Chapter Thirteen Memphis
Chapter Thirteen
Memphis
It’s been less than twenty-four hours since my drive with Vivian, and she’s been on my mind ever since. Her hair blowing in the breeze as we drove back to the Firehouse with the windows down, the soft way she smiled at me as we pulled up out front, the raspy sound of her voice when she thanked me for taking her on a drive.
A part of me wondered when I’d finally be able to fully focus on work again. But now that my father is standing in front of me, my time with Vivian has firmly taken a back seat in my mind.
“You wanted to talk?” he asks, taking a seat on the opposite side of my desk.
“Yeah. Thanks for coming by,” I reply, leaning back in my chair.
It’s like I’ve called him in to talk to the principal ... and I’m the principal. An odd feeling as a son looking to speak with his father, but it is what it is.
“Look, I wanted to talk to you about the announcement at Harvest-Eve.”
He shrugs. “What about it?”
“I appreciate what you were trying to do by giving me a vote of confidence and sharing it with everyone, but ... don’t you think it’s something we should have talked about first?” My tone makes it clear that we absolutely should have talked about it first. “I mean, you dropped that bomb on everyone right before one of the busiest times of the year.”
My dad shakes his head. “It’s not dropping a bomb, Memphis. Everyone knew this was coming.”
“I didn’t know,” I reply, frustration growing at his indifference to something that, to me, is a big deal. “You’ve been handing things over to me, but I had no idea this was coming my way so soon. Did you ever think to talk to me about it first? Make sure I felt prepared? Maybe ask me if this is what I wanted?”
The surprise on his face is enough for me to know that he never considered any of those things.
“I assumed that, with everything moving the way it has been, that you understood this was the ultimate goal. To pass everything over to you.”
“But you always assume things, Dad. You never take the time to ask the questions that will get the real answers.” I push out of my chair and walk to the window, looking outside at the vines that stretch into the distance. “Of course I want to be part of this vineyard’s future. I’ve been working toward that my entire life. Obviously, I knew things were moving in that direction. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready.”
“You’re ready, Memphis.”
“I’m not!” I spin around, my hands on my hips as my frustration boils over. “I’m not ready for it to all be on my shoulders when I’m buckling beneath the weight as it is. And the fact you can’t manage to fucking sit down with me and talk about anything is infuriating. I don’t want you to dump everything at my feet.”
“Well, sometimes that’s how it happens, Memphis,” my dad says, standing suddenly, his voice raising as well. “Not everything gets to be a picture-perfect ceremonial passing of the torch, and sometimes, you just have to handle the shit that’s shoveled your way. You think it was easy for me ? To step into that role when my dad died? At least I’m still here to talk to you about things if you need me. I had nobody .”
“Bullshit I have you to talk to,” I shout back. “Any time I try to bring anything your way, you look like you want to sprint from the room. And sometimes you do. Trust me when I say that I’m just as alone in this as you were. And it’s that much more horrifying because you are right there , and you could help if you wanted to. But you don’t. Because you don’t care. You don’t give a flying fuck about this vineyard, and you never have.”
“You have no idea what things were like for me. What they’ve been like for me. Or the kinds of sacrifices I’ve had to make. So until you can say you’ve given up everything in your life for this place, keep your goddamn opinions to yourself.”
He turns and nearly runs into Micah, who is standing wide-eyed at the threshold.
My brother and I stand there, silent, while our father storms down the hall. A slam of the front door echoes through the house.
“What was that?” Micah asks, glancing back over his shoulder in the direction Dad went. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that in my entire life.”
I sigh, dropping back into my chair and resting my face in my hands.
That was Dad, finally having a fucking breakdown.
But I don’t say that.
“He’ll be fine,” I say, running my fingers through my hair. “Once he gets over himself,” I add with a grumble.
Micah takes a seat in the spot Dad just vacated, but he doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, which I appreciate.
He’s good like that, knowing when to give people time.
“What can I do for you, Micah?” I ask him eventually, once I’ve finally taken that wild conversation and tucked it safely away to deal with later.
He eyes me warily, but I shake my head.
My brother clears his throat, and then he sits up a little bit straighter in his chair.
“In the past I always brought this stuff up to Dad, but ... now that he’s announced you’re in charge, I figure I should come to you. I’d like to recommend that Naomi get promoted.”
I blink a few times, my confusion likely evident on my face. “What do you mean?”
Micah chuckles. “I’m sure you know what a promotion is, Memphis.”
I grin sheepishly, then sit up in my chair. “I do, but we don’t really have a hierarchy here for the vineyard crew. You know that. So there isn’t really anywhere for Naomi to be promoted to .”
He takes a deep breath. “That’s the other thing I was hoping to talk to you about.”
Leaning forward, he slips a folder onto my desk. I open it and do a quick scan through the materials—an organizational chart, a sheet of position descriptions, and a proposal for salary changes.
My eyes flick back up to his.
“You want to restructure?”
He nods, but he doesn’t say anything else. Just sits quietly while I review everything he’s brought to me.
It’s a completely different organizational model that redistributes a lot of the responsibilities. But it’s clear that Micah has put a lot of work into this.
“All right,” I say, leaning back in my chair and motioning to my brother. “Tell me your thoughts.”
Micah looks surprised for a second, but then he launches into a proposal. One where everyone is given a lot more independence and where individual skills are utilized in a much more intentional way.
It would be a huge change from the way we’ve always done things, mostly because it separates all the vineyard operations into three departments—hospitality, vineyard management, and business operations. Literally ... a complete restructure.
“What do you think?” he asks, once he’s finished explaining it all to me.
“I think ... that you are really fucking smart, Micah,” I tell him, spinning the organizational chart around to look at it again. “How long did this take you to come up with?”
He shrugs, though he looks pleased at my assessment. “I’ve been playing around with it for a couple of years.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“I did.”
I furrow my brow.
“But this wasn’t the kind of thing Dad wanted to talk about. You know how he is. He wanted to do things the way he’d been taught, even if those methods don’t work anymore.”
I grunt my acknowledgment.
“And I haven’t taken any business classes like you, but it felt like something I could see so clearly and could make a big difference from an internal perspective.”
“You do see it clearly. Now I’m wondering why I couldn’t.”
But Micah shakes his head. “You’re busting your ass trying to keep our doors open, right?” he says, surprising me. “Sometimes when you’re looking at something too closely, you aren’t able to take a step back and see the bigger picture. If you only ever see things in black and white, you can miss the gray.” He shrugs again. “I don’t doubt you would have seen something like this if there weren’t so many other things on your plate.”
I’m not sure what to say, exactly, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I return my attention to the documents in front of me.
“Let me sleep on this for a few days,” I ultimately tell him. “But I like this, Micah. I really like it.”
He stands, that unassuming smile on his face. “Hey, no pressure. And if you decide against it, you know, I support you. I know you’re doing what you think is best.”
Then he gives me a wave and takes off, the sound of his boots echoing on the tile down the hall until they fade away.
I have to admit, I’m shocked by that conversation. Not because I didn’t think my brother was capable of bringing that kind of business savvy to the table, but because I’ve never seen him do it.
Though I guess that’s not surprising, either.
If you’re working in an environment that doesn’t reward innovation, doesn’t value change and improvement, and is only focused on “how it’s always been done,” there isn’t really room for conversations like the one we just had.
It further highlights to me a fact I’ve known for a while now.
We are overworking our staff but underutilizing their skills.
And if we don’t figure out a way to get better about both of those things, this vineyard won’t stand a chance.
The frustration from my argument with Dad earlier simmers in the back of my mind all day. Eventually, I seek out my aunt, approaching her after dinner to see if she has a few minutes to chat.
“I’ll handle cleanup tonight,” Micah offers. “You two take off.”
“I’m not going to turn that down,” my aunt replies with a laugh, and then the two of us step off the patio and begin a stroll into the vineyard.
We used to do this when I was a kid, wander around and race up and down the pathways. Murphy and I always had a ton of energy, and when we first moved here after my mom died, Sarah would take us on nightly walks to help us get out our zoomies.
Sometimes my grandmother joined us, but mostly it was just Sarah, pushing a stroller with Micah tucked inside.
So any time my aunt and I have a long conversation, it feels natural to walk out along the paths that weave through the vines.
“Did you ever think you’d be the one to take over the vineyard?” I ask, once we’ve gotten a few minutes away from the house. “That grandpa would have given it to you, instead of Dad?”
She tucks her hands into her pockets. “There was a time when I hoped he would,” she answers. “But I knew he was old world, and passing down a business to your son is what he’d always planned to do.”
“For a while it wasn’t an option for it to go to Dad, though, right? Because he wasn’t here.”
After my dad graduated from high school, he left the family behind and moved away with my mom—his high school sweetheart. Together they created a new life in San Francisco away from the responsibilities of the vineyard and small-town Rosewood. Based on everything I’ve ever heard, that’s what he always wanted. To leave. To find something different.
But when I was seven and my mom died, he returned and slipped back into the role he’d left behind. The one he never wanted.
Sarah exhales heavily. “Yeah, and during that time, all those years your dad was away, my dad refused to discuss the future of the vineyard. Just ... adamantly refused. Would redirect the conversation if your grandmother or I brought it up at all.”
“I guess Dad gets his stubborn attitude honestly, huh?”
She laughs. “That he does.”
“And if I asked you if you wanted to be in charge of the vineyard now ?”
We come to a stop where the path splits, and Sarah looks at me warily.
“If I said I’d pass over the reins to you, instead of having them come to me ... If I said you should have always been the one in charge, what would you say?”
I’ve thought this over a few times in the past months, but it’s been an ever-present, looming idea in the back of my mind since my father made his announcement a few days ago. How much easier it would be to not have to deal with it. To pass the responsibility over to someone who will do it right.
I know Sarah would do it right. She loves this work. She loves everything about Hawthorne Vines. And she has a smart, level mind.
And I don’t doubt that my grandfather should have looked to Sarah as the next person to oversee the business. As much as I loved him, and as smart as he could be, he was blinded by the same thing that blinds my father: pride, and the mentality of “that’s how it’s always been done.”
Sarah has acquiesced to that in the past, because the men around her have dictated it that way. But I see the excitement she has when we decide to do something new, when change is around the corner.
So it wouldn’t be far-fetched to believe that she could be a great leader for this company. For our family. For the next generation of Hawthorne Vines.
“Oh, sweetie,” she says, reaching out and squeezing me gently on the shoulder, a mixture of appreciation and sadness in her eyes. “I love you for that. I do. But those days are behind me.”
I shake my head. “That’s not true.”
“It is, Memphis. I’m nearing sixty, honey. And even though I have a lot of life left in these bones, the days of me running a business are long gone.”
My shoulders fall, the disappointment of her words hitting me.
She loops her arm into mine and gives me a tug, getting us to continue walking where the path veers to the right.
“There was a time when I would have jumped at that kind of offer. When I would have had all the energy and optimism that you need when you’re taking over and leading a company in a new direction. But now, it’s your turn. You and Micah and Murphy. It’s a chance for you to champion this vineyard and see what you can do with it.”
Sarah rests her head against my shoulder as we walk, and I don’t doubt for a second the motherly affection she has for me.
“But I keep feeling like I’m doing the wrong things,” I finally tell her, the fear I’ve been holding on to finally tipping over the top and spilling out. “What if I run this place into the ground?”
“I’ve been watching you handle the problems you’ve faced, and I don’t doubt for a second that you’re making the right choices.” She stops us. “And you wanna know why I think that?”
I blink at her, waiting for her next words like a little kid, desperate for her approval.
“Because you’re smart, Memphis. You’re smart, and you’re intentional, and you’re doing what you think is best, and that is all we can ever do.”
I think over my conversation with my aunt late into the evening, reconciling what she said with the things I know to be true.
Even though part of me regrets that she feels it’s past her time to head the company, her answer also settled something in my soul. For years, I’ve wondered about how she feels when it comes to the family business and what role she has played in its longevity. And while I’m sad that there was a time when she wanted that opportunity and didn’t take it, there is a pride inside me knowing that she believes in me and what I can do.
But not just me.
Me and Micah and Murphy.
When I was a kid, sitting on the ATV and following Dad and Grandpa around the vineyard, I felt like part of a team. Like we were all in it together.
The more I think about what the future holds for us, the more I’m starting to think that mentality is the right mindset to have.
The reason I’m this stressed and exhausted and overworked is because I’m trying to do it all alone. I’m trying to carry the burden alone, when the better choice—the smarter choice—is for us to take on whatever comes next together.
The phone rings three times before she picks up, and when she does, an unfamiliar warmth spreads through my chest.
“Well, hello, Mr. Bartender.”
I smile like an idiot, glad she can’t see me on the other end of the line.
“Hey. Wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”
She hums, and even though there’s nothing sexual about it, the sound still zips through me, pulsing between my legs.
“I’m doing really good, actually. I’ve been working on my music, which is the best kind of therapy. And I’m going to Napa with Murphy on Thursday for a little pampering.”
“And Theo? He hasn’t given you any more problems?”
Vivian chuckles. “No. A certain someone scared him out of town and right back onto a same-day flight.”
“Good. I’m glad he took what I said seriously.”
“What exactly did you say to him to get him to listen to you?”
I smirk. “I might have told him that I have a lot of machinery and a huge property where nobody would find his body.”
She gasps. “You did not!” Then she bursts into laughter.
“It might have been a little much, but it felt right at the time.”
She continues to laugh for a long beat, and I lean back in my desk chair, enjoying the way the sound ripples through me.
“Thank you for that. I really needed a laugh today.” She pauses. “How about you? How’ve you been?”
Exhausted. Mentally drained. Overworked.
But I don’t want that to be the direction of our conversation, so I focus on something else entirely.
“The harvest is going well. The team seems to be gelling, and we’re staying on schedule, which is pretty great during the first few days. There can be a steep learning curve for the newbies.”
“Does the harvest feel different now that you’re the head honcho? Or is it pretty much the same?”
At that, I can’t help the sigh that leaks from my mouth.
“ Oooh , that awesome, huh?” she says, laughing lightly. “Did I poke at a sore subject?”
“A little bit, but it’s not a bad thing,” I answer. “It’s just ... my dad didn’t tell me that he was going to make that announcement. It was kind of out of left field. I’m not sure I’m ready to handle the weight of the entire vineyard on my shoulders.”
Vivian’s quiet on the other end, and I shake my head, regretting my choice to be honest. I should have kept my mouth shut and said things were going well.
“That sounds like a tough position to be in,” she finally says, her voice soft and serious. “Have you said that to your dad?”
I snort. “Do you confront your parents about things that upset you?”
“God, no,” she answers. “But my parents are Hollywood nepo babies who live behind a fake persona with everyone, including each other. That’s all I knew growing up. So the idea that they would be open to having a real conversation about something that bothered me would have been wishful thinking.”
Vivian’s response surprises me. A few of the things she’s said to me since we first met have made it seem like she comes from money, but I never would have guessed she had ties to Hollywood. Not that I know much about it.
“Sounds rough,” I offer, wanting to know more, while at the same time not wanting to pry.
“In some ways, it was. Like the fact that they never came to any of my performances growing up because they were always so busy ,” she says, drawing out the last two words with all the sarcasm she can muster. I can practically see her rolling her eyes. “But I had a lot of freedom. And I think that’s what helped me figure out who I am. Otherwise, I would have just been shrouded in their version of what life is supposed to look like.”
I nod even though she can’t see me.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to info dump,” she says, laughing lightly. “What I meant to say is that my parents don’t care about how I feel. I’m just wondering if your dad might respond differently. If you talked to him.”
“I did say something. This morning, actually. It didn’t go well.”
She makes a humming noise again. “Not everyone is ready to be confronted with the truth behind the mistakes they’ve made.”
I let out a humorless chuckle. “Ain’t that the truth.”
“I’m sorry you’re dealing with that. I hope you know that his reaction is more about him and how he feels than it is about you. Murphy had plenty to say on that subject before she moved home, but after she moved back, she made it clear that as infuriating as he could be, her big brother was a great guy.”
My lips turn up at the sentiment. “You’ve known this whole time what a great guy I am, and you still gave me grief when we first met?”
She laughs. “I’m a loyal guard dog, okay? And Murphy’s my girl.”
“Yeah, I’m just giving you a hard time.” I sigh, sitting up in my chair, knowing I need to get back to the paperwork in front of me. “Well, I’m glad you’re doing all right.”
“Thanks for calling to check in.”
I wish her a good night, we say our goodbyes, and I finally hang up the phone.
I don’t know what I was expecting when I called Vivian, but something in my chest is lighter now that we’ve talked.
It’s unfamiliar, this ever-present, subconscious desire to check in with her. To connect. To see how she is and what she’s doing.
Somehow, despite all my best efforts, Vivian Walsh is continuing to burrow her way into my life and under my skin.
And I can’t help but wonder how hollow it will feel when she’s gone.