Page 101 of Que Será, Syrah

“We just have some additional expenses, at the moment,” Rosa says.

“So, this is about money?”

“Well, no. Not exactly.”

“So, do you need me to find some sponsors for the event? ’Cause I could do that.”

“No.” My sisters exchange a look. “No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“No? Well, then here’s a thought; maybe we shouldn’t be throwing a party for ourselves if we can’t even afford essentials like glassware. What’ll you want me to cut back on next? Coasters? Bar napkins?”

“Actually.” Rosa takes a deep breath before dropping the hammer, “I’d hold off on ordering any new branded supplies for the time being.”

“What?”

“She means anything with a logo,” Bee says helpfully. Well. I mean, I’m sure she thinks she’s being helpful.

“Lemme get this straight,” I say to Bee. “You’re saying it’s okay if I start serving your wine in Solo cups?”

She jerks back as though I’d slapped her. “Oh, that’s just rude.”

“Look, Legs,” Rosa says, speaking slowly, in that same, super-soothing voice that’s doing nothing to calm my nerves. “Don’t get upset, okay?”

“A little late for that,” I murmur. Then the seriousness in their expressions register and I feel the blood drain from my face. “Oh, God. What is it? What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“No, no, it’s nothing bad,” Rosa insists hurriedly. “It’s just that I know you don’t like change—and I get that. Because tradition is important to me, as well. But…”

Bee rolls her eyes. “Ay, boludo. We’re changing the name of the winery, okay? It’s gonna be great. You’ll like it.”

My mouth drops open. I close it again. Then I squeeze my eyes shut as I try to process what’s happening.

“Legs,” Rosa says again, using her soft, Mama Bear voice.

“No.” I hold up one hand. “Not. Now. Just…give me a minute.” Christie got the winery; Max got the girl. Christie got the winery; Max got the girl. As a mantra, it kind of sucks, but at least it’s more effective than Kate’s ‘little stone cottage’ from French Kiss.

“I suppose you had to do that?” Rosa whispers vehemently.

“Yes,” Bee whispers back. “I did. Because once the two of you get to talking about tradition, you never stop. And swear to God, if I have to sit through even one more of those conversations, I’m moving back to Argentina. Inmediatamente!”

Which, FYI, is the emptiest threat in the whole entire world. And we all know it.

“Okay,” I say after a moment. “So…what’s the new name gonna be?”

They glance quickly at one another then, “It’s a secret,” Bee says.

“It’s a surprise,” Rosa says—at the exact same time.

“You’re not even gonna tell me what it is?” I demand, voice rising into screech territory at the end.

“Of course, we will,” Rosa promises. “At the grand re-opening.”

“It’ll be so good,” Bee assures me.

“Trust us,” they both say.

Which, if you ask me, is expecting a fucking lot from someone with my history.

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