Page 88 of Corkscrew You
Icould be with Shelby in thirty years’ time. We could feasibly have grown kids of our own by then. Nowthat’sa freaky thought. It’s also incredibly appealing. Fills me with a real longing. Iwantthat life. I want Shelby.
So what’s stopping me? Why can’t I go to her and ask if we can start again? She’ll apologize, I know she will, and she’ll put any hurt I caused her in the past, forgotten.
So, again, what’s stopping me?
Here’s the thing. If I hadn’t met with Ted, I’d probably still be in the same space I was. Hanging on to the hurt, using it as an excuse to keep my distance.
But when Ted gave me that so-called advice about Shelby, it shook me. Here was a guy who, if he wanted to, could do exactly as he pleased. He’s obviously rich as Croesus, so why even bother tothinkabout others, let alone give a shit? Yet, give a shit he does. And I bet he’d defend more people than just Shelby.
It takes guts to care about others – to stand with them, and stand up for them. I did some hard thinking on the way back from Bartons. Didn’t want to, but I made myself. The discipline I learned for competing comes in handy sometimes. You know how to kick yourownass.
I thought about what Shelby said – about Dad resisting treatment because he was afraid. Afraid that if he accepted he needed medical help, then he’d be accepting how sick he really was. Fear makes you irrational. It makes you invent alternative realities, so you don’t have to cope with the one you’re actually in.
I am afraid of not being good enough for Shelby. I reacted badly – immaturely – to what she said over the phone. Even though, deep down, Iknewshe didn’t mean it.
But those words touched the red button that launched all my insecurities. I was a shit partner to Camille, and I’m afraid I’ll be a shit partner to Shelby. I can see now that using Dad to put our relationship on hold was nothing more than an exercise in delusion. I thought I was being rational, doing the right thing, when, in fact, I was a spineless worm. I was too chicken to give it a shot, and instead found a so-called good reason to wimp out.
Trouble is, that’s still the case. Soon as I think about approaching Shelby to ask if she’ll forgive me, my mind comes up with a million other things I should be doing instead. All excuses, invented so I don’t have to risk the one I fear most – rejection. Specifically, being rejected because I’m not good enough.
You realize there’s only one course of action here, don’t you, Nate? You need to man up. You need to show some guts. Like too-perfect Ted.
Yeah, thanks, Nate. Sometimes you can be a real prick.
Of course, the irony is that Ican’tgo charging over to the house to declare my undying love. Her mother’s there. And even the most romantic intentions don’t tend to survive being witnessed by a person who might end up being your mother-in-law.
I could hang around here a bit longer than usual. Figure her mom won’t want to leave the drive back to the coast too late.
Until then, also ironically, I may as well do the work my craven mind put up as an excuse for me not to go charging in.
I fire up the email. Immediately see an offer for penis enhancement. Ha, ha, universe. Fuck you.
OK, here we go. Lease on the harvester and the wine press are finalized. That means more manning up, in order to go break the bad news to Javi and Iris. I should report to JP as well, and given Ted’s hint-slash-warning about the value of Flora Valley’s ‘story’, I now have doubts about how JP will respond. I figure his business sense will override any emotional attachment to old-fashioned winemaking, but my own judgment on matters has been pretty poor lately, so who the fuck knows?
It’s four o’clock now, so all that will have to wait untildemain.Ormañana, as Javi would never say, because he’s a do-it-right-now kind of guy.
Architect has emailed his terms and conditions for the tasting room project. I spend a stupid amount of time reviewing them and making changes. I waste another twenty minutes googling pictures of tasting rooms in other wineries.
I’m looking at one with vaulted brick ceilings and hand-blown glass chandeliers, when there’s a knock on the office door. My heart does a black flip. Shelby?
“Come in.”
I get to my feet. Always feel at a disadvantage when I’m sitting down.
Not Shelby. Mountain Man Cam.
“Hey,” I say, though I don’t try that hard to look welcoming.
All he does is nod. Does the guy have some brain injury, or voice box malfunction? What’s so hard about stringing together a few goddamn words?
“What can I do for you, Cam?”
I keep my voice more civil than my thoughts. He iswaybigger than me. There wasn’t that much advantage to be gained by standing up, after all.
“Shelby said to ask you about the harvest pre-check.”
OK. So hecando it. When he wants to.
“Run me through what it involves,” I say.
