Miranda
Now here she was turning thirty, and her life was tiny.
“I told Sam that he has another six months to get the snip-snip,” Rachel went on, tilting her head up to the late spring sunshine. “Or there’s no more sex for him.”
“He says he is. He better.”
“Oh sure,” Rachel said, closing her eyes and setting a hand on her stomach.
“I like babies. They’re warm and squishy and easy to feed.
Honestly, that one over there is harder.
” She nodded toward Jenny. “She refuses to eat anything that’s not white.
She won’t even eat corn unless it’s the white kind. Or peaches.”
“What?” Miranda gasped with mock horror. “The perfect daughter?”
“She even has a boyfriend.”
“I suppose she is a bit young for that. But surely it’s innocent.”
“The boy’s mother and I are forbidding any dates. They are allowed to talk on the phone for five minutes on the weekends. That’s it.”
“You’re not worried about Romeo and Julieting them?”
“If she kisses a boy before she’s sixteen, I will ground her to her room until she’s eighteen.”
Miranda laughed. “Oh, that’ll work.”
“I know. I know.” Rachel sighed. “I just don’t want her to become me, you know? I didn’t get my BA to have her, and I want her to graduate top of her class from a UC or better. She’s really good at math, of all things. Maybe she could be…I don’t know…a doctor? An astronaut?”
“Just be honest with her about your hopes for her, and your confidence in her abilities. That was something my mom was only selectively good at. She encouraged me because I wanted to work at the winery. But she really discouraged Winnie from the kind of writing she wanted to do. And now look at her. She’s a hippie who can barely stand to come home. ”
“She’ll grow out of it eventually.”
“I hope so. I’m sure Jenny will, too.”
Rachel held up her right hand with her index and middle fingers crossed.
“Oh hey, Sam said he thinks he might have someone to set you up with.”
“Ugh.”
“Hear me out. This guy does sound pretty great. And Sam claims he’s quite dashing.”
“Did he use the word ‘dashing’?”
“I asked if he was good-looking, and Sam replied that his secretary called him dashing.”
“Huh. Okay. Continue.”
“So the guy just bought the old Simpson farm. I guess he’s going to plant grapes. He’s a little older, like maybe forty, and he’s been a banker in the city and made great money, but he wants a different kind of life.”
“Oh, I heard about this guy. Everyone’s suspicious of him. He’s not married? At forty?”
“No kids, no complications. Are you interested?”
“He’ll only go out with me to get grape advice.”
“You do give grape advice.”
“Ha, ha.”
Rachel didn’t push it further, and Miranda wound up meeting him at a Growers’ Association meeting later that summer.
He was indeed dashing.
And he’d been in the valley long enough to know not to wear a suit to the meeting. He wore a beige linen shirt and jeans. Both were pressed, but at least he didn’t look entirely out of place in a room full of cowboy hats and turquoise belt buckles.
After the meeting, he made a beeline for Miranda, holding out his hand for a shake. “Miranda Hartley? I’m Tom Berlin.”
She shook his hand. No callouses yet, but it was firm and strong. Promising.
He had Paul Newman blue eyes and a kind of younger Jimmy Stewart look overall. She could just imagine him saying You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.
“Nice to meet you, Tom,” she said. Then, as innocently as she could, she asked, “How do you know who I am?”
“Since you’re famous as the only woman who runs one of these albatrosses, and here you are at the meeting, I put two and two together.”
“I’m hardly famous.” She blushed all the same.
He smiled, as if he knew better. “Any chance I can take you to dinner and get you to spill all your secrets?”
Here we go with the grape advice…. And yet, somehow she was charmed. “I hope I’m just as famous for not spilling secrets.” She smiled back, challenging him.
He laughed. “I like you already.”
She liked him too. Improbably.
“I’m free next Tuesday night.” It was Thursday. Even though she had no weekend plans, she didn’t want to seem too available.
“Tuesday it is. Hoping to plant some Glera by then.”
She whistled. “Prosecco grapes? You know people have tried and failed with champagne varietals for years here.”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. But I learned a few tricks in Italy about fizzy wine, and I think our fine state is perfect for them.”
Is he arrogant or has he actually done his homework?
Guess I’ll find out Tuesday.