Chapter 20 Vin
Chapter 20
VIN
T urns out, everyone wanted an adventure.
Chryssy and I, her aunties, Leo, and a couple of guests find ourselves together in the late morning trampling through the forest in search of mushrooms.
“Man, this was supposed to be a relaxing forest-bathing situation,” Leo says, slogging behind me. “Not a repurposed curse-breaking endeavor. Can you slow down?”
“It’s not like that,” I say, stepping quickly ahead of Leo by a few strides. “We’re just trying to understand it.”
Leo scoffs. “ Curse understanding doesn’t have the same ring to it.”
“There are no spells or potions involved,” I say, though I can’t be sure about the latter. Pretty sure the word “tonic” was thrown around a few times.
“Can’t we get lion’s mane at a grocery store?” he asks. “I’ve seen it before at Whole Foods. Then we can walk through the woods quietly without a task and focus on being present, which was the point of this to begin with.”
“I’d love it if you’d stay present. Just keep your eyes out for lion’s mane while you’re at it. Quiet is preferred,” I retort.
We stick close to the other guests while Chryssy and her aunties go off on their own. We didn’t have to go far for today’s mushroom hunt. Apparently, Whidbey Island is a treasure trove of community and state parks for foraging.
“The recipe specifically called for foraged , wild lion’s mane,” I say, most of my attention dedicated to finding dead logs.
“It still could’ve been foraged,” Leo says. “Just by someone else. Whatever, it’s fine. This just seems to be amping up your anxiety when it should be doing the opposite.”
“I’m trying to stay focused,” I say, scanning hardwood for white, rounded mushrooms with a mane of hair. “If we’re going to follow the recipe, we need to do it as accurately as possible. This way, we know for sure it really was foraged.”
“Fine,” Leo says, taking his phone out and searching for photos to reference. “But I’m calling it by its other name. Bearded tooth fungus. Now that’d be a great band name.”
“The technology addiction’s strong,” I say, eyeing him. “You’ve been away from the inn for three hours.”
“I had a feeling Mom called,” Leo says. “My instincts are still intact. I called her back this morning and told her we’re still coming for their anniversary. She says hi, by the way.” He side-eyes me. “And she wants to know if Chryssy’s coming.”
“To Franklin? It’s in two days. Isn’t that a little soon?” I ask. Bringing Chryssy home feels like a big step, especially in the middle of trying to figure this, us, out. “I don’t want to overshadow Mom and Dad’s celebration.”
“What are you, worried that they’ll like her more than you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about. And that they’ll think it’s their anniversary gift,” I say. “Chryssy and I have enough pressure as it is with this curse situation.”
“You mean curse understanding,” Leo says, snickering to himself. “Could be nice to bring her. You know Mom will go all-out on making the guesthouse extra comfortable for her.”
The thought of this is nice, Chryssy meeting my parents. Staying in the guesthouse together. Besides the inn, my parents’ farmhouse has been the only other place I could relax.
“Let me know either way so I can tell Mom. Then I can shut my phone off forever. Destroy it. Throw it into these woods. It was a mistake turning it on.” He faces his phone toward me. On the screen is a photo of Aubrey with snow-peaked mountains blurred in the background.
“Weren’t you going to unfollow her?” I grumble.
“The question you should be asking is who’s taking the photo?” he says, bringing the phone closer to his face.
“Her sister? Her mom? A friend? A tripod?” I rattle off.
“Or a new boyfriend,” he says. “One who’s actually around.”
“This is what our life looks like,” I say. “What are we supposed to do? Not tour as much? That’s how we meet Chaobreakers. It’s how we make most of our money.”
“Given how many breakups you’ve had, Vin, you’re not very good at talking about them,” Leo says, patting me on the back.
“I’m realizing that,” I mumble as I examine a tree stump.
Leo’s eyebrows pinch together. “Aub—my ex—understood what our life entailed, and she supported it. It’s not that she made me feel guilty about it,” he explains. “She just wanted something different for her life, which is entirely fair for her to want. I guess I didn’t realize the full effect the pace of our lives had on our relationship until she left.”
“Did she at least communicate that to you before she broke things off?” I ask, trying to pinpoint why exactly it is I’m feeling defensive.
Leo kicks at a rock in the path. “I may have busted out the ring before we had a chance to talk in-depth about our future,” he reflects. “Maybe I moved as fast in my relationship as we do in our careers.”
Like Chryssy and me.
This comparison slithers in and out of my mind before I can fully grasp it, lingering just long enough to be worrying. Chryssy and I were practically strangers before we started fake-dating. And the line between fake and whatever we are now, well, that moved quickly, too. Would Chryssy coming to Franklin be too fast? Did we jump too quickly to opening the Curse Box?
To me, though, fast was never a bad thing. If anything, the faster the better. My unsettled thoughts are in direct contrast with the peaceful forest surrounding us. I must be the Yang to this forest’s Yin.
“That’s probably not a new boyfriend taking the picture,” I say, circling back to Leo and Aubrey. “It’s too soon. I bet she misses you just as much as you miss her.” I’ve never been great at consoling, but I do hope this makes him feel better. “I thought she didn’t like skiing.”
“The actual skiing part she wasn’t a fan of,” Leo says, dragging behind. “Hot cocoa and cuddles by the fire afterward? That she was a fan of. Oh god.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Sounds like she’s doing whatever she has to in order to get her mind off of you,” I reason.
Leo lets out a lone, sad laugh. “I appreciate the effort.”
“What happened to chilling out in the forest? We should probably instigate the no-phone rule everywhere,” I say. “You’ve been working hard at the inn.”
He makes a pfffttt noise. “Don’t you want me to look at the contract? You’ve only been reminding me every time you see me.”
“Well, yeah. The label’s been waiting,” I say, scanning tree bark up and down. “I’d think your first inclination would be to look at that instead of looking at your ex’s photos on social media, but hey, to each his own.”
“Reading a bunch of legalese isn’t going to get us out on tour faster or make me feel any better,” Leo says, sliding his phone into his pocket. “And what if I don’t even want to do the tour anyway?”
I look at him, losing focus and tripping over a tree root stretched out into the trail.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, catching myself.
Leo shrugs. “It means I’m tired. It means I miss my relationship. I don’t know what it means.” He kicks a rock farther down the path. “Rehearsals are going to be rough.”
“You’ll get back into the swing of things. I know it feels like you’ll be starting over,” I say, patting his back. “But the tour is part of our last contract, not this new one. It’s not up to us.”
“Why do you even want to sign this contract?” Leo questions. “We’ll be trapped with terms we don’t like. Is that really what you want?”
“We’ll push back. That’s expected in negotiations,” I say, thinking of the conversation Chryssy and I had in Rose’s garden. They’ll need to be lenient. I’m not breaking up with Chryssy or breaking a contract.
“What I’m getting at is bigger than that, Vin,” Leo says. “Is this what you hoped our life would be like?”
I’ve lost focus of the trees. All of them have started to look exactly the same. “What kind of question is that?” I ask. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “This is what we worked for our entire life.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Our life has… elements of what I hoped it would be,” I admit. “It’s not like I had a specific scenario in mind. We get to play cello as our job. We have money, can buy our parents nice things, play sold-out shows. What more could you ask for?”
The knot in my stomach grows. I should’ve thrown his damn phone into the woods before he had a chance to see his ex on it.
“What more—” Leo stops, turning to face me. “Oh, I don’t know, hmmm, love. A family. Time to travel for fun instead of work. Staying in one place for more than two weeks. Being home for dinner every night. What a concept.”
I frown at a chipmunk. “Once we get this contract in place and finish the world tour—”
“And finalize the movie score and complete our next album and rehearse for that world tour, then we’ll have time to live a life, right?” Leo says.
“Exactly.”
“No! You know why? Because there will always be more to do. Always,” he says. “We can always improve, always make more albums, always, always, always.” He leans against a tree, burying his face in his hands. “I think what I’ve been feeling is stagnant. I just haven’t realized it until now.”
“What are you talking about?”
Leo makes a literal ugh sound. “Have you learned nothing at the inn!” he says, throwing his hands up. “I’m stuck. Static. Flat. Not moving.”
“And you’re the one who wanted to slow down,” I mumble. “That’s why it’ll be good to start playing again. That’ll get you feeling like you’re going somewhere.”
“Being busy makes you feel like you’re moving forward,” Leo says. “But you’re just running in circles.”
“Thanks for the life perspective,” I grunt. “You know, one day we won’t be able to play anymore.”
I’m fully aware I’m giving him a half-assed response, but it’s not like we can just quit.
“One day? One day when? When we’re eighty? And then we finally have a moment to stop, only to realize we were too busy working and not really living? What’s the point of working so hard if we can’t enjoy it?” Leo asks. “Being here, doesn’t it make you want this?”
“A forest?” I ask, trying to make him laugh.
Leo does not want to laugh.
“Time to walk in the woods. Hunt for mushrooms! A home to go back to. A couch!” he says. “A life.”
“Who needs a couch when we get to do what so many musicians can only dream of one day doing?” I ask him.
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t know that I do.”
Leo makes a face. “Then maybe you’re not paying close enough attention.”
“You’re still healing,” I say. “Let’s talk about this after the trip.”
“I’m tired of blaming heartbreak,” Leo says. “Yeah, I’m hurting, but what I’m saying is also true. If anything, this breakup has opened my eyes. Our work will not love us the same way we love it. All those dreams, Vin, they’re not going to fulfill you.”
“I know the past month has been a lot,” I say to Leo. I hate the urgency in my tone. It’s like I’m trying to convince him of something, but of what, I don’t know.
Leo balks. “The past month? Vin, our entire lives have been a lot. Our careers started so young.”
I wait him out, letting his words wash over me. He’s not going to hear anything I say anyway.
“Can you honestly tell me that you’re not tired?” he asks. “That a little part of you isn’t fed up with how things have been?”
“Honestly, Leo?” I say, releasing a frustrated breath. “Here’s what’s real: There’s still a lot we need to accomplish. You’ll realize that when you read the contract.”
“I think we might be starting to want different things,” Leo mumbles. “What Mom and Dad have. That’s real. What my ex and I had. It was real. What you and Chryssy have, it’s—”
“Beautiful!” Chryssy says on a satisfied-sounding exhale as she joins us. “Isn’t it?”
It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about our surroundings. A light wind blows through the trees, and against the forest floor the leaves cast shimmery shadows that play off the sunshine. It’s like we’re under a nature-made disco ball.
“Have you found it yet?” she asks.
“No. We’re getting a little off track,” I say. Leo scoffs at my loaded statement. “We’ll refocus.”
“Yeah, we’re still looking, too, but apparently Auntie Violet has a weird knack for finding morels so we’re now following that lead,” Chryssy says. She looks over to where her aunties are crouched down and pointing at something in the distance. “I better get back. They look like they’re onto something. Oh! Look what I found. For you.”
She presents me with a dandelion from behind her back. A cut one. A cliché. For me.
I wrap my hand around her fingers, the long green stem between both of our fists, the puff on top. A feathery full moon on a stick.
“Make a wish.” She smiles at it and turns, pulling her hand away so that I’m left holding the flower.
The dandelion unlocks a deep-rooted memory. One of Leo and me as kids running through park fields between hours of practice sessions, arms stretched wide. Among yellow dandelions, I’d find a rare puffy one. I didn’t think about it at the time, but now it fascinates me how dandelions start as one thing and become another, reblooming after their initial flowering. They transform for survival, their starry seeds dispersing to take root on new land.
There’s a squeezing sensation in the left side of my chest when Chryssy looks over her shoulder at me. Within seconds, lasting no longer than the length of a whole note, what Leo was saying isn’t so off-key.
A home. A life.
Chryssy with her moon garden out back, an herb garden next to it. Patience Risotto and artichoke hearts simmering on the stove. Kissing Chryssy in the kitchen. Light music playing in the background. Sunshine streaming in through the windows of our bedroom. Sprigs of lavender and dandelions adding color and wishes into our life. Maybe even, one day, children’s laughter.
A home. A life. Ours.
There’s no cello, no stadium tours, no hours upon hours of daily practice.
I don’t know where I fit into this vision at all.
Chryssy’s back on the trail with her aunties, looking high and low for the mushrooms.
“Mm-hmm,” Leo murmurs beside me, eyeing the dandelion’s puff. “Whether we break—sorry, understand—this curse or not, you can’t tell me that your love for that woman isn’t real.”
“Love doesn’t happen that fast,” I say quickly, though the crack in my voice says otherwise.
My love for cello came fast. My career trajectory was also fast. Love, though? It certainly doesn’t happen in weeks, let alone months, but I suppose that doesn’t mean it can’t happen. When Mom and Dad met that day on the subway, wasn’t their falling fast?
“I know, baby brother, shocking. You work fast, fall in love slow. Until now.” Leo swings his arm over my shoulder. “Have you ever heard this quote by Lao Tzu?” he asks. “‘Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.’”
I grunt, this time in annoyance at him.
A smile crosses Leo’s face as he looks up at the tree canopies. “Nature isn’t rushing or giving us all four seasons at once. We have explosive growth, harvesting, resting, and renewal. Everything that needs to happen happens, but in its own time, even if that means sometimes flowers bloom early. Let’s be more like nature, Vin. We can’t rush the seasons. We also can’t slow them down.”
When did my brother become so profound? Or at least learn about people who were?
“Don’t overthink it. Let’s just slow down for a second, for real,” Leo says, moving away from me and taking his steps in half time. “Hurrying won’t get you anywhere faster, even if it feels like it.”
He’s wrong. We worked hard, made moves quickly, and didn’t slow down on purpose. All our efforts are what got us ahead.
Despite not being here for a stroll, I listen to Leo. Hundreds of trees and plants surround us, their bushy green leaves bathing me in a sense of calm.
My steps become heavier and slower as I gain awareness of how fresh the earth smells. How the browns and greens of the forest subtly shift hues as the sunlight leisurely streaks across the sky, casting new, shadowy shapes on the ground every few minutes. We follow the edge of the trail, our feet padding quietly over the earth. There’s an occasional crunch from rocks and sticks, but for the most part it’s peaceful out here.
Birds chatter with each other in distant trees, and the bushes rustle with wildlife. Around me, the forest becomes a soft symphony of music I only hear when I truly listen.
Maybe this place is noisier than I originally thought.
I refocus my eyes from Leo to the fallen trees, hoping to spot the cream-colored forest jewel. In the distance, I see a blur of white set against the dark wood of a jagged tree trunk.
I’m drawn to the stump like the lion’s mane is a ringing bell calling me toward it. “There it is,” I whisper. As if I could scare it away.
I’m careful making my way to it, winding around plants and smaller logs. I hear Leo behind me, bushes shaking as they brush our pants. I reach the mushroom and stare in awe at its dangling long hairs, like icicles on a velvety snowball.
From what Chryssy told me, lion’s mane is a powerful ingredient in TCM to maintain Qi. It tonifies the heart and brain and supports the liver, lungs, and kidney. And I’m about to slice it off a tree. I’ve come a long way from nonstop rehearsals and meetings and recordings to… this.
I tuck the dandelion into my shirt pocket, careful not to disrupt the puff. I twist the knife in my hand as I analyze how to approach the first cut, deciding to start around the edges, loosening it. The entire mushroom peels away from the bark, and a thin layer remains.
I grin, holding the shaggy orb in my hands like the treasure that it is. I gently run my hand over the long strands of the mushroom, the texture impossibly soft beneath my finger pads.
My entire body feels as light as a leaf as I inhale the smell of damp moss and wood. A sense of hopefulness washes over me. Hope that Leo will get through this, hope that we’ll better understand this curse. Even hope that our record label will accept our change of heart.
From my coat pocket, I remove Chryssy’s dandelion, the fluffy seed head still intact.
I breathe in, like I’m about to blow out candles, and let it out, the delicate seeds scattering in the wind.
I make a wish.