The Gift, page 9
“I remember reading a few of his scripts,” she says. “You aren’t wrong. How sad that he gave up on himself.”
Her words pierce my soul.
“Toni?”
“Yeah, sorry. I…I refuse to give up on myself. Thanks for your support. It means the world to me.”
“That’s what sisters are for. And for providing you with any and all surf and beach needs in the future.”
“Ha, okay, that’s a relief. I was worried about where to buy my next wetsuit,” I joke.
“I got ya covered. And remember, you now know three store owners to help you out with all of your business questions.”
“Oh yeah, I guess that’s right.” The thought makes me smile. “Three successful store owners.”
“Ben and Mary are successful, and I better be too.”
“You will be, Flora. It’s not a choice not to be.”
“I like that attitude. Alright, I’ll catch you later.”
“Bye.” Click.
I hope she’s right about Dad. Mom will be alright, though slightly affected I’d guess. But Dad…oh man, I can’t break his heart. Yet, I have to save mine.
Chapter Seventeen
Walking out from the bedroom, I see Christian flipping through a finance magazine at the counter.
Spit it out. Just say it, Toni. You gotta say it. “I’m going to Taste of Italy tonight…with David.” I stop at the opposite end of the long slab between us.
“What? So, you totally disregarded my wishes and planned a night out with David?!” Christian screams.
Gripping the side of the countertop, hands sweating, I respond, “I don’t need to be told what to do by my husband. We’re supposed to be equals in this marriage. And after what happened at Flora’s opening, I didn’t think you’d want to spend time with me anyway.”
“You’re something else, thinking you know what I want. Do you even care what your husband wants anymore? I always know what’s best for you, you idiot.” His tone remains as spiky as the cactus outside our door.
“Yes, I care! And do you know what your wife wants? I’ll tell you. I want to be treated as an equal,” I repeat. “And again, you have nothing to worry about. I keep telling you that David is interested in Isla, not me!” How many times will it take for him to comprehend that fact?
“Well, have fun with him tonight, equal,” Christian slips in as I turn to gather the last of my belongings for my night out.
“I will, thanks. How sweet of you.” Sarcasm is my specialty lately.
“I did want to go with you…” The spikes are suddenly gone. Jekyll and Hyde, anyone?
When I glance his way, I see him looking the opposite direction from me and slouching.
“Christian, last time I checked, you’ve barely spoken to me, so why would I think you’d still want to go to Taste of Italy?” I won’t admit that I do have a pang of remorse for planning the night without him, let alone with David, who we now know is not his best friend. In our entire history, I don’t think I’ve ever been as bold as I’ve been lately with my words…and actions. But as I keep saying to justify myself, a girl can only take so much crap, and I get enough from the school board. I don’t need it at home.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he continues. “I can’t have an opinion in matters around here?”
“You have a larger-than-life opinion, Mister.”
He walks around the island and meets me on my side. “I can’t help it. Have opinions, will travel. I love you, so that’s why I get angry when you’re with another man.”
“I’m not with another man. It’s David. Harmless David. I don’t think of him as more than a sweet friend. Ever.”
Dipping his head with a tiny tilt while his eyes are complemented by his dark lashes won’t ease my annoyance. Not one bit.
“Tone Tone, I want to believe you. And I also don’t want to see you make a huge mistake with this whole winery thing.”
“One, you need to believe me. And two, how do you know it would be a mistake to have a winery?” I’m still not being affected by his handsomeness, best beachy smell ever, and change in tune, nope.
“I don’t, but it’s too risky.”
I guess we’re moving on from the David subject. “That’s true. But I’d like to take the chance. Can’t you just search it out with me? That’s all I’m asking for right now.”
“I don’t know if I can do that. So…maybe. How’s that?”
“I’ll take it.” I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around him. Relief spreads through my body in warm ripples. How does he feel so comforting when we hug?
“Alright, now you go and have fun with David, I guess” he says with a high-pitched emphasis on my friend’s name.
“I’ll ignore that little attitude, but otherwise, thank you very much. Now I do wish you were coming too. It’s not too late, if you want to come.” I shift my eyebrows up and down.
“No, I’m going to stay in and relax. It’ll feel good to lie down after crouching over the computer all day at my desk. But be on the lookout for a restaurant for our anniversary dinner. You pick the place, and I’ll handle the rest.”
He’s still wanting to plan a big night out? There’s hope for us yet. “I’m on it.”
Knock, knock, knock.
“David’s here to pick me up.”
“Just as any good date will do,” he jokes.
Opening the door, David stands there with a bouquet of roses and a smile.
Just kidding, but wouldn’t that have been epic in this moment?
“Hey, David,” I say to greet him.
“How’s it goin’?” He steps inside and aims his hello at both of us, unaware of how his presence has been the talk of the town.
“Great, all ready to go.” I grab my handbag and say, “Bye, babe,” to Christian.
“Have a good night, you two. And don’t stay out too late.” He wags his finger at us in jest.
I mentally give Christian points for not biting off David’s head or causing a scene. Maybe he will try to trust me from this point on. Please let that be the case. Please let something give.
At Taste of Italy, I stand in awe of the Pico House as we wait in line to enter the festivities. “Look at how beautiful the white building is in the dark. I’m never down here at night—or much, for that matter.” The US and Italian flags hanging from the side shine in the bright light of the building.
David turns around and catches his own view. “It was built around 1870 by the last California governor under Mexican rule, Pío Pico.”
“Oh, was it, Mr. History?”
“Nice title. I’ll take it. And yes. Plus, it’s Italianate architecture. You’ll love that fun fact.”
“I do love a fun fact. Now, what does that mean, Teach?” I ask.
“See the uniform arches on all three levels?”
“Yeah. There must be at least eight per floor, or…I don’t know. A lot.”
He continues to explain, “The deep-set doors and windows in that pattern create a grandness reminiscent of the Italian Renaissance. As you know, this area had many Italian immigrants back then, so their influence was everywhere. But anyway, the buildings in this style are mainly known for their gently sloped roofs with elegant brackets below. I could go on, but I don’t want to bore you.”
“You never bore me!” My head flies back in emphasis. When it returns to its usual position, I catch David grinning at me in a way I’ve never seen—or noticed. There’s a weird sparkle in his eye as he intently meets my eyes.
I quickly look away.
Damn it, Christian, you’re getting in my head. David doesn’t think of me as anything other than what he’s always thought of me—as a friend.
Walking through the admission gate, the aromas strengthen since I can see the array of food now. Something about the crisp night air makes the scents more powerful. Even though my stomach tells me to eat ASAP, my eyes are set on the closest wine booth. “Want to grab a glass of vino?”
“Sure thing. And thanks for the invite. Isla’s busy this weekend, so I’m glad to get out with you.”
Ah, confirmation of my words to Christian. Too bad he couldn’t hear David’s words.
“Yeah, same,” I respond, continuing to walk toward the liquid I can’t wait to taste. When I looked up this event online, I saw how it’s an opportunity for vendors to share food and drinks from their businesses. Maybe someday I’ll be here handing out wine from my winery. Chills make the hair on my arms stand on end with the thrilling thought.
Analyzing the menu, I decide to start with something light and fresh. “I’ll have a chardonnay please,” I tell the vendor.
“Me too,” David informs. “I should follow the expert’s lead.”
“I’m no expert yet, my friend.” I throw that last phrase in there for good measure.
“Well, I know you, and you will be soon. I’ll do anything I can to help you too,” he says.
“That’s really kind of you. I may have to take you up on that offer.” The cold wine dances down my hot throat. “This isn’t buttery, like many chardonnays. It’s a nice change.”
“Oh, yes.” David swirls the wine in his glass and smells it while speaking in a purposely snobby accent. “I’ve always had a taste for the non-buttery chardonnays over the years.”
“Just take a sip!” Good thing I swallowed already because wine would have come out of my nose with my belly laugh. See, this is the normal David coming out to play, and I need this lightheartedness these days. “Want to know a fun fact from me, though?”
“Of course I do.”
“Chardonnays are known to be buttery for the palette because they were aged in oak barrels traditionally, but now there’s a trend toward the French style of stainless-steel barrels.”
“You don’t say. See, wine expert in the hiz-ouse.” He pretends to speak into a microphone, rapper style, for his voice change of the moment.
“Maybe I should just take that title already! Titles all around.”
“Yes, you should. Now, let’s check out that band over there.” He points to a group of accordionists playing in the far right corner.
“Definitely.” My mind drifts back to Stradella and the missed opportunity of seeing the museum. Keep your mind on good things tonight. Christian may be trying to be a little more open now, so just stay in that zone of thinking. I need to grab onto any bits he gives me so we can work.
Watching one player’s hand gliding across the keyboard while his other presses the chord buttons, all while moving the bellows in and out, I’m instantly mesmerized. My dad would love this event. He probably would want to jump up on stage and join in as well—nothing holds him back when music is around him.
When we’d go to the mall as a family when I was a kid, he never missed an opportunity to play a piano or organ in the music store. Even though, at the time, I was embarrassed, as any teenager would be by their dad, now I have fond memories, envisioning his face while he spread his joy of music to the world. He only ever wished that for his little girl as well. She tried, Dad.
“I’ll have to tell my dad about this shindig!” I shout to David.
“What?” he screams back.
“My dad. He’d love this place,” I say, amplifying my voice this time.
“Oh yeah, I bet he would. You better hide his accordion, or he’ll play as he walks around in here.”
“That’s the truth. Hey, I need to eat. Ready?”
“Ready.” He nods his head in emphasis.
We stop at a few booths before I decide to get cacio e pepe, or cheese and pepper spaghetti. Who could resist it when the pasta is being tossed around in a massive block of romano cheese? David, I guess, because he chooses penne arrabbiata.
“Oh, Toni, you have to taste this spicy pasta. It’s the best thing I ever ate.”
“The best? Your mom’s cooking sounds pretty good to me any day of the week. I need her ramen again sometime soon.” I shove a twisted forkful of spaghetti in my mouth.
“It is, it is. Don’t tell her, alright? And you can come over whenever you want. Now, here, hurry up and chew so you can taste this.” He prepares his fork with a glob of penne and inhales more from his dish.
Swallowing as fast as I can, I pierce the penne on his plate and insert it into my mouth. Once the garlicy hot sauce hits my taste buds, they beg for mercy—and for more pasta. “You weren’t lyin’.” My eyes tear in the corners from the spice. “I must be getting weak. I can usually take the heat.”
“If you can’t take the heat, get your beep out of the kitchen.”
“I love that you bleeped out a swear word. You’re not in the classroom right now! Thank God.” I roll my eyes.
“Speaking of school, when do you think you’ll make your career move and leave me?”
Nothing could freeze my insides like that question. And what’s this ‘leave me’? “Um, I have some work to do before I can make the transition. I’m not even sure about where I could have a vineyard, what level of functioning of the winery I want to start from—undeveloped land or maybe a winery that’s had production. There’s a lot to consider.”
David snaps his fingers in front of my face, stopping my runaway train of thoughts. “If anyone can make it happen, it’s you. That Italian American work ethic of yours can’t be beat. I speak from experience with my Japanese family. We never give up and work our hands to the bone.” He puffs out his chest and smiles as he takes my empty plate along with his to toss them in the trash.
“Yeah, I’ve dealt with plenty aspects of my jobs that I don’t like, working my butt off, and this should be one I do like, so…”
“Okay, enough talking about it. Let’s make a plan. What’s first? Quick, blurt it out.” He claps.
I rapidly blink—and not due to that extra chardonnay I had earlier. “Viewing property, locations.”
“That sounds like a good place to start. Let’s plan something…unless you want Christian to go with you. I guess that would make the most sense since he’s your husband and all.” David grins.
Awkward.
What’s happening here? Is this the age-old myth that males and females can’t only remain friends? Well, they can on my end. I’m married.
“I’m not sure where he’s at by the second with this whole thing.” It’s impossible to keep anyone updated on the shifting moods of my husband when I can hardly keep up myself. “So, I’ll obviously tell you what happens, but I like where you’re going with this. If I begin action, the plan will come together and make the vision come alive.” Focus on the fun part, Toni.
“That’s what I’m sayin’. Give me your first step toward finding locations by Monday at work. It’s your homework.”
“Maybe I need someone to push me a little. At least I have you on my side. And Flora.”
“You always will, one hundred percent.” He sticks out his tongue and crosses his eyes.
I match him. And just like that, our energy feels normal again. “Hopefully my parents and Christian will come around.”
“Your parents will. I know it.”
He left out Christian…
Continuing, he says, “Those two want you to be happy above all else. Every time I’ve met them, I see it on their faces and in every word they say. They live for your happiness.”
“I don’t know about that, but they are the greatest. Now, I think I’ll go and snap the QR code for the restaurant where we got that pasta. They aced two meals, and Christian wanted me to get some ideas for our anniversary dinner.”
David straightens his posture and looks as if he stopped breathing.
Okey dokey, we’re back to strangeness.
“David?”
“Yeah, I think a leftover spot of spice just got me. Alright, anniversary dinner, yes. Let’s walk back to that booth. I could use some dessert.”
Trying to ignore whatever’s going on because I can’t fathom Christian being right about David, I quickly agree. “I’d love tiramisu, and I saw they offer it. Get that creamy mascarpone custard in my mouth.” Not only will my mouth be full, but my hands are as well.
Chapter Eighteen
Now I’m jamming. I spoke to a real estate broker to get the ball rolling, and Christian and I are meeting with him today. Yes, you read right. He offered to go with me before I even had to ask. Oddly enough, he even let up on cutting off David from being in my world. No demands or comments filled the apartment after the Taste of Italy night, and instead, a taste of calm arrived—well, if you want to call me being on edge for the next argument calm. So anyway, here we are on our way toward Malibu to view commercial land for sale. I can’t believe it.
“I think this is the spot.” Christian glances at the GPS on the dashboard, leading us to literally the middle of nowhere on Kanan Road.
I notice a tall, skinny man outside of his car, wearing a khaki blazer, blending in with the scenery if not for his bright white shirt and olive-green pants. “That must be Tad. See where I mean?” I ask, pointing in his direction.
“Tad is his name? What kind of a name is that? I’ll have a tad of this or a tad of that,” Christian taunts. “I can’t believe you want to trust someone named Tad.”
“It’s a fine name.” I put my hands on my hips, crunched by the constraint of the car. He better not be getting negative already. “Remember to be on your best behavior,” I add with humor in my voice.
“I’m not one of your kids in school. I think I know how to act.” He mouths his words through gritted teeth, but as soon as we exit the small space, I feel the fresh air of the hills greeting my face.
A gust of wind sends my curls in all directions, allowing me to shake my head in unrestrictive joy. As I push my mop away from my eyes and walk toward our new friend, I say, “Hi, Tad. I’m Toni. This is my husband, Christian.”
