Alex
Four
It was a long night on call, though I did catch a couple hours’ sleep at the hospital, and I’m grateful that the house is still quiet when I walk in.
I pour a cup of coffee and bring it to the kitchen table. Handing the pager to a colleague before I left the hospital was satisfying, and now nothing demands my attention—no charts waiting to be signed, consult requests to return, no nurse standing beside me expecting an answer.
But the quiet leaves space for my mind to wander, and it goes straight back to last evening’s fundraiser.
Matt’s voice surfaces first. “It’s her wine.”
I stood there explaining Black Bear’s flagship pinot to the woman who made it.
At the time, I’d thought the conversation was going well. I’d felt confident breaking down the balance and structure of the wine. Now the memory hits a little differently.
Josie Dempsey listened without interrupting, letting me explain her family’s wine like I was offering groundbreaking insight. There hadn’t been even a flicker of amusement or irritation on her face.
At least I didn’t criticize her wine and rave about Paradise.
But that wouldn’t have made any sense. I stare into my coffee for a second before taking another sip. Still, Josie Dempsey probably thinks I’m an absolute idiot.
Eventually, I pull my laptop closer and type Black Bear Vineyard into the search bar. The website loads almost immediately, and I scroll through the homepage until a photograph catches my attention.
It’s Josie, standing in the vineyard wearing a wide hat that shades most of her face.
Her jeans are streaked with dirt, and her rain boots are covered in mud.
One hand rests against a vine as she studies the row beside her.
There is nothing polished about the moment, and she looks completely at home there.
I scroll again.
Another photograph appears farther down the page. This one was taken at an event. Josie stands beside a woman identified in the caption as her sister Sera. She’s wearing a black dress, her hair pulled neatly away from her face. Around her neck hangs a gold medal.
The caption references the International Wine and Spirits Competition.
I study the image for a moment while the embarrassment from the fundraiser comes rushing back. Everything I know about wine could probably fit inside a thimble compared to what Josie Dempsey knows. At least I didn’t trash her wine—my only saving grace.
I close the laptop and shove it aside just as Eloise comes downstairs wearing her little Cinderella nightgown, her hair tangled from sleep.
“You’re home.”
“It was a long night.” I lean back against my chair and look up at her. “What did you and Zara do after I left?”
“We played Go Fish and watched a movie.”
“Let me guess. K-Pop Demon Hunters.”
Her face lights up. “It’s the best movie ever.”
I laugh and push myself to my feet. “How do you feel about my famous brioche French toast for breakfast?”
“Only if I can have strawberry syrup.”
I head for the kitchen and pull the bottle from the fridge. “Looks like you’re in luck.”
While I make French toast, Eloise chatters through every plan she has for the day. I’m exhausted enough that a nap sounds borderline life-saving, but somehow my schedule already includes ballet lessons, a birthday party, and at least three activities I don’t fully understand.
“Zara said the gift is by the door,” Eloise tells me from the counter stool.
I make a mental note that I owe Zara another bonus for basically keeping our lives functional.
“Perfect.”
I plate the French toast and set two glasses of milk on the table before sitting across from Eloise. She talks almost nonstop while she eats, bouncing between subjects so fast I only catch about half of it, but I nod along anyway because she clearly expects my full participation.
The second she finishes, she hops off the chair and runs for the television.
I reach over and switch it back off before the screen fully loads.
“Go get ready for ballet,” I tell her. “You can watch TV tonight.”
A dramatic sigh follows. “Dad.”
“I’m already considering cancelling the entire day so I can take a four-hour nap,” I warn her. “Don’t push me.”
She crosses her arms and stomps up the stairs. Sometimes she reminds me of her mother. I cringe. She’s probably waking Zara in the basement as she goes.
A few minutes later, Eloise reappears, ready for ballet dressed in her pink leotard and tights with a white tulle skirt.
She hands me an elastic, and I pull her long blond hair back. Thanks to several YouTube videos, I’m able to get her hair into a neat bun.
“Okay,” I stand. “Do you have your party outfit? We’ll walk right down to Kenny’s birthday after ballet.
“I want to go to his party as a ballerina.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “I think they’re planning a bouncy house.”
“Definitely. When I jump, my skirt will help me fly.”
Can’t argue with that logic. “Sounds good.”
We head to the door, and I see Zara already packed up Eloise’s party attire, so I grab the bag, just in case she changes her mind.
The drive across town has become part of the rhythm of our weekends.
Eloise’s dance bag sits beside her in the backseat as she explains something that happened at school the day before, elaborating on the disagreement she mentioned at dinner last night with the seriousness of someone who spent the afternoon negotiating peace.
I nod when appropriate and turn in to the small parking lot beside the dance studio.
Inside, the waiting area is already full. Most of the chairs along the wall are occupied by mothers who know each other well enough that the conversations have no pauses, moving easily from one topic to the next. They’re friendly enough, though. They usually at least acknowledge me.
Eloise squeezes my hand once before heading toward the studio door. “Don’t leave.”
“I’ll be right here.”
She nods and runs to her friends while I locate a seat along the wall. There are some serious dance moms here, but I try to be polite.
“How was the fundraiser last night?” Anna Martin asks. She’s the ringleader of the dance moms.
“Seemed successful,” I say. “A good turnout.”
“That’s great for the hospital.”
“It is.” I look through the window at the girls in their gaggle. The teacher taps a stick on the dance floor, which she often uses to keep time.
The conversation drifts for a few minutes before the woman beside me turns slightly in her chair. “I have a friend you should meet,” she tells me. “Recently single. Very nice.”
I offer the same polite smile I’ve used before. “That’s kind of you,” I say. “But right now my focus is my job and Eloise. That’s about all the time I have.”
She shrugs and then nods. “Well, if you change your mind…”
“I’ll let you know.”
Hopefully that sounded like a scheduling problem, but it isn’t. The truth is, I’m careful about who I allow into my life. Small towns have a way of turning casual introductions into gossip, and I have no interest in stepping into that current without a good reason.
I watch Eloise take her place at the barre. We’re good as we are.
The fifty-minute lesson soon has me fighting an involuntary nap.
“What has you so tired?” purrs Anita Singh, another mom.
“I was on call last night.”
“Oncologists are on call?”
I nod. “We’re pretty busy when we’re on call.”
“I had no idea. Cancer doesn’t run in my family, so I wouldn’t know.”
“You’re very lucky then.” I stand and excuse myself. I have to move if I’m going to stay awake. I walk outside to get some fresh air but keep my eye on Eloise through the glass. She doesn’t even notice I’ve moved outside.
After ballet, I show her the pretty dress Zara picked for the party, but Eloise still wants her ballet skirt.
“You do you, babe.”
As we gather our things, the ballet teacher hands me her phone number, “just in case you want to get a drink sometime,” she says.
“Thanks.” I smile and tuck it in my pocket, knowing I’ll never call.
Eloise and I walk down the block to the house where the birthday party is. I can hear the screeching sounds of children as we approach.
“Are you going to stay?” Eloise asks.
“Probably,” I assure her. “But if I don’t, I’ll be back in time to take you home.”
“Okay.”
The backyard is loud, with children moving between tables while parents gather in small clusters along the fence. Most of the adults stand in pairs, leaning into conversation. I find a seat along the edge of the yard and watch the patterns take shape.
For a moment I remember what being part of a couple felt like. Sometimes I miss the companionship. But I don’t miss the complications that came with it.
Across the yard, Eloise waves once before disappearing into the bouncy house.
By the time we get home and I manage the energy to think about dinner, evening has fallen.
In the end, dinner is simple. I order pizza to be delivered and after we eat, Eloise returns from the hallway holding the remote.
“Can we watch it?”
“K-Pop Demon Hunters again?”
She nods with a giant grin on her face.
The movie starts, and within minutes she’s dancing across the living room, following the choreography while singing loudly and completely out of tune to songs she’s memorized after watching the movie more times than I can count.
I sit at the kitchen table behind the couch and watch her. I love the way Eloise throws herself completely into the moment, unconcerned with whether every step lines up perfectly with the music.
Moments like this have become the quiet center of my life.
A little later, once Eloise has moved to sit on the floor, watching the next scene, I pull the laptop towards me on the table. I open the Black Bear website again, and it takes a minute to find the contact page.
Once I do, Josie’s email address sits beneath her name. I hesitate for a moment, and then click to start a message.
Hi Josie,
You may remember me as the guy at the fundraiser who enthusiastically explained Black Bear’s flagship pinot to you before learning I was giving that lecture to the person who made the wine.
In hindsight, that moment probably deserves a proper apology.
If you’re open to it, I’d enjoy the chance to make up for my foot-in-mouth performance. Perhaps dinner sometime?
Alex Spencer
I reread the message once before sending it. Then I close the laptop and set it aside. Josie’s busy making first-class wine. I hope I’ll hear from her, but she’s probably far too busy for someone like me.
Across the room, Eloise rises to sing along with the movie again, completely absorbed in the scene.
The evening returns to its familiar rhythm, but things feel slightly different now that the invitation is out in the world.