Alex
Twenty-six
The bottle sits nearly empty now. I tilt it carefully and divide the last of the wine between Josie’s glass and mine while the valley below us disappears into deeper darkness, the final edge of sunset slipping behind the distant hills on the last evening of our trip.
“Looks like we timed that perfectly,” Josie says.
“Good bottle,” I answer. I roll the stem of the glass slowly between my fingers before setting it back on the balcony table.
Napa always feels a little different from Paradise. Back home the land feels practical, like something people work because they have to. The vines are part of the rhythm of the town, something that ties everyone’s schedules together whether they want that or not.
Josie tucks her feet beneath her in her chair. “Can I ask you something?”
I nod over the rim of my glass. “Anything.”
Her smile fades slightly. This tells me whatever she wants to ask probably isn’t about wine.
“Tell me about Anastasia.”
Ah. Pulling in a breath, I look out across the vineyard instead of at her.
For a second I consider dodging the question altogether.
There are easier things to talk about. Safer things.
The problem is that after spending an entire day with Josie, watching her laugh and tease me and steal sips from my wine glass when she thought I wasn’t looking, I find myself wanting to answer. This is something I want her to know.
“We grew up together,” I say finally. “Toronto. Same schools. Same friends. Our parents had money, so it was a tight circle. If you’d asked either set of parents when we were sixteen, they would’ve told you we’d end up married. That was certainly what they wanted.”
Josie rests her elbow on the arm of her chair.
“When I got into medical school in Montreal, Anastasia moved with me. We got married somewhere in the middle of my residency in Vancouver. When it was up, I looked for work in smaller towns, and we agreed we didn’t want to go back to Toronto.
I got a job in Paradise, and not long after we arrived, we learned she was pregnant, and we had Eloise.
Looking back, it all sounds pretty normal. ”
“But?”
I laugh softly. “There’s always a but.”
The breeze shifts across the balcony. Behind us, the curtains move in the open doorway to the hotel room.
“After Eloise was born, things got harder,” I explain. “At first I thought it was exhaustion. New baby. Lack of sleep. The usual stuff. Then I thought maybe it was postpartum depression. We hired Zara to help, and I kept telling myself we’d figure it out.”
“You loved her.”
This isn’t a question, yet something in me still wants to deny it. I look down at my glass a moment. “I did.” I force myself to look up at Josie as I continue. “Then one morning Anastasia told me she needed a break. She wanted to spend some time with her family in Toronto.”
Josie’s brow furrows. “How long?”
I shrug. “A couple of weeks. That’s what I thought, anyway.”
The memory still has the power to make me feel stupid. I remember loading her suitcase into the car. Kissing her goodbye at the airport. Driving home and making plans for when she got back. None of it felt unusual at the time.
“But then we didn’t communicate for six weeks.”
Josie sits forward so quickly her wine glass rattles against the table. “That’s a long time.”
I nod. “I’d call, and when she answered she’d make some excuse and tell me she’d call me back later. But she never did. At first I figured she was settling in. Then I figured she was angry with me about something. Then I started making excuses because the alternative didn’t make sense.”
Josie just looks at me, shaking her head.
“When she finally reached out, she said being home had made her realize how much she’d missed her family, and she didn’t like living in Paradise.” I stare out into the darkness beyond the resort lights. “She said she’d been happier in Toronto than she’d been in years.”
Josie reaches for me.
I’m grateful for that. Most people rush to fill uncomfortable silences. The comfort of her hand on mine is better.
“Then she told me she wasn’t coming back.”
The words land as flatly as they did that day. No matter how many years pass, they never seem to change. “I offered to move.”
Josie’s eyes widen. “You did?”
“I told her I’d leave Paradise. I promised to finish my contract and find a position in Toronto.”
Even now, part of me cringes. Not because I offered, but because I was bargaining with someone whose mind was already made up, and it wasn’t just about where we lived. “I thought if I removed the problem…” I shake my head. “Hell, I don’t know what I thought.”
“What did she say?”
I look over at Josie. “She told me not to bother.”
For a second neither of us speaks. Sounds of the resort float up from below, muted by distance. Somewhere a door closes. Somewhere somebody laughs.
It felt strange that the world had kept on moving that day too.
“Alex…”
This is the part I hate because it never gets easier. But I might as well finish now. “She said she didn’t want to be a mother.”
I watch the realization move across Josie’s face. Not exactly shock or heartbreak, but an acknowledgement that nothing about this makes sense.
“She never came back?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
“What about Eloise?”
That feels like a punch to the gut. Maybe because I can picture every birthday party, every Christmas morning, and every school concert with nothing from Anastasia.
“She doesn’t know her mother. Doesn’t remember her. I send Anastasia updates,” I say. “Photos. School report cards. Milestones. For some reason it still feels like the right thing to do.”
“Does she ever answer?”
I look down. “No.”
Josie’s fingers lace with mine.
“She’s never called. Never sent a birthday card. Never asked to visit.”
I stop there because saying more doesn’t help. There are some things a father never really makes peace with. When I look up, Josie is watching me.
She still doesn’t say anything, but she’s here. She doesn’t seem rattled. And I feel stronger. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore. But there’s no need to dwell.
“Enough about Anastasia,” I tell her. “Why are you still single?”
Josie throws her head back and laughs. Eventually she sighs.
“When I was in college, I met a great guy. He was in my viticulture program. He grew up in Argentina on a vineyard that was half the size of Black Bear. I brought him home, and Evie paid him to break up with me.” I shrug.
“He admitted the money would help him expand his family business.”
My breath leaves me on a gasp. “Why did she do that?”
“She always struggled to trust people. She didn’t really even trust any of us—her family. She always said she’d been burned too many times.”
“That’s a terrible way to live.”
“My brother, sisters, and cousins all think she tried to do the same thing at one time or the other to each of them. Part of it is because once our parents married, their spouses all had ideas about what to do with the vineyard. But our vineyard isn’t anything like Paradise Hill.
They’ve got restaurants and weddings and social events…
We didn’t even have a tasting room until about eight years ago.
The gift shop was a battle with her. Evie couldn’t understand those decisions.
In her mind, it’s winemaking or nothing.
Anyone who thinks differently could be out to betray her. ”
“Wow. That’s a lot. I understand the tension a little better now.” I pull her in, and she rests her head on my chest. “Well, I hope this isn’t too formal, but I’m really glad our paths led us to this. Today was perfect.”
She smiles up at me. “I agree.”
With our wine glasses empty, we stand and walk back into the suite. The cool night air disappears behind the glass, and the quiet warmth of the room takes its place, carrying the faint scent of the wine we just finished and the clean linen smell that seems to exist in every hotel.
Josie pauses near the couch while slipping off her shoes, her attention drifting briefly toward the closed door of the adjoining room. For a second the entire suite feels suspended in that moment between the end of the evening and whatever comes next.
“Eloise seems pretty comfortable here.”
“She is.”
I lead her to our room, and Josie pauses near the doorway while I step past her. When I turn back toward her, the easy closeness between us has returned, and what passed between us on the balcony now feels like something understood rather than unresolved.
Three days isn’t long enough to change anything about real life. Back in Paradise, the routines waiting for us will still be exactly the same as they were before we left. But the space between us feels different now.
Maybe it started at the pool earlier this afternoon while Eloise splashed water everywhere and Zara pretended to be offended and Josie laughed.
Maybe it started on the balcony while the sun went down and the valley turned dark.
Or maybe it started long before this trip and we’re only noticing it now that everything else has slowed down enough to see it.
Josie stops near the edge of the bed and turns toward me again. I reach for her hand and draw her gently forward, brushing my thumb across the back of her fingers. The movement is small enough that she could ignore it if she wanted to.
She doesn’t.
Instead she steps closer, closing the space between us. The warmth of her body presses against mine. I keep hold of her hand while the quiet stretches between us, the rhythm of Eloise’s breathing flickering faintly on the monitor beside us.
Tomorrow we return home, but tonight is ours.
Neither of us says anything else.
We don’t need to.