The Gift, page 8
“My cabernet complements the flavors.” I hold up my glass to salute, and the luxurious warmth left in my mouth encourages me to broach the topic. Come on, Toni, you can do it.
“I think I want to open a winery.” This time, when I bring up the topic, I can’t, I won’t be swayed from it.
Christian stops chewing and fixates on my eyes but doesn’t speak.
I take another sip from my glass of courage and repeat my words, more direct and channeling Ben. “I want to open a winery.”
“I heard you the first time,” Christian’s voice is flat.
“So?”
“So, what? You can’t do that.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know you better than anyone, and I know you think you may like to go play with wine, but just because you like drinking it doesn’t mean you’ll want to deal with making it. Your gift is being a cellist. Stick with what you know.”
He continues to eat as if I told him news like Nala’s water bowl is full.
“I’m serious, babe. I feel like I’m on a treadmill with running here and running there all the time with my jobs. Dealing with dodging county cuts, students who don’t want to put in the work needed practicing, sched—”
“If you say ‘scheduling’ one more time...” His face turns red in the shadows, leaving a plum hue.
“You have no idea what it’s like. I may be having an early midlife crisis, and you don’t even care.” Instead of yelling, I whisper, holding back tears. I know the M word is true now.
“Toni, of course I care. I just don’t think you really understand what it means to run a business. You can’t even handle scheduling for yourself, let alone coordinating vendors.” He continues to eat, as if all is normal.
I could crawl under the table for as big as I feel, hiding under the two layers of linen.
“Christian, I can figure it out,” I’m able to murmur. “I started learning about types of wineries and how the soil—”
“You’re looking into this absurd idea without my approval?” He cuts me off, with fire in his previously calm eyes.
“I…yeah.” Swallowing both saliva and fear, I open my mouth to share my knowledge. Maybe he will see how much interest I have and that I’m not enthralled for only a fleeting moment. Maybe he’ll be impressed with my facts. Maybe we’ll live happily ever after on our wide-open land, vines for days on the horizon. “Let me tell you about—”
“I don’t want to hear about anything. You’d fail, Toni. You have no experience in that field. Stick to what you know.” He reaches his hand across the table, palm open.
Talk about mixed messages. These sharp words and that action can’t come from the same person—the person I once felt safe with in every emotional situation, revealing every thought without hesitation. Grabbing his hand and feeling that missed safety is too hard to resist, but the movement shoots a pain in my shoulder, reminding me of another reason to go for my dreams. Courage reaches my throat, and I say, “It’s time for a change.”
He squeezes my hand and asks, frowning, “What do you mean?”
“I just told you what I mean.” Something inside won’t let me give up.
“Oh, we’re still on that? Well, I thought you were going to say you need a change from me, so good.”
“Whoa. No, I don’t want that,” spills out of my mouth as my gut reaction.
He must feel our shift too. The guy sitting in the corner booth of La Scala who doesn’t know us probably feels the shift.
Okay, I have to stay on topic. We’re fine, anyway. Well, we can be. Will be? Yet, I can’t quiet my new idea.
“Babe, I want to be able to explore this career possibility. Maybe that’s my true calling, not being a cellist. Why, after all the auditions for a stable LA Phil job, have I never been chosen?”
The calm in his eyes returns. “Because they’re dumb. You’re the best player I’ve ever heard.”
“Well, thanks for that, but it’s not true.”
He takes his hand away and pushes the loose strands of hair behind his ears while glancing off to the side. “This kind of talk isn’t good for us, Tone Tone.”
Oh no, not the Tone Tone.
He continues, making heavy eye contact again. “What about our dream? Can’t you imagine yourself roaming around a four-bedroom house? Nala would have so many places to be lazy. And we’d have a patio where you could finally sit outside.”
The thought of Nala napping everywhere does bring a smile to my face, but it doesn’t erase my heart’s screaming desire. And I only care about having space outside, so a two-bedroom house would be fine with me. Christian is the one who’s stuck on a certain size. “We can still reach our dream. I don’t know about the money part, but let me search out this idea. Just because I want to do this doesn’t mean everything will change for our plans.”
He grips his napkin. “I disagree. I also will not sign off on anything like a loan jeopardizing our financial future. End of discussion.”
Now I feel my face get hot. “Stop worrying so much about a house. My God, a house, a house, a house. When did you get so obsessed with money? You used to be a dreamer, like me. Where did that man go?”
“It’s called living in reality. Money actually doesn’t grow on trees. Did you hear?”
“I’m aware.” I’m also getting tired of his remarks. I’m an intelligent, capable, almost middle-aged woman, and my God, it’s time to get what I want in life. Pushing around my salad with my fork, I say, “I don’t think I can finish this. Let’s just get the check.” Our circling these days makes me want to throw up, so how could I eat? We’re okay, we’re not okay, we’re okayish, we’re who the hell knows what.
“You want to leave? We just drove all this way. Let’s finish our dinner. We can talk about this more later if we must.” He exhales so forcefully the candle’s flame leans to its side.
Ha, talk. Right. How can he make comments like he rules me and think I’ll go along with whatever he says? He has another thing coming from early-midlife-crisis Toni. Maybe I’ll embrace the new title and show him who his wife really is…in reality. Instead of impulse-buying a sports car, I’ll impulse-buy a winery.
So much for La Scala bringing us marital bliss. “Fine,” I say, looking at my lap. If I protest, we’ll just argue more. I give up—for tonight.
Chapter Fifteen
The past week dragged on yet flew by. Isn’t it strange how that happens sometimes? Just as strange is how the more I research about owning a vineyard and opening a winery, the less scared I am of the unknown and the more confident I am that the leap of faith is right for me. Now, I’m at Flora’s store opening, experiencing a prime example of taking a chance on yourself.
So, have Christian and I spoken more about the topic, you ask? Not exactly. I doubt he thinks I’ll stick to my desire, because I’ve been silent about it, but I’m not letting it go. I can’t. The tension and arguing is something I can let go and what I try to avoid most of the time, but increasingly, my limit is broken. Coming over here to Venice Beach tonight, we had to drive separately because of my late teaching schedule. What a waste of gas, but I have to admit, the lack of awkwardness was a welcomed break. I knew I’d have peace.
“There are my girls.” Dad grabs both of us and mushes us together in a tight hug.
“Hi, Dad,” we both say in mumbled unison while our faces join his chest.
“Congratulations to you, Flora.” Dad looks around the surf shop. “This is something you built here.” His eyes gleam as he nods.
“Thanks. I’m really proud of it. And I can catch a wave before work without having to commute afterward.”
Mom comes over to us and repeats the congrats then asks, “Where’s Christian?”
“Yeah, where’s that hubs of yours, Toni?” Flora echoes.
“He’s almost here. He just texted that he’s finding parking.” Is it bad that I wish he couldn’t find a spot and it were just me tonight?
“Mom, Dad, let me introduce you to Ben and his friend Mary.” Flora looks behind her to spot them.
“Yes, we’ve heard so much about Ben all these years. Where did you meet again?” Mom asks.
“At the LA Pride parade, the first year I came out.” Flora’s smile can’t grow any larger.
“Yes, that’s right.” Mom smiles in return, hazel eyes shining in the store overhead lights.
“Oh, be right back,” Flora says while slipping away.
“So, Toni, what’s new?” Dad lifts his eyebrows in anticipation, almost as if he knows something really is new in my life.
“Nothing much. Same old at school and the other jobs. I’m helping one student prepare a couple songs for a Christmas event, so that’s fun.” I hope I’m convincing.
“That’s nice. They have a great teacher in you.”
His heartfelt comment both captures and tortures me.
“Mom,” Flora cuts in upon returning, “This is Ben and Mary. They’re here from New Orleans.”
“Hi, Viola. Hello, Carmine,” Ben starts the exchange.
“Ben, call them Mr. and Mrs. Agosti. That’s what we Italian Americans do.” Mary looks at Ben then over at my parents.
“No need for such formalities on this coast, dears,” Mom responds. “But how kind of you.” She reaches over to shake both of their hands.
“You’re a paisan, huh?” Dad directs his attention to Mary.
“That’s right, Mr…” She pauses. “Carmine.”
“It’s wonderful you could both come,” Dad says.
“Ever since I came to LA for the first time and met Flora, it’s felt like a second home.” Ben hip-bumps Flora.
“That’s how our family rolls,” she replies. “I’m glad we both went to Pride that year.”
Christian walks through the door and, after hugging the family, is also introduced to our visitors.
“Bro, do you want me to get you a drink?” Flora offers.
“It’s your night, so I’ll get it myself, but thanks. What about for you? Anyone else?” Christian smooths his green plaid button-down shirt in the front and then glances around the circle. “I may need help, though.”
“I got you,” I respond. “I can use a refresh.”
“All good here, but thanks,” Ben adds.
“Same.” Mary holds up her drink.
“We’re fine.” Mom and Dad peek at each other and soundlessly agree.
After the high number of years of marriage, my parents must have a mindreading code. That would be amazing to have with someone.
Walking to the bar with Christian, I notice my sister from a new angle. “Look at how happy Flora is tonight.” My body radiates with absorbed excitement from her buzzing around her new store.
“Yeah, it’s great to see it. She can finally hang ten, dude.” Christian laughs.
“Yes. And I love how my parents support her on this new adventure.” Saying that out loud reassures me.
Without missing a beat, Christian clears his throat. “She didn’t devote her life to one cause then abandon it on a whim.”
“Don’t do this here,” I hiss.
“I’m stating the obvious. Your parents aren’t happy for her to have to depend on herself for a living wage, but believe me, it’s nothing like they’ll be if you tell them you’re leaving your profession for one you know nada about, Toni.”
“What’s that?” Flora appears behind us.
“Nothing.” My smile wouldn’t convince any breathing human, but the last thing I want to do is announce my news tonight, on Flora’s special night.
“Something,” she replies.
“Toni, are you embarrassed about your idea? Can’t even tell your sister?” Christian nags.
I shoot him a deadly glare and enunciate in staccato intensity, “Chris-tian, do not con-tin-ue this right now.”
“Sis, no worries. Just tell me.” Flora’s lightness sheds much-needed white in the dark abyss of my chest.
“I shouldn’t be talking about me right now, but since you insist, I want to open a winery.”
Her eyes burst open, more alive than seconds ago when already in beachside delight. “What a great idea!”
“What?!” Christian doesn’t hold back.
Flora looks at him with a puzzled expression. “You gotta chase your dreams, buddy. We only have one life to live on this planet.”
“I thought you’d see through this ridiculous idea of your sister’s, but I guess it’s just me.”
He sounds like the last player chosen in a schoolyard game, head dipped and hands moving into his jeans pockets.
“I’m offended that you think it’s ridiculous, Christian.” Standing up for myself against his attacking comments feels right. New, weird, and scary, but right every time I try.
“What’s ridiculous?” Dad emerges, holding hands with Mom.
Can this get any worse?
“I, I…” I pause to gather my racing thoughts. “I’m looking into opening a winery. You know, to bring back the old family business from the grave. And have a vineyard, just like Pietro had here in LA.”
“Oh, um…” Dad trails off in thought.
“Toni, you’re an accomplished cellist.” Mom’s shocked face is exactly as I expected. “What about all the work you’ve done since you were seven years old? That little starter cello and you were inseparable. Remember how you’d rather practice than do anything else? I couldn’t even get you to play with Flora sometimes. All you wanted to do was rehearse.”
“Come on, I don’t want to get into this here. It’s Flora’s night. We can talk about it another time,” I plead.
Dad remains quiet, but his drooping face tells all.
Christian looks as though he’s watching a show for entertainment, leaning on the bar where we still haven’t ordered because of yet another detour, removed from the family discussion and grinning.
You can eat your popcorn now, Christian, but wait until the bottom of the bag. My favorite line in the song “Closing Time” states an end brings a new beginning. And Semisonic speaks the truth about my dying career.
Chapter Sixteen
Tonight’s roller coaster of emotions, for me, steadied once we got home. Christian claimed the bedroom to watch TV, and I’m on the couch with my princess. Petting Nala always calms me down an octave.
Since Dad’s mood shifted after my news, noticeable through his strained cheerful attempts at Flora’s opening, my guilt grew. I never want to cause my parents pain, especially my dad. I keep replaying the disappointment on his face, but I need to remind myself that I can’t ignore my own needs. There’s a long working life ahead, so every day counts.
Reaching beyond purring Nala for my laptop, my fingers type as if they have a mind of their own. Wine from Stradella brings up a search of an array of topics, including the winery where my cousin’s wedding was held and the most common types of grapes grown in the area. No wonder I love cabernet. That’s a varietal grown in my ancestors’ land, along with other favorites of course. I’ll take their pinot noir—or nero, as they say in Italian—too, don’t get me wrong.
The Oltrepò Pavese region has warm summers with cold nights and mild winters, all with little rain. Okay, that’s just like LA, which means both would have a long growing season. My realization leads to an obvious Google of wine from LA in the 1800s to 1900s.
Yup, just as suspected. The most common wine from this region was cabernet sauvignon then merlot, sometimes in a Bordeaux blend. I don’t know what happened to poor pinot nero, though. My eyes scan the room as if I’ll find the answer in my potted plants.
Ah, we owe the wine industry in California to Frenchman Jean-Louis Vignes. And, let’s see, he brought the Bordeaux grape that started it all from his hometown of Cadillac in 1833. You had a good run, LA. All the way until Prohibition in the 1920s, you ruled the state. I wish that ban on alcohol had never happened, so Pietro’s dream could’ve lived forever.
Who knows? I could have grown up in a vineyard. I would have played outside instead of being cooped up inside, practicing agonizing chromatic scales. My feet would be stomping grapes instead of my hands gripping a fingerboard.
My phone lights up, and I see it’s Flora.
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be off celebrating tonight?” I ask as my greeting.
“I am, but I also want to check on you. The tension could have been cut with a knife between you and Christian.”
“Uh, yeah, you could say that. He’s not a fan of my idea,” I whisper.
“I think I got that. Dad may not be either, I have to tell you.”
The sadness on his face reappears in my mind again when she mentions his name. “That’s not news. I’ll try to break the blow by the next Sunday dinner.”
“He’ll be fine, sis. Look at how they reacted when I first told them I planned to open a shop. They had no issue with their daughter being gay, but they put up a stink about opening a business.” Flora laughs. “Only our parents.”
“I know, right? What’s wrong with them, supporting their child with being who they are? My God.”
“But they both had bells on tonight, so see, they came around. I may have to reassure them that all of their lessons of financial responsibility were grasped from time to time, though.”
“Not you too.” I sigh.
“What, me too?”
I lower my voice even more. “Christian’s big issue with my dream is that I’m the devil who’ll destroy any chance of home ownership.”
“You know I love him, but I’ll just say he was the one who left his dreams, so he shouldn’t try to keep you from moving toward yours, even if they change.”
“Thank you! I used to think it was smart that he went into teaching film instead of writing films, but now I see it in a different light. Maybe he would have been a big-time Hollywood writer if he had stuck to his guns. He was talented.”
