She motioned toward Michelle, back with her daughter and Ben. “It would be hard for anyone if Michelle Carter was their husband’s ex,” she said. “Even Michelle Carter.”
Then she handed the glass back over. I smiled. “Thanks.”
“You should feel badly about pretending not to know me when you met me yesterday. If you want to feel badly about something, feel badly about that. Why did you do that?”
“What?”
She took the bottle of champagne out of my hand, poured some more into our shared glass, taking another sip herself. “You heard me.”
She shrugged, but she looked at me like she was playing way past that. I wasn’t incredibly uncomfortable that Lee, computer genius, spoon and glass sharer, was a step ahead.
“Did Jacob tell you that I’m taking a job in Seattle?”
That stopped me. “You did? When?”
She nodded. “I just attended Foo Camp, which—do you know it from growing up here? Anyway, I was offered a job in Seattle at a start-up that deals with online privacy. I’ll make software for them. Really cutting-edge stuff.”
I remembered Jacob’s suitcase in his trunk, the fight they must have had when Lee told him that was what she wanted.
She looked around the party, up toward the West County sky. “It’s a little hard for Jacob to think about leaving here, but it’s what’s right for me. The job. Seattle.” She shrugged, looking down. “Jacob says he’s getting used to the idea . . . Murray Grant Wines has operation managers. More than they know what to do with. Jacob can oversee the production from Seattle.”
“That’s great,” I said, trying to sound relaxed about it. Which was when it occurred to me how un-relaxed it made me feel: Jacob moving to Seattle, leaving here.
“Is it?”
Lee leaned in and motioned toward Jacob, where he was standing with my father toward the edge of the tent. And near them was Ben. So it was possible she was motioning toward him.
“Good men don’t like to quit. Have you noticed that? I’ve noticed that. They don’t give up, even when they should.”
I nodded, wanting to agree with her, though I wasn’t sure exactly what I was agreeing to, looking at Jacob, at Ben.
She met my eyes. “I would like to think that if I were staying here we would become friends. Don’t you think so too?”
It was a strange thing to say and yet it was sincere. It warmed me to her. “Maybe we’ll have another shot.”
She smiled. “Maybe we will,” she said.
Then she held up the champagne.
“Anyway, I’m going to find Jacob and drink the rest of this bottle,” she said.
She started to move toward him where he was standing with my father. This was when she turned back.
“He is a good man,” she said. “Jacob. He is a very good man.”
“Why are you telling me that?”
“Because I know the reason that you didn’t introduce yourself to me yesterday.”
The Defrosting Finn was hiding in the winemaker’s cottage, defrosting the last frozen lasagna. He was stabbing at the thick noodles with a wooden spoon, but he wasn’t making much headway.
He looked up. “I didn’t do the best job defrosting this,” he said.
“You can’t just hide in here eating that, anyway,” I said.
“Why not? Should I be out there chatting it up with Mom’s new boyfriend? The guy walked over and introduced himself to me, said he’s heard a lot about me. I was like, really? Because I’ve heard very little about you. That was my first mistake. I got like an hour on his seminal interpretation of Beethoven’s Fifth. Reminded me of how much I’ve always hated classical music.”
He stood up, turned on the burner. Then he dumped his bowl of lasagna into the saucepan, started stirring it back and forth.
“And I’m not just hiding,” he said. “I’m planning.”
“What are you talking about?”
He shrugged. “I told you I was going to change things. However I can. So I am. I’m doing it. I’m moving to New York.”
“This wasn’t what I meant.”
“Well, beggars can’t be choosers.”
I shook my head, heartbroken. Heartbroken that he was leaving, but mostly because I didn’t think that he was going to find what he was looking for there.
“Would you feel better if I told you I had some great photography opportunities waiting for me there?”
“A little.”
“I have a great photography opportunity waiting for me there.”
“Finn, you aren’t going to find what you’re looking for there. It doesn’t work like that. Besides, you love it here. You belong here. What do you think somewhere else is going to give you?”
“Peace of mind. And joy.”
I closed my eyes, unsure how to get through to him. He didn’t want to listen, anyway—he was too busy shoving the wooden spoon into the frozen lasagna and getting nowhere with it. I stood up and took the spoon away from him, turned the burner up higher.
“Anyway, moving away worked out for you,” he said.
“Less than you might think.”
Finn sat down on the countertop. “Is a certain movie star slash ex-girlfriend ruining your night?”
“I think she loves him.”
Finn tilted his head. “Are you sure? She’s an actress. Isn’t she supposed to pretend she loves everyone?”
I laughed.
“I don’t want a lecture. And I don’t want to give one. Though, I do think we could each use one on fighting a fight that we’re not sure we want to win.”
He paused.
“But I want other things more. Like hotter lasagna. Let’s just agree to sit here quietly. If we sit here quietly, maybe we can get through the rest of the night without talking to anyone,” he said.
I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t argue—when Finn pulled the only card he had. When Finn reached over and took my hand.
“You lifted the lasagna?”
We turned to find our mother in the doorway, her arms crossed, looking pissed. Not just at Finn, but at me too. She looked pissed at me for not doing it, whatever she had come here to do.
“Oh, jeez,” Finn said.
“That’s right. Oh, jeez. Your father is looking for both of you. He wants to get started with the good-bye toast. He wants to introduce Jacob. And then he wants everyone to go home.”
Finn stood, but she stood in front of him.
“He’s your brother. Move on. However you can.”
He nodded. “I am,” he said. “I’m moving to New York.”
“That’s not moving on. That’s moving away.”
She started moving toward the doorway, done with the conversation. But Finn wasn’t.
“Couldn’t we say the same thing to you?” he said.
My mother put her hands up. “You can say whatever you want to me later. And maybe you should. Right now, I suggest you go outside before I lose my mind.”
Then my mother hustled us both out of the kitchen, and back to the party, where our father was waiting to give the last harvest toast.
None of us stopping to do it. To take the lasagna from the stove.
Synchronization
My father held an unlabeled wine bottle in his hands. “Look at this crowd out here tonight,” he said. “People in Sebastopol will go anywhere for some free wine, won’t you?”