Chapter Thirty-one Remi
Chapter Thirty-one
Remi
Remi gazed out the window as Zoe, Bas, and Mila sat at the edge of the pool, their feet dangling in the water, soaking up the final days of summer. Soon they’d all be heading back to school.
Sundays were usually easygoing and peaceful, but today she worked.
She was busy preparing for Joie’s big tasting event.
A notebook lay open on the island in the kitchen as she jotted down some notes.
There was still so much to do: prepare the space, select the wines, finalize the menu.
She needed to hire caterers. Her marketing team was hard at work designing artwork and promotional materials for distribution.
Personal invitations would be mailed to a select number of guests.
The local artist Remi had commissioned to paint the mural in the tasting room had already begun work on the piece and had promised to finish it before the event. Furniture was scheduled to arrive in the coming week, and interviews for staff had already begun.
Things were falling into place.
She sat at the island as soft music played on the Bluetooth speaker.
She closed the notebook and exhaled, letting her gaze drift back to the sunlit backyard and the laughter that echoed through the screened patio door.
Then she opened the Pinterest app and began scrolling through images on her iPad.
The decorations needed to reflect Joie’s essence—warm, sophisticated, and inviting.
They needed to blend in with the tasting room’s soft lighting and the earth-toned, soft peach walls.
The winery’s outdoor space was just as beautiful as the inside.
In the garden flowers and vegetation were in full bloom—lupine, poppies, and wild irises.
Even a few California fuchsias were beginning to pop up.
She envisioned decorating the garden area with high-top tables draped in flowing white tablecloths, soft candlelight, and strings of white lights overhead. Every detail mattered.
She imagined how the evening would come together.
The late-afternoon sun would stretch across the garden.
Guests would move from table to table, wineglasses in hand, laughter rising.
Each station would offer something different—a crisp Sauvignon Blanc, a velvety Pinot Noir, and of course Joie’s signature wine—the sparkling rosé with notes of strawberry and citrus—would be the centerpiece of the tasting.
The wine would be paired with small bites.
Not just a tasting but an experience. An introduction to the world.
Her phone buzzed. It was a message from Camille, her marketing lead: Final draft of the invitation is ready. Want to review before we print?
Remi typed a quick response: Yes, email it to me.
When her phone buzzed again, she thought it was Camille texting back. Instead, it was Leo, sending a photo that he’d snapped of her during their daycation at the beach. In the photo, she was looking away—somewhere in deep thought. She smiled and typed: When did you sneak this one in?
He replied: While you were far, far away.
Remi smiled.
Bianca quietly walked into the kitchen, fully dressed. She’d been closed up in her room for days—tiptoeing on the edge of depression. When Remi saw her appear, a flicker of relief softened in her chest, grateful for the small sign that she hadn’t given up. She had started to worry.
“Glad to see you.” Remi gave her a smile.
“Thought I might cook something. Cooking always lifts my mood.” Her voice was soft but steady.
“Well, by all means, cook,” Remi said with a small laugh.
“Mind if I borrow the car? I want to pick up a few ingredients. Seafood and fresh vegetables.”
“Of course. You feel okay to drive?”
“I think so.”
Remi paused, then said, “Maybe I’ll tag along. Give you a hand.”
Bianca glanced at her, the faintest trace of a smile forming. “I’d like that.”
The drive was quiet at first, but not in a heavy way—just comfortable.
The windows were down, letting in a breeze.
Remi allowed her to drive. She wanted Bianca to feel as if she could do normal things again.
She warned that if she felt fatigued, she would take the wheel.
Bianca kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting in her lap.
Remi watched the way her expression softened when the wind caught her hair, how the sunlight danced across her face.
Her hair was beginning to fill in again—just a little bit.
Remi’s heart saddened at the thought of how they’d gotten to this place.
How their friendship had evolved into such a bad awkwardness.
How betrayal had torn them apart. Their sisterhood had been such an important part of her life, and now she didn’t even recognize Bianca, or her own life for that matter.
Things were so different now. It was as if they were becoming reacquainted when they’d known each other so intimately their entire lives.
Had Bianca not gotten sick, they would not be in this car together, nor the same house.
They wouldn’t be in the same space at all.
It was as if the universe had other plans, though.
At the market they grabbed a cart and wandered into the produce section. Bianca moved with more purpose than Remi expected, scanning the bins for heirloom tomatoes and bright bundles of herbs.
“These look good,” Bianca said, holding up a bunch of asparagus.
Remi nodded. “What are you thinking?”
“Grilled asparagus. Maybe some seared scallops, and a citrus salad if I can find good oranges.”
“That sounds amazing,” Remi said, picking up a bunch of basil and holding it up to her nose. “You feel like doing this? Cooking?”
Bianca shrugged lightly. “Figured it’s better than lying in bed.”
They continued down the aisles, grabbing lemons, garlic, crusty bread from the bakery, and a chilled bottle of sparkling water for the ride home.
As they walked toward the checkout, Remi nudged her gently. “Glad you got out today.”
Bianca didn’t look at her, just smiled a little and said, “Me too.”
Remi watched as Bianca moved around in the kitchen as she’d done so many times before. She watched her rhythm—chopping, slicing, arranging. Bianca didn’t speak much, but her silence wasn’t withdrawn; it was focused. She zested a lemon.
“You’re in your zone now, I see.”
“It’s like therapy,” Bianca replied, squeezing the juice into a small bowl.
The scallops sizzled in the pan, the scent of garlic and butter blooming into the room.
Remi decided to help. She began tearing basil leaves, laying them gently over the plate of sliced oranges, berries, avocado, arugula, and feta cheese.
She moved beside Bianca, close enough to feel the warmth from the stove, to let the silence between them feel like something shared, rather than avoided.
The girls walked into the house after sunbathing by the pool all afternoon.
“Something smells good,” Zoe said, a thick towel wrapped around her waist. She took a seat at the island. “Glad to see you up and about, Aunt B.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Bianca said with a soft smile, wiping her hand on a dish towel. “I’m glad to be up and about.”
Mila trailed in behind her and climbed onto the stool next to her.
She didn’t look at her mother—not out of anger or resentment, just …
restraint. Her silence still hung in the air, but it didn’t feel sharp or hostile.
It was the kind of quiet that comes with sorting through too many feelings at once.
She was still trying to find her way through the pain of it all.
Remi could see that she still felt unsure about things, and she was keeping her words tucked safely inside until she was ready to release them again.
Bianca glanced over at her, then back to the stove, saying nothing. She was giving her the space she needed to heal.
“Zoe, can you grab us a bottle of Chardonnay from the cellar?” Remi asked.
Zoe grinned widely. “Us, as in all of us?”
Remi raised an eyebrow. “You’re not quite legal drinking age.”
“There are exceptions, Mom,” Zoe said. “In the privacy of our home, under parental supervision, it’s totally allowed.”
Remi turned to Bianca for help. “What do you think, B?”
“The girl has a point.” Bianca gave Zoe a wink. “Can’t hurt.”
The ever-observant Mila sat by, watched her mother with careful eyes but said nothing.
“Fine,” Remi said with a sigh of resignation. “Grab us a bottle. Actually, bring two.”
As Zoe returned and placed the bottles on the counter, Remi reached up for wineglasses.
Her eyes flicked toward Mila, reading her face. “You don’t have to have wine if you don’t want to, sweetie.”
Mila gave a small smile. “I want some,” she said.
Remi narrowed her eyes playfully. “So now I’m skeptical. How often are you two drinking when we’re not around?” She shot a look at Zoe and then Mila.
“Almost never,” Zoe replied, attempting a straight face, but a grin broke through before she could hold it.
Their laughter filled the room—light, unforced. For the first time in what felt like ages, it sounded like home again, and Remi smiled.