Page 7 of You're So Vine
You’ve got to admit, though—it’s got that Lady Bracknell comedy vibe to it: one humiliating knockback can be regarded as misfortune, but two looks like carelessness. I should have just stuck to non-personal stuff, talked about the music or whatever. But I didn’t. I went straight to the subject I should have avoidedand I goddamned apologized! May as well have ripped out my beating heart and handed it to him. Here! Take it! Oh, you don’t want it? Okay, I’ll just throw it on this pile of pumpkins then, shall I? Cool, cool, cool…
Did shesplit us up on purpose? Was that all BS about the lights? I mean, who cares if it’s dark? Who wants to see everyone all red-faced and sweaty? Dim lighting is a partygoer’s best friend.
I know, I know. Lee’s not to blame for how I feel. If she wants more frigging fairy lights, then rock on. Cam’s a grown-ass man who makes his own decisions. Lee may have arrived before he had a chance to respond verbally to my apology but that didn’t matter. I saw his physical response. I saw him flinch. He hated that I brought the subject up. Probably thought I was using the apology as a way into asking him out a second time. I wasn’t and I ended up as humiliated as if I had, though. Good job, Ava. Just proved to yourself how dangerous it is to be vulnerable. What’s the Durant family motto? Never show weakness! Make the other guy blink first! Know when to hold ’em! No, wait, that’s Kenny Rogers. Still, he has a point. I showed my whole hand to Cam and came out a loser.
I said I was going to find Nate and Shelby, but what I need to do is regain control. It feels like someone accidentally dropped a lit match into my box of emotional fireworks and they’re blasting everywhere in random directions. Some aimed at me, some aimed at Cam. One, at least, is aimed at Lee.
I head outside, where the cold night air is like a slap on the cheek. I’m shivering but the temperature’s not the cause. Breathe, Ava. Breathe and take in the smell of the night. Smoke from the braziers, some kind of sweet wood. Hint of fermented grape. More than a hint of farmyard. Maybe if I follow that I’ll find the pigsty?
What the hell isthatover there? Is it … a ghost child?
Oh-kay. It’s Dylan. The Flora Valley Wines white goose. Waddling off to do … whatever geese do at night. Shelby told me there used to be a Mrs Dylan, but she died and because geese mate for life, he’s been on his own ever since. Could explain why he’s so loud and belligerent: he’s pissed at being short-changed by life.
God, it’s cold. Now I’m shivering for purely physical reasons. All the adrenaline from the emotion explosion has died down now, and all I want to do is sit down here on the ground and hug my knees while I slowly die of hypothermia.
I lean against the outside corner of the barn. Someone comes round from the other side and walks right into me.
“Holy shit!”
It’s Jackson, Shelby’s older brother. Big blond burly Jackson Armstrong.
“You okay? I did not see you at all.”
“That’s because it’s really dark,” I reply.
I can see a gleam of teeth. Smile, I hope. Or else it’s close to midnight and he’s about to turn into a werewolf. The beard is always the giveaway.
“What are you doing skulking around in the really dark night?” he asks.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“You could. But I asked you first.”
Guy’s sharp. I like him.
“I’m berating myself,” I reply. “What are you doing?”
“Ditto. Also illicitly smoking because I’m sad.”
Now that my eyes have adjusted, I can see that he does indeed have a pack of cigarettes in one hand.
“What are you sad about? Your dad?”
“Yeah,” Jackson says slowly. “And Shelby. Actually, that’s more guilt.”
“Guilt?”
He taps a cigarette out of the pack and sticks it in his mouth. Pulls a lighter from his pocket and a small glow of red appears in the dark. Jackson inhales and blows smoke away from me.
“All of us cut and run,” he says. “Me, my brother, and youngest sister. Couldn’t wait to leave Flora Valley behind. Shelby was the only one who wanted to stay. But when Dad died and Mom hightailed it for the coast, we should have come back to help her. One of us, at least, probably me, because I’m the oldest. But we didn’t. Left her all on her own in charge of an almost-bankrupt business.”
“Her decision wasn’t your responsibility.”
“She’s family,” he says. “We should have helped her more.”
“She’s got the winery. She’s part owner and it’s doing well. And I’ve never heard her say a bad word aboutanyof you. She thinks the sun shines out of your rear ends.”
“Only at the equinox,” says Jackson. “Besides, could you just let a guy wallow in self-pity for a moment? What are weddings for if not to get stupidly overemotional?”
