22. Mackenzie
Mackenzie
Here I am in glorious British Columbia, sun sparkling off the ocean, a light breeze across the patio where we’re enjoying a fabulous lunch – and all I can think is ‘fuck Jake Cavendish’.
Not literally, of course. (I should be so lucky.)
My mom is thrilled that I took her advice and made the trip. The senior Rutherfords are charming and I can see why Mom likes them so much.
Darcy, the son, is handsome, fit, and wry.
(Yes, his name really is Darcy. It’s his first name not his surname, but still.
I think that’s funny and I can’t escape the fact that the one person who would also find that funny is Jake.
Even when he’s out of my life, he’s in my mind.) Darcy is the heir to the throne and he knows it.
He’s confident, well-educated, and well-dressed.
He’s their winemaker and talks with the precision I’m accustomed to hearing from my uncle.
I should like him more than I do.
I would like him more than I do if he wasn’t so determined to slide his marital expectations into the conversation, over and over and over again.
By the time I’ve had one meal with the Rutherfords, I’m feeling badgered.
“Once you visit the Okanagan, you’ll never want to leave.” This is what Darcy says when we talk about growing up on working vineyards.
“I want to have three, maybe even four, kids,” he confides as our mothers go to peruse the dessert buffet. “I can’t help thinking it’s time to get started.”
I don’t say anything about him only needing to do the fun part, although I’m tempted. “You might want to find a partner first,” I say with a smile. “Her views on having family might be different from yours.”
He laughs. “I’m very persuasive.” His gaze lingers on me when he says this.
“How nice for you,” I say with a smile that is all teeth.
He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t back off and he doesn’t cool down. He’s a man on a mission and I’m in his sights.
Mere moments later, he follows with this gem.
“How old are you, Mackenzie? Not to be rude, but you know, it is so much easier for women to have children before forty. It would be best to know where we stand before getting involved.” He smiles, assuming that I’m charmed.
I feel I know maybe five things about Darcy Rutherford – I’ll guess he knows fewer about me – and he wants to talk about my uterus and its baby-generating potential.
I am more than a womb for some guy’s dynastic ambitions.
There is a distinct upside to being married to my job. It doesn’t make assumptions about what I want, for example, or expect me to give up on my own goals.
“Are we getting involved?” I ask, diverting the question. “It seems a bit early for that kind of speculation.” I look at my watch. “It’s been maybe sixty-five minutes since we met.”
Is it wrong that I hear Jake saying “sixty-seven minutes”?
Yes, yes, it is.
It’s also wrong that Darcy doesn’t get the memo. I don’t want to talk about my uterus and its potential at lunch right after we’ve met for the first time, with three very interested older parties in attendance.
And that’s the thing: what I think doesn’t appear to be a variable. I don’t like that impression. I can’t like that impression.
But maybe I’m being too prickly. (Gee. Who would have tutored me in that?)
My mom, though, is beaming at the pair of us, obviously delighted with her introduction and its future potential.
I can see that when we’re alone, she’ll enumerate all of Darcy’s stellar qualities and dismiss my objections.
My mom is a bit of a steamroller when it comes to getting what she wants, and the fact is that she and Darcy are united in their desire for babies.
I’m not against babies, per se, but I’m not prepared to give up everything to have them. I am alone on that island, though. I can see as much as the senior Rutherfords whisper to each other, then turn to admire what a couple Darcy and I make.
I really hate presumptuous people.
I really hate feeling out of control. I like making my own choices.
But there is truth in the fact that the time to think about kids, if I’m going to think about kids, is soon. I have to give the Devil’s Advocate his due. Am I just fighting the inevitable? Is Darcy actually a good fit for me but I don’t like that my mom discovered him?
It is possible.
I decide I’m over-reacting and that Jake has gotten to me. (We know he’s good at that.) I suggest that Darcy and I go for a stroll after lunch, and do some window shopping in downtown Victoria. There are lots of cute shops clustered around the harbor. He readily agrees.
“Your mom says you’re really good at your job,” he says when we reach the street.
“I hope so. I do love it.”
We compare credentials, which are similar but oriented to different coasts. He went to Washington State and Australia for apprenticeships, while I went to France. I expect that we’ll get into technical talk about winemaking, but I’m wrong.
“France!” he says, as if I’m talking about Jupiter. “Wow. Must have been tough to come back to Ontario after that.”
“It’s always good to come home.”
“But the winters!” He laughs. “And the summers. One extreme to the other. It’s amazing you can grow any kind of grapes there at all.”
“Have you spent any time in Ontario?”
“I’ve had to change flights in Toronto. Does that count?
” He gives me a smile, unconcerned that he’s saying he hates the place I love.
“Couldn’t drag me any further into the Big Smoke.
” He nods with authority. “In the Okanagan, in contrast, the weather is temperate and consistent. I just love it. Everybody loves it.”
“Maybe not the forest fires so much.”
“No matter where you go, there are acts of God.”
“I thought forest fires were started by idiots throwing their cigarette butts into the dry forest.”
He frowns. “Well, there is some of that, for sure, but we don’t get blizzards or tornados.”
“Oh, I like snow and the winter. The skiing is great.”
“We can go to Whistler for that.” He sighs contentment, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s so gorgeous. I don’t think there’s a better place in the world. You’ll see once you arrive. Just like everyone else, you’ll never want to leave.”
At this point, I don’t even want to arrive.
“I didn’t realize I was coming to the Okanagan.”
“Of course! Dad totally wants to give you the general manager job and I can’t wait to show our place to you.”
Give. That word sticks.
“I’ve never had anyone give me a job, like a charity donation,” I say mildly.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve earned every job offer I’ve gotten, and then some.” I sound fierce, but that happens when I’m annoyed.
“Oh, come on, Mackenzie. What about Rhodes Vineyards?” He’s scoffing at me, essentially calling me a liar.
I turn to face him. “I had to work twice as hard to earn my current post. Opa is very tough on family. He says we have to prove ourselves twice over every day.”
“Right.” Darcy is skeptical and doesn’t even bother to hide it.
“If you think I’m coasting, why would your father give me a job?”
“Well, you know.” He smiles again, then changes the subject. I do know and I don’t like it. “Dad’s done a great job building up Rutherford Estate Wines, but I have big plans for the future. You’ll see and immediately agree with me. I just know it. We need to expand and increase our production.”
“Sometimes smaller is better.” There’s a demon inside me, insisting that I say the opposite of every assertion Darcy makes. That he doesn’t even seem to notice is not a happy sign.
“We can have the wedding at the vineyard,” he continues. “Make it a local event and get some publicity out of it. Two families united, kind of thing. It should get a lot of press.”
Only two hours since we met and he’s planned the wedding. Of course, I don’t think the views of the bride are particularly relevant – or maybe even who the bride might be. Bonus that my family have a vineyard, too. It’ll make for a better headline in the papers.
Or was that the invitation?
I am simmering. “Have you picked the date?” I ask, keeping my face averted so my eyes don’t give me away.
“Late August or early September, depending on how the harvest comes in this year. It looks as if it might be an early one. Late September might be a better choice. Hey, and there will be a bit of fall colour, too.”
“That’s soon.”
“No reason to delay once the decision is made,” he says cheerfully. “When the stars align, you have to jump right in.”
I could have kept my mouth shut if he’d stopped there. (Maybe.)
But he doesn’t.
“I mean, you aren’t getting any younger, Mackenzie.”
I turn to him. “But how would I fulfill my duties as general manager if I had a rough pregnancy? Women over thirty often do.”
“You’ll manage. I’ll be there and so will Dad. I’m sure you’ll work out the entire balancing act before you get busy with the kids.”
“As general manager, though, wouldn’t I be your boss?”
He laughs. “Technically, yes, but everyone will know better.”
“And if I told you to do something you didn’t want to do?”
He blinks as if I’ve suddenly switched to Mandarin. “But you’d never do that. We have a plan. You’ll just be making sure we follow it. Really, Mackenzie, no one would expect much of you in that position. It’s just optics.”
With a job in title only, one that was given to me because the heir liked the look of me. With no authority – and no opportunity to use what I know and have learned. What is the point, if I can’t make a difference?
Right. The kids that don’t exist yet.
What if they don’t? What if I don’t get pregnant? What if all doesn’t end well?
I just got here and he’s got us married with family, and I have us divorced already. This is nuts.
“Too bad I like the challenges of actually being in charge,” I say and take a hard turn into a gift shop. It takes a few moments for Darcy to follow, so he has some sense of self-preservation.
“Feeling jet-lagged from the flight?” he asks when he catches up to me. “I always find going west is tougher.”
Ah. We can only disagree if there is something wrong with me.