Because I’m an idiot, that’s why.“Because I’m not going to force her to stay. She needs to make the decision for herself.”
It was the right thing to do. Deep down, I know it was, but doing the right thing feels like shit. I should’ve been selfish and told her to stay. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel like my heart is cracking in half inside my chest.
“Well, what the fuck are you doing here? Go get her. She left, she’s there. Now go get her.”
“It’s not that simple.”
He barks a laugh. “Yeah, it is.”
Gavin doesn’t get it. To him, everything is black and white, right and wrong. While I know some part of him will always carry love for Lily’s mom, to honor her memory, he’s never been in love. Not like this.
“People are like grapes,” he says.
I fight an eye roll. Here we go with his philosophical advice. “Please don’t keep going,” I groan, annoyed.
He raises his brows and smiles. “Each grape variety is different.”
“Jesus Christ. Why did I come here? At least Tawny doesn’t speak to me like she’s reading off a fortune cookie.”
Gavin laughs, walking toward one of the tanks. “Take this cab franc. It’s earthy, a little herbaceous. It can be a lot to handle.” He walks with his hands clasped behind his back like he’s in front of a lecture hall, enlightening his students. I couldn’t stop him now if I tried. He’s full-on philosophical chemist. He points to another tank. “But then there’s this cab sauv. It’s bold, complex, a little spicy, a real fan favorite.”
“Am I the cab franc and Marisa is the cab sauv in this scenario?” I ask, my voice deadpan.
“Exactly,” he yells, entirely too excited about this weird-ass conversation. “You see, when you mix them together, it makes for the perfect, well-balanced wine. Sometimes the mostunexpected combinations create the best results.” He walks over to me and pats me on the back. “On their own, they’re great, but together, create something unique, something rare.”
“That was deep, Gav. I’m moved.”
He shakes his head with a perfected disappointed dad look. “You laugh now, but my words will haunt you when you lie awake tonight, alone.”
Heading for the door, I give him a dismissive wave. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll come back next time I need my palm read.”
Back in the cottage, I feel worse. So much of Marisa is still present. Some of her clothes hang in the closet, a couple pairs of her shoes are scattered by the door, her ridiculous coffeemaker is sitting on the counter, and the most unbearable of all is the sweet smell of vanilla she left behind. She left her car here, too, because there was no way that death trap would survive driving over the pass. Her dad bought her a plane ticket, and the plan is for me to bring more of her stuff when I go visit. The downside of that is now I’m surrounded by her things and her scent, but she’s long gone.
We were supposed to FaceTime tonight, like we do every night, so I’ve been sitting on the couch with my phone clutched in my hand for thirty minutes, but still no call. Just as I’m about to give up and call her, a text comes through.
Marisa: Sorry. Can’t talk tonight. I’m at the hospital.
I shoot out of my seat, panicked.
Marisa: Hillary had the baby.
My breath eases. Jesus Christ. The woman nearly gave me a heart attack.
Ethan: Ok. We’ll talk tomorrow. Tell Hillary and Archie I say congratulations.
I stare at my phone a bit longer, waiting for a reply, but it never comes. I hate this. I hate being apart. I hate not seeing her.
I wasted so much time trying to avoid her, to stay away, and now I’d give anything to have that time back. Goose paws at the door, looking at me, and then back to the door. He’s waiting for her.
I rise and go to scratch his head. “Sorry, buddy, she’s not coming.”
He whines, making a circle around me.
“I know. We’re two whiny little bitches without her.”
Goose and I get in bed, but instead of reclaiming his spot that’s been occupied by Marisa, he remains at the foot and stares at the empty pillow. He doesn’t understand that she’s not coming, and I think it breaks me even more.
I turn on the TV, playing it loudly because it’s so goddamn quiet without her. Meanwhile, my mind keeps repeating Gavin’s stupid wine analogy. Damn him for predicting it would haunt me. Of course, she’s perfect for me and we fit together like I never imagined I could with someone else. I stare at the ceiling. I stare at Goose. I toss and turn for several minutes. I try to focus on the TV, but that doesn’t work either. I’m a mess.
