Eight Hundred Grapes

From the upstairs bathroom, I could see people arriving, the bluegrass band playing them in. The tent was lit up with lanterns, tables inside lined with pizza and wine, gourmet pizza but pizza all the same—a tribu

te to the early harvest parties when that was all my parents could afford to serve. Tonight felt glamorous under the lanterns. Everyone was happy and excited to celebrate another harvest. My father’s last harvest. It looked, I imagined, how my wedding might.

Ben had left a note on the mirror, fogged into the glass. COME DOWN SOON.

I touched it with my hand. Then I checked out my reflection, smoothing down my purple dress, my hair pulled back off my face in a low ponytail. After the chaos of the last few days, I was surprised to find that it hadn’t taken me down. Maybe it was the break from the ninety-hour work weeks, but there was no denying it. I looked relaxed and happy.

I heard a soft knock and looked up to find my father standing in the bathroom doorway, looking handsome in his white button-down shirt and dark pants, holding out a sprig of lavender, like a bouquet.

“Here you go.”

I smiled. “That’s for me?”

He handed over the flower. “That’s for you,” he said. “If you’ll escort me downstairs.”

“I’d love that, but I should be asking you. How’re you doing?”

He put his arm in mine. “Better now.”

We headed downstairs and out onto the patio.

My father leaned in toward me as we headed into the tent. “A few days from now, I’ll be walking you into a different party here.”

My heart skipped a beat. “I guess you will.”

A waiter walked by and handed us each a glass of sparkling wine from his tray, the only sparkling wine my father would be serving tonight. It was from Louise and Gary’s small vineyard: a rosy, yummy mess of a California sparkling wine. Drier than it was sweet.

My father took one for me, one for himself, raising his glass in a toast.

“Thank you for trying to enjoin me. In an odd way, it’s the nicest thing anyone has done for me in a while.”

“You yelled at me, though.”

He tiled his glass, smiling. “Well. It’s also the meanest.”

But before he could clink our glasses, I saw my mother walking on the patio, Henry by her side. He wore a suit, looking—as much as I hated to admit it—somewhat dapper. My mother, meanwhile, looked beautiful in a long, yellow dress. She also looked overwhelmed—perhaps by having Henry by her side, perhaps by the party itself, which was especially big this year. Perhaps by looking for my father, who maybe wasn’t as okay with Henry being here as he might have suggested.

Then before my father could spot them, Gary and Louise walked up, Brian Queen behind them, and the three of them swept my father into the party. The beautiful party: tea lights and brown lanterns and flowers in jelly jars as far as the eye could see.

“I’ll be right back,” my father mouthed. “Is that okay?”

But he was already gone.

I closed my eyes, grateful for the opportunity to stay close to the tent’s entrance, no one inside feeling like someone I wanted to talk to: not Henry and my mother, not Margaret and Bobby standing next to each other by the bar, looking miserable. Margaret was in a white dress, Bobby was in his designer suit—a twin in each of their arms, like blockers. Bobby was talking to Nick Braeburn—my father’s California distributor—Margaret forcing a smile, looking down.

Then I saw them holed up at the far end of one of the farm tables, a box of crayons between them, large sheets of paper. Michelle and Maddie, coloring, Ben bending down beside them. It shocked me to see him with them. Even though I had wanted Michelle to come—to make a peace offering—it was different seeing her there with Ben. The two people who had made Maddie. Actually looking at them, together, it was a conversation I wasn’t ready for. Especially when I saw who was standing by them, blocking people from getting too near to them. Deputy Sheriff Ethan Tropper, in a pinstripe suit.

I turned quickly and ran, champagne first, into Jacob. He jumped back, the champagne spilling all over him.

“Hello to you too,” he said. He wasn’t wearing a sweater vest, but a sports coat and jeans, looking handsome, Lee by his side. She was wearing a slinky shirt, and one of those rings that was also a bracelet. A chain running the length of her hand, from her finger to her wrist, looking sexy.

Jacob used one hand to dry the champagne off his shirt, keeping the other hand wrapped around Lee’s waist.

“You could’ve just asked if I wanted a drink,” he said.

I was focused on Lee. She put her hand to her face, the chain shiny against her cheek.

“I know you,” she said. “How do I know you?” Her eyes got wide, making the connection. “We met yesterday at the Violet Café, didn’t we?”