Uh, you would co-sign for me? I’ve been told I’m a risk.” Heed the warning, Uncle Roberto, since I seem to bring confusion to all who come in contact with me.
“Of course I would. I will make sure to talk with your aunt first but would be happy to support your dream.”
“Uncle Roberto, I’m, I’m—”
“I know. No need to say more. You will hopefully get approved for a loan and can decide what’s best for you.”
“Thank you. Just…thank you.”
“Prego.”
“Okay, talk to you soon. I’ll let you know what happens,” I say.
“Sì. Ciao, Toni.”
“Ciao.”
I inhale a massive breath for this amazing moment and stare out my sliding glass doors at the beauty of nature. Green-leafed trees sway in the gentle breeze, and I think I hear a bird chirping somewhere out there. The hum of traffic serves as soothing white noise as I sink into the fluffy cushion.
Offering to co-sign a loan. Wow, another bonus not barrier situation. Definitely not a barrier.
Well, it won’t hurt to apply for a loan and see what happens this time. The third time may be the charm for both the loan and reviving the family vineyard. That is, if I have the guts to choose it as my path.
Chapter
Fifty-Three
Being less than ten minutes from Little Street Wines, I want to stick my head out the window of the car and open my mouth to eat the clean air. Yes, like a dog—don’t tell Nala. But beginning the new year in Temecula Valley is perfect for a fresh start, especially in the company of good people. “Ahh, isn’t this the best?”
“I’m excited to see you both stomp on grapes!” Flora shouts from the backseat over the sound of the wind roaring from my side.
“Me too!” I’m like a kid going to Disneyland. This valley is the adult Disneyland, I guess.
“You don’t think you’ll enter the competition last minute?” David squints with one eye as he peers at Flora through the rearview mirror.
“No, I’ve always left getting dirty to my sister. I like to get wet instead.” She leans forward and pushes my right shoulder.
“Then there’s Christian, who I actually told where I’m going today, but of course he refused to come. He likes to get virtual,” I say.
“Get virtual?” David asks.
“He’s playing video games with some friends. It’s fine by me. We did our New Year’s traditions last night.” It’s also easier when he’s not around.
“You ate risotto? Me too,” Flora adds.
“You know it. We added a few scallops and asparagus. Now I’ll have a prosperous year. And Lord knows I need it.” I raise my eyebrows and admire the rolling hills.
“Why risotto? I don’t know if you’ve ever told me.” David shifts in his seat.
“When you cook the rice grains, they enlarge, representing growth and abundance,” I answer, getting hungry at the thought of the meal.
“Oh, nice. In my family, we eat toshikoshi soba.” He leaves us hanging for necessary food details.
“Sooo?” I urge.
“I was waiting to see if either of you Agosti ladies know what it is before I assume you don’t.”
“Assume we don’t but always want to know.” Flora shouts even louder this time, beating the blaring passing truck beside us.
My stomach growls while waiting for particulars.
“It’s buckwheat noodles in soup with spinach. That’s the way we eat it, anyway. The long noodles represent a wish for a long life in Japanese culture.”
“How beautiful. And tasty.” I nod to myself.
“On that note, we’re here.” David turns into the lot for Little Street Wines. “Ready to have a drink?”
“Yeah, and food!” I pause. “Jeez, I’ve never seen the place so busy. It’s great they’re having an event to kick off the new year.” As soon as the car is in park, I don’t waste a second to pop open the door and get inside.
Entering the tasting room, I overflow in pleasure from seeing people holding a spectrum of colors in their hands. From the deep burgundy of cabernet to winter white riesling, people chat and sip in their own pleasure-filled moment. Behind the crowd stands Gio, mid-conversation and pouring wine for the guests.
I wave and jerk my head to David and Flora, signaling to follow me.
“Hello, everyone.” Gio glows in his element. “Welcome to our annual Have a Grape Year celebration. So glad you could join us.”
I lean in to hug him and say, “Great to be here. You already met David, and now I brought my sister, Flora, as your new victim. Flora, this is Gio.”
“I always like to have a new victim in my presence,” Gio responds. “We have to get you in one of the barrels with your sister and David to make you my actual victim.” He angles one eyebrow, a cool talent I should practice to possess.
“All this pressure today. But really, nice to meet you.” Flora extends her arm for a handshake, and he reciprocates, along with shaking David’s hand.
“Sorry to be short today, but I have to keep moving. Please walk around the grounds and enjoy the food trucks. Later, I’ll try to give you a private, behind-the-scenes tour.” He stands there as if waiting for confirmation, but he doesn’t have to wait long.
“Seriously?” My voice matches the level of Flora’s in the car. “That’d be fantastic. Thank you.”
“It’s what we do here, especially for fellow Italians.”
“Thanks!” I holler, on purpose this time so he hears me as he scurries away.
“That’s nice of him,” David comments.
“It’s how everyone is down here.” My eyes travel to the table of red options.” Well, let’s get some wine in us.”
Flora speaks close to my ear, “Good space. Good people.” She looks around the bustling room. “I’m amped.”
“The more you’re here, the more you’ll love it too,” I add as we walk over to check in to get our wristbands and start our day of vino adventures.
“You have five minutes each to stomp as much juice as possible out of the twenty-five pounds of grapes underneath your bare feet.” The announcer continues his slow, overly enunciated instructions in his crisp voice, “You and your partner need to work together to fill that container below your barrel. One of you starts as the stomper, and one is the swabby, or the helper, who collects the liquid in the jug. We’ll ring you in at each beginning and end of the time. Any questions?” He scans the eight teams who signed up to get juicy.
“Ready?” I call down to David, the swabby.
“Ready.” He spreads his legs and steadies his feet in the dirt with the jug connected to the spigot as tight as possible.
Flora stands a safe distance away, to not get sprayed, but close enough to take plenty of embarrassing pictures.
“Three. Two. One. Stomp!” the announcer calls.
I hear the word stomp and instantly take action. The slimy grapes are a cushy dream for my feet, jamming between my toes and under my nails within seconds. I hop in delight, feeling a flow like when I play cello.
Now, the cardio aspect is another story. After a few minutes, which seem like an eternity, I’m panting. I don’t want to stop the gushy action, but I’m ready for a break. Can I just stand here and collect the goods?
“Switch!” the announcer finally shouts.
My legs feel like jelly, but you can’t beat this experience. I dance one last jig to feel the comforting balls under my skin, now mostly flattened, before grabbing the side of the barrel to jump out. David offers his hand to help, but as I bend to take hold, I stumble, falling waist deep in the grapes.
A fit of laughter bursts from me as I lean back and embrace the mess. Letting myself sink in the mush and allowing my jean shorts and black tank top to be soaked—probably stained forever—I don’t mind one bit. This cushion is everything.
David leaps in to join me, immediately making sure he’s fully covered too.
We grab each other’s slippery hands to try to stand up again, both of us laughing now and unable to speak from lack of breath as gigantic snorts exit my tiny frame. How many times can people fall down in a barrel of grapes? Nobody is defeating our number today.
I think the announcer gave the stomp command at least a minute ago, but it doesn’t matter. This is way more amusing. Who needs to win this competition anyway?
After a few seconds of oxygen replenishing our lungs, lying on the couch of the gods, I say, “Let’s try again.”
“Here’s the plan. Both of us wipe our hands on the side of the wood, then slowwwly lift our bodies up.” David doesn’t wipe the smile off of his face, though.
“Yes. Let’s do it.”
“And…success!” Once we’re standing and I realize there’s an outside world to the David and Toni Comedy Hour, I spot Flora busting a gut, along with her phone glued to the space in front of her face to capture the madness.
“Stop!” the announcer calls at the end of the full ten minutes.
Oh, I was way off, lost in time.
Still standing in the barrel, Flora runs up to us. “You two are a riot.”
“That was the greatest. I don’t remember the last time I hooted that hard.” I glance at David.
“Me too.” His eyes gleam in the sunlight.
I push the somehow semi-clean ringlets out of my face while feeling the back of my hair, soiled in gooey gems. “I should wring my clothes and drink them.”
David moves one last strand of hair out of my face.
There’s the iffy behavior again. Is this Terrific Friend David or Christian’s version? Toni, ugh. Don’t ruin the moment.
“Thanks,” I simply say and step out of the barrel.
Flora hands us both small towels meant to dry feet—you know, sufficient for normal teams. “And thanks to you, sis, for a good time.” She steps back to allow us to gather our shoes set aside. “I don’t think anyone had as much fun as you two.”
“We always do,” David adds. “That’s why I love being with her.”
Oh boy.
Chapter
Fifty-Four
After cleaning ourselves up as much as possible in the bathroom—we’re definitely the only two people decorated head to toe in red grape juice—David and I join Flora and Gio by the back entrance of the tasting room. “Gio, did you catch David and me in action?”
“How could I miss it? I think there’s plenty of video to watch if anyone did miss it.”
