Page 4 of Love Beyond the Illusion
“I know. Things have been difficult without your father,” she admits, patting the top of my hand. “But we’re going to pull through.”
“I still have a lot of reservations about stepping into this role,” I admit.
“I understand, honey, but you were born to do this. You were always meant to run the winery,” she lovingly reminds me.
“But I’m nowhere near ready to do this.” I focus my eyes away from her. “I’m not dad.”
“No one is expecting you to be exactly like your father. The whole operation is a lot for one person, I know that,” she replies, lowering her sunglasses to cover her eyes. “Bradley Wines will only continue to be successful if someone can take on the things I can’t. You know how this side of the business works.”
“Yeah.”
“I know this is hard for you because it was never your dream, but you would be amazing.” She sighs.
“I guess I just figured I’d have more time to work on my career first.”
“You’ve had six years in marketing. You’ve helped build so many successful restaurants. You have a degree in business. You have more knowledge and experience than your dad and I ever did.”
Slumping against the back of the chair, I breathe a heavy sigh.
“Were you able to put an offer down for the house on Honeysuckle?”
I nod. That house is something that I’m looking forward to. The second I pulled into the driveway, I knew there was something different about it. It’s a large, white, ranch-style home only about ten minutes from the winery.
I am excited about the house, but I still find myself clutching the rim of the wine glass with frustration. The winery was my father’s dream, not mine. I’ll never be able to live up to how this community saw him. He was an intricate part of this town and the close regions. I’ll spend my whole life being scrutinized and compared to my father.
My entire life was planned out for me before I was even born. It’s suffocating.
“You know your father always wanted you to take over the winery, Jack, and if this is something you’re going to do, you’ll have to establish yourself within the community again.” My mom continues our previous conversation.
“I realize that,” I say.
Living in a small community has its advantages and, unfortunately, disadvantages. One is that if I ever want to start a family, the assumption will be that I’ll marry someone within the growers’ community. We’re tight-knit to a fault, work with our own, and pass down generational wealth like free candy on Halloween. Not to mention with an added side of pressure and privilege.I can’t fucking stand it.
She lifts a glass of last year’s red from the table, delicately pinching the stem and taking a sip. “I know you had a very tumultuous relationship with your father, but all he ever wanted was to give all of this to you,” she says, gesturing toward the vineyard.
Dragging my eyes across the hand-planted crops that make up a hundred acres of my father’s legacy, unease settles in my stomach.Can I do this? Do I even want to do this?
“I am aware of that too,” I quip, sensing the weight of her words. The burden I’ve carried my entire life. The expectation has always been for me to run my family’s business, and that’s exactly why I needed to get away from here as soon as I had the chance.
Who was I without the Bradley name?
My father had no problem making it known how disappointed he was with my lack of interest in the winery—a place he lovingly called hislife’s purpose.
“You were born into something great, and not everyone is as lucky as you are,” she adds, resting her hands on the armrest of her garden chair. I ignore her attempt at a guilt trip.
I’m not some billionaire trust fund guy, but my family has made millions from wine. It began with my dad in the 1980s. He and my mom moved north from Los Angeles, searching for a quiet farm life to fulfill my dad’s dream of owning a working winery and vineyard.
“You’re not helping this situation by listing everything I already know.” I square my shoulders. My hands clasped on top of my knees.
“The only other option is to let Steve’s son Preston take over, and you can go back to Phoenix and continue to do what you’ve been doing.”
I scoff at her apparent lack of providing a legitimate choice. “I can’t do that to dad—or you.”
“Preston is already a part of the community. He’s been running Mountain Coast Winery for the last couple years, and I know his new fiancée is also interested in taking on a leadership role,” she tells me.
Preston Rivers. My friendslashfriendly rival since we were kids and the son of my dad’s best friend. We grew up together and, at one point, were close. Then high school happened, and friendly competition became not so friendly. We both excelled on the swim team, fought over girls, and tried to one-up each other every chance we got.
But things took a turn when I caught him kissing my girlfriend after a swim meet. I wasn’t that into her, but it was a huge blow to my ego. When I confronted them about it, she said I wasn’t “paying her enough attention” and that she wanted to “make me jealous.” That plan backfired. It gave me an excuse to break up with her before graduation.
