Chapter 11
Allegra
I t’s late afternoon when I finally return home. I follow the murmur of voices to the living room, expecting to see Rosa and Jake. Instead, I find Bianca and Jansen cuddled together on the couch, looking very cute and coupley. Jansen’s dog quickly uncurls himself from beside them, and comes prancing up to greet me.
“Oops. Sorry,” I say, coming to an abrupt halt just inside the room. “I didn’t know you all were in here.”
“Oh, hey. You’re back!” Bianca turns to smile at me. “We’re watching movies. Come join us.” Then her eyes widen. Her gaze flickers over me and she asks. “Is that…my jacket you’re wearing?”
Uh-oh. I tug the collar closer to my neck, to hide the hickeys I’m not ready to explain. “It, uh… I dunno. M-maybe?” I stammer a little, feeling sheepish and defensive. “It was cold last night, and this was in the closet.”
“Legs…”
“But hey, at least I didn’t lose it, right? Or spill anything on it?” I crouch down to pet the dog, wishing I’d had the sense to ditch the jacket as soon as I came in. But then again, I needed something to hide the marks on my neck. “I’m going clothes shopping this week, so it won’t happen again.”
“It’s fine,” my sister replies quickly—although it sure doesn’t seem like that’s the case, now does it? Otherwise, why are we still talking about it? “Just, you know, maybe ask beforehand, okay?”
“I said I wasn’t going to do it again,” I reply, straightening up. “Besides, you weren’t here to ask, were you?” Of course she wasn’t. My sisters went off to play with their friends, leaving me behind. Just. Like. Always.
Bee’s mouth falls open, but before she can recover enough to point out that I’m acting like a brat—I know I am, all right? Being back here has me falling into all the old, familiar patterns, childhood habits that I can’t seem to break—I hurry into speech. “How’d the wedding go, anyway?” I ask, in hopes of changing the subject.
Before Bee can answer, Rosa emerges from the kitchen. She’s carrying two large bowls piled with popcorn—one sweet, one savory, if I had to make a guess—and is followed closely by Jake who’s toting two six-packs of beer.
“Okay, popcorn’s ready, pizzas are ordered?—”
“Beer’s cold,” Jake interjects, holding them aloft.
“So, let’s do this,” Rosa finishes, just moments before she catches sight of me. “Oh, Allegra. You’re here.” Her gaze runs over me, in much the same way as Bianca’s did. But if she recognizes the jacket, she doesn’t mention it. She does heave a relieved sigh, however. “I was starting to worry. Where’ve you been?”
I bite back the snarky reply— ‘sorry, Mom. Didn’t realize I needed to check in with you’—as it tries to slip out. Because, even at my brattiest, that’s not the kind of thing I can say to either of my sisters. I mean, yes, it’s ridiculous for Rosa to worry about me, a grown woman, now that I’m home. Especially since, during most of the last five years, she rarely even knew what country I was in. But all the same, it’s too low a blow. That kind of line really hits different when your mother flat-out abandoned you. “There was nothing for you to worry about. I went out to dinner, ran into an old friend,” I say instead. “We ended up back at his place. Then it got late and…” Oh, shit. What the fuck am I doing?
Damn my sleep deficient brain, that is not a door I want to open right now. “So, what movie are you watching?” I ask—deflecting yet again.
“I believe it’s called Bottle Jock,” Jansen says, drawing a muffled laugh from Bianca.
“You mean…Bottle Shock ?” I correct—and okay, yes. I admit it. This time I let a little too much of my frustrated snarkiness bleed into my tone. But he’s not my sister, not a client, practically a stranger, so that makes him fair game.
Judging by Bianca’s frown, she disagrees. “He knows that,” she tells me, giving Jansen’s thigh a quick, reassuring pat. “He was just being funny. It was a joke.”
“Well, how was I supposed to know?” I answer. Grasping for a witty response, I find only, “I thought maybe you guys were watching porn. That sounds like it could be a porn film, doesn’t it?”
Jansen barks with laughter. He nudges Bianca and says, “You know, I’m starting to think you were right. Maybe I shoulda gone with that for the winery.”
Bianca’s cheeks are fiery red. “No, no. I think you made the right choice,” she says in stifled tones.
“Why don’t we all sit down?” Rosa suggests, shooting me a look that I can’t interpret as she slips past me to deposit the bowls on the coffee table, where stacks of napkins, plates, and smaller bowls have already been assembled.
“Beer?” Jake asks, extending one of the six-packs in my direction.
“Thanks,” I say as I take one, more or less automatically. I study the label for a moment, then glance around at the others. “Hey, how come nobody’s drinking wine?”
Jake pauses in the act of handing out beers and arches a brow. “With popcorn?” He snags two bottles—for himself and Rosa, I assume—then stretches out on one of the oversized lounge chairs that bracket the couch. “What would you even pair with that?”
All eyes turn to Bianca. She twists open her beer and takes a swig. “It depends. What flavor of popcorn are we talking about?”
“Well, today we’ve got spicy ranch and lavender honey,” Rosa tells her, as she hands individual bowls to her and Jansen.
“Ooh, that sounds yummy.” Bianca scoots forward to fill her bowl. “Riesling? Or maybe Prosecco?”
“Do we make either of those?” Jansen asks. He glances around the room and adds, “I mean any of us here—in the valley?”
Bianca shakes her head. “Not so much anymore. It used to be pretty popular, but now I think there’s less than one-hundred acres planted in Riesling grapes. And that’s in all of Napa.”
From what I remember from my wine-making lessons of a decade ago, there are reasons for that. The first one being that Riesling grapes are difficult to grow here due to the weather. Something about them needing a longer, cooler growing season than most of the valley can provide? Then there’s the issue of the Botrytis cinerea fungus—useful when making sweeter wines like Riesling and Sauterne, deadly if it were to spread to other crops that the state’s economy depends upon, such as strawberries. But I’m not sure enough about my facts to show off. Not in front of my sisters. Or even Jake. All of whom have degrees in this sort of stuff. So, I keep silent and let the subject drop.
“Legs, c’mon,” Rosa urges, startling me out of my musing. “Pick a seat already. Let’s get started.”
As I suspected she’d do, Rosa has snuggled up with Jake on the lounge chair, leaving the other chair—isolated on the far side of the room—or the empty space on the couch for me to choose between. Not liking either of those options, I opt to sit on the floor in front of the couch where I can be insulated from all the happy coupledom and still have easy access to the popcorn. I’m shocked when the dog curls up beside me.
“That’s Moose,” Bee answers.
I hide my surprise, because Moose, a mostly Jack Russell with a missing ear, appears to be the least moose-like dog imaginable. Ohh-kay then .
“You know, we do have wine,” Jake says, gesturing at my still unopened bottle. “If you really don’t want that beer.” Then he turns to Rosa and says, “In fact, why don’t you let her try the Carleo. Maybe she can figure out what’s wrong with it.”
I feel myself frowning. The Carleo was hugely popular, back in the day. It was even rumored that rival vintners—throughout the California wine growing regions—had celebrated for days after Geno announced his decision to stop entering Belmonte’s flagship wine in any more contests. He’d been winning with tiresome regularity, and I had it on good authority that it was the organizers of said contests who’d begged him to do so, in an effort to keep submissions from other wineries from dropping away to nothing.
“What’s wrong with the Carleo?” I ask now.
“That’s what we’d like to know,” Bianca says, tossing a piece of popcorn in the air and catching it in her mouth. “It’s not what I was expecting, that’s for sure.”
“Same,” Rosa agrees.
“What they mean is that it’s not very good,” Jake clarifies.
Well, I don’t know how that’s possible. “How’d you even get some—I thought it was a Wine Club exclusive, at this point?”
Rosa shrugs. “The cousins. We had them over for dinner several weeks ago. Just after Bianca got back. They brought several bottles with them.”
“That was so fun,” Bianca enthuses. “We should definitely do that again. Especially now that Legs is back. You haven’t seen them yet, have you?”
“That’s a good idea.” Rosa nods in agreement. “Let’s schedule something.”
“I want to hear more about the wine,” I say, quickly changing the subject. “Was it corked or something?”
“No, nothing like that,” Bianca says. “I’m not saying it’s bad, mind you; it was just not great. And yes, it could have been a bad vintage, or just an issue with these particular bottles, but it certainly didn’t live up to the hype.”
“But, please, whatever you do,” Rosa cautions. “Don’t tell Vitto we said anything. He’s their head winemaker now and…well, you know. I’m sure he tries his best, but…”
“But he’s clearly not as talented as your sister,” Jake finishes, nodding towards Bianca.
“Hear, hear!” Jansen says, raising his bottle in a toast. Bianca blushes as the others join in. I lift my bottle, remember belatedly that it’s still not open, rush to untwist the cap, and end up spilling half the contents on the floor, and over the dog, who beats a quick retreat to the couch.
But hey, at least I manage not to get any beer on Bianca’s jacket, so I count that as a win.
While I’m cleaning up the mess, my thoughts circle back to the previous topic. And I find myself saying, “You know I’d never repeat anything you said about him to Vitto. Especially now that you asked me not to, but if you have complaints, I bet he’d be glad to hear them. Judging by what he told me, about how Geno keeps hamstringing him, not letting him make wine the way he wants to, etc. I don’t know if that counts for much. If he could convince his father that the Belmonte brand is in trouble, he could maybe force Geno into at least letting him try to do his own thing.”
“Have you actually met our uncle?” Bianca asks skeptically. “He does not react well to criticism. Plus, if it gets back to him that people are trash talking his wine, it’ll likely incentivize him. He’ll be more determined than ever to get his hands on our grapes.”
“I thought he’d given up on that idea?” I ask, feeling low-key dismayed. “Didn’t you tell me you talked to him?” Could it be Clay was right, and I was wrong about how long we’ll have to keep sneaking around?
Bianca shrugs. “I talked. And maybe he heard me. But whether he’ll actually take it to heart is anyone’s guess.”
“But…”
“Okay, wait. I’m confused,” Rosa says, looking puzzled. “When did you talk to Vitto?”
I can’t help myself; I freeze for an instant. I stare at my sister like a glazed zombie, while my brain takes its sweet time coming back online. This is why I hate lying. Making up stories on the fly is hard work! The details always trip me up. But this is something even more ironic. I’m actually telling the truth, but I’m still screwing things up!
“Last night,” I finally admit. “I went to the Golden Cougar and ran into the Lambros. Apparently, they’d ordered all the Napatizers. I figured it was my duty to stay and help them out.”
“What did you say?” Rosa squeaks in surprise, as Jake chokes on his drink and Bianca slaps a hand to her mouth—to keep from spewing beer all over the place, I imagine. Only Jansen seems composed, lips quirking into a smile as he waits for me to explain.
“I said I didn’t want them ending up in a food coma—why?”
“No. Not that. What did you call them?”
“Napatizers? I’m talking about your standard-issue Napa Valley appetizers. What d’you want me to call them? They were bussin’ by the way. Have you been?”
Bianca nods. “Yes. I love the food there.”
“Not that either,” Rosa says. “Was I hearing things, or did you just refer to our cousins as The Lambros?”
“Yeah? I mean, technically it’s short for Lamberti brothers, but tell me they wouldn’t totally be driving expensive, Italian sports cars—all day, every day—if Geno wasn’t so tightfisted.” I shrug and add, “At least, that was my impression five years ago. Have they changed?”
“I don’t know,” Rosa admits. “But I do know that they stepped up to help us several times over the summer.”
“That’s true.” Bianca nods in agreement. “They did. I don’t know what we’d have done without them.”
“Well, cool,” I say as I shrug and look away, busying myself with the spilled beer again, even though there really isn’t anything left to clean. I’m not sure if the unspoken subtext I’m hearing—" they were here to help us, but you weren’t”—is real, or just the product of my own guilty conscience. “Glad to hear it. And I actually had a good time chatting with them last night. You know, a nickname is not necessarily a bad thing.”
“Can confirm,” Jansen agrees, unexpectedly. “That’s just what I told Razor.”
“Who?” I turn to ask him—just in time to see Bianca roll her eyes in fond amusement.
“He means Miles,” she explains. “Jansen gives everyone nicknames. Apparently, it’s a hockey thing.”
I nod absently, searching for the right tone—amused, casual, disinterested—before adding, “So, speaking of nicknames, or names in general, Gianni happened to notice that Deputy Romero was there, so he dared me to go over and talk to him. And you know me and dares.” I roll my eyes, as though I’m amused by my own foibles. “But hey, at least I finally learned what his real name is, so there’s that.”
“Oh, we did, too!” Bianca says. “I knew there was something I meant to tell you. He was at the wedding. Turns out his name is Clay. But Miles says no one ever calls him that.”
“I know,” I say as I help myself to more popcorn—quickly stuffing my mouth so more words won’t fall out. The story Clay told me about how he and his siblings came by their names and why is so cute! I want to share it with my sisters, but I know I can’t.
Rosa is still looking concerned. “So then…who’s this mysterious friend you spent the night with,” she asks.
“There’s no mystery,” I reply, twisting the truth just the tiniest bit. “I just reconnected with someone I used to know. After I left the restaurant,” I add, in case word of this gets back to the cousins, and they start to get ideas. “But come on, you don’t want to hear about that now, do you? I thought we were gonna watch this movie?”
Lucky for me, the others agree. And—even luckier—the film had already been queued up. So, within less than a minute, the danger has passed and we’re all happily watching Chris Pine in his most relatable (at least from my perspective) role ever as the cute but underachieving, cellar-rat-slash-party-boy who ultimately makes something of himself. And maybe, sort of, kinda gets the girl at the end? Hard to say.
It's been a few years since I’ve seen it, and parts of it are hitting different now. Possibly because I’ve just been with Clay, who reminds me a lot more of Gustavo than he does Bo.
They’re both serious, passionate, impulsive (hello, antenna scene). They’ve both had to work hard for every achievement. They never had anything handed to them—unlike Bo. Senor Garcia was right about that. Or like me, if I’m honest.
And that cabin scene with Gustavo and Sam? Whew. It’s only been a couple of hours since I left Clay’s apartment, but that scene has me wanting to break out my phone and start sexting. I don’t, of course, because I’m not alone, and that would be weird. But I really want to, all the same.
My sisters keep up a running commentary (that I occasionally contribute to) as we watch the film. And it feels so right, so familiar, so much like old times. I can’t stop wondering if Clay has seen it (apparently Jansen had not) and what he’d think of it, how he’d react. Which ultimately leads to me feeling cranky again, and out of sorts—even after several slices of Divino’s pizza—because I can’t even imagine what it would be like if he were here, hanging with my sisters and their misters. I mean, it works well enough on paper—they’re all friends (or friendly) with Miles, after all. But in real life? I just can’t see it. And that makes me sad.
And actually, now that I think of it, the pizza, while delicious, is also part of the problem. Everyone’s s been great about sharing with me, but I wasn’t here when they placed the order, and it shows. Not that I have any real issue with sausage, pepper, and sun-dried tomato pizza. Or with barbecue chicken, bacon, and black olives, either. They’re both solid choices. But it’s been years since I had my absolute favorite toppings, the controversial, much maligned, ham and pineapple. Which is only the best combination ever.
But let me tell you, if you think people on this side of the pond look down on Hawaiian pizza, try ordering one in Europe!
All of which leads me to wonder what kind of pizza Clay would order. For the record, I’m betting on pulled pork and jalapeno with Cotija cheese. Which in turn leads to me missing him, ridiculous as that may be after just one night. But fate is weird like that. Look at Rosa and Jake. They just spent ten years apart and yet; to look at them now, you’d never know it.
By the time the movie is over, I’m done. I’m tired of feeling envious, lonely and, seriously out-of-sorts. I’m also just plain tired from lack of sleep. I’m too horny to go to bed alone, even though that’s the only option available tonight. I’m also stuffed full of pizza and popcorn, slightly buzzed from one, I mean two…no, make that three beers! All of which puts me in serious danger of saying too much, and all the wrong things, if my feet don’t hit the stairs rightthefuck now
“Well, I’m out,” I announce as I climb to my feet. I pause for a moment, swaying slightly as I adjust to the change in altitude, vaguely aware that my sisters are gazing at me in concern. And frowning.
“What? No! Where are you going?” Bianca asks. “We’re about to watch A Walk in the Clouds—your favorite!”
Oh, hell. That is my favorite. But I can’t right now. This is a movie about a woman returning to her childhood home in Napa. A woman with a secret love life that she’s hiding from her overbearing family. I’m already living that particular dream. Less the unwed pregnancy, obvs. “I’m tired,” I tell Bianca. “This has been great, but I gotta go to bed.”
“But it’s peak Keanu,” Rosa says—as if I didn’t know that! Even though the age gap makes it a little embarrassing to talk about now, my pre-teen-self fangirled hard over Neo. “You don’t want to miss that do you?”
“Seriously,” I say—then immediately have to pause for a jaw-cracking yawn—a real one, but it helps to sell the story. “I can’t tonight. But you know what’s great about movies? He’ll be just as beautiful next time we watch it. And I’ll be better able to appreciate it then.”
I cross the room to a chorus of people wishing me a good night—in between yawns of their own. Sorry, not sorry. I pause in the doorway to smile at them all. “This was fun,” I say. “We should do it again. Soon.”
“We should,” Rosa agrees. “We can do it next weekend, if you want. And maybe we’ll invite the cousins, too.”
“The Lambros,” I say, just to pull her chain. “Learn it. Use it.”
She rolls her eyes and grins in response, shooing me away with a flap of her hand. “Go to bed. You’re delirious.”
“I know you are, but what am I?” I tease. As I hit the stairs, I’m hugging happiness and contentment to my chest like a soft and squishy, heart-shaped pillow, metaphorically speaking, of course. For the first time in years, I feel like I have a family that loves me and a home where I belong. It’s a nice feeling. Add to that this thing with Clay—whatever it is—and life just can’t get much better.
Enjoy it while you can , my inner cynic advises. Nothing this good could last for long . Like I don’t know that. All it would take to have my entire world come crashing down is to have one or more of my secrets come to light.
What happens after that is anyone’s guess.