Read Eight Hundred Grapes Online
Authors: Laura Dave
Marie couldn’t cook like Jen could. Marie was an amazing winemaker, but in the kitchen she made two things well. She made a green garlic soup and toasted bread. They had that most nights. Tonight was no different.
Except for this. When Marie disappeared from the table, he cleaned the dishes. He cleaned the dishes and got ready to retire for the evening. Turning down the music, wiping off the table. Then she walked back in. Naked.
“Come here,” she said.
He smiled. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. What are you doing?”
They had spent days walking in the vineyard together. They had taken bike rides down the coast and slept on the beach. They had drunk too much wine one night and fallen asleep on the couch head to feet. When he woke up, he hadn’t moved. He had gone back to sleep.
He shouldn’t have done those things, but they were on one side of a line that kept him with his wife. She was starting to feel imaginary so far away. But he knew she wasn’t. Just like he knew that wasn’t what Marie was asking for now.
He had drunk an extra glass of wine. She had encouraged it. It was making it hard to walk out the door. It was making him think that he shouldn’t walk out the door. Maybe he should walk toward her instead. No one would know. He would barely even know. When he went back to Northern California, wouldn’t Marie feel as far away as his family felt from him now? She would.
She was beautiful. She was naked.
And she wanted him.
What he did next would determine everything.
The Last Family Dinner (Part 2)
W
hen my parents decided to build the barrel room, Finn nicknamed it the Great Barrel Room, mostly because it ended up costing them more than my parents had spent on their actual house, red door included. The Great Barrel Room, slightly off the wine cave. It was an inviting room, with its wooden rafters and a stone fireplace, white lights wrapped around the oak beams.
My father had built the room for Bobby and Margaret’s wedding so they would have a place in which to get married.
It housed some of my father’s most valued wine barrels and was home to the few tastings my father did on the property. It was also where, in recent years, we’d started having our family dinner during the last weekend of the harvest.
Family dinner. The most intimate celebration with the people for whom the harvest meant the most.
But first, it had been for their wedding. Their gorgeous, intimate wedding, the happiest bride and groom. Bobby was truly joyous his entire wedding day, not leaving Margaret once the entire evening.
Which made it ironic to be sitting in there tonight: the room where we got to witness that kind of love, while Margaret and Bobby were standing outside of it, fighting.
My mother had set a gorgeous table, covered with daisies and baskets of fresh raisin bread, homemade herb butter. She refused to bring out the meal, though, until everyone was there. But everyone wasn’t there. Ben
sat between Maddie and the twins, all three kids stuffing their faces with the homemade bread (the twins picking out the raisins). My parents were at either end of the table. Then there was only me, surrounded by empty seats, where Finn should have been seated, where Bobby and Margaret should have been seated.
Finn was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t even arrived home yet. And Bobby and Margaret stood out in the cave, arguing loudly, in the way you did when you were yelling, but keeping your voices down at the same time. The rest of us pretended we didn’t hear them—my mother focused entirely on the twins, on giving them more buttered bread, on ignoring my father’s gaze.
My father, meanwhile, was the one closest to the doorway. He gripped the edge of the table, trying to decide whether to go outside and interrupt them.
“You can’t seriously be saying that!” Margaret yelled.
My father caught my eyes and shook his head, looking down at the bread baskets in the middle of the table, the drooping daisies. He wanted to do something to turn this meal around—this meal that he looked forward to all year. His kids back in one place, the new family members along with them. All celebrating another harvest, another job well done.
My father banged on the table. “You know? Let’s just eat.”
This was directed at my mother, but I jumped up ready to do it, so there was activity. “Good idea,” I said.
I headed for the serving bench, past my mother, before she could argue that she was going to do it, past Ben, before he could get up and help. I kept moving toward the pot roast, like it was going to save the evening. Maybe it would. My mother’s pot roast, with its plump tomatoes and roasted onions, too much brandy.
I put on her oven mitts and gingerly picked up the pan, the roast rich and robust, not suffering from its extra time waiting for us.
I put the roast down in the middle of the table.
“That looks wonderful!”
We looked up to see Margaret entering the barrel room, Bobby behind her. They had smiles painted on their faces, Margaret’s aimed at the pot roast, Bobby’s aimed at the twins.
Bobby took the seat next to mine, Margaret sitting on his other side, looking like she’d rather take the seat on my other side, the one between me and my mother. Finn’s seat. But she sat where she always did between Bobby and my father.
Margaret scooted the chair over so she was near my father, as near as she could get, like he was going to protect her if Bobby threw the succulent roast at her. She was smart. Beneath his smile, he looked like he wanted to do that.
I reached over, tentatively tapping Bobby on the back, trying to be comforting to him. It was a mistake. Bobby looked like he was about to explode, and my touch only tightened him up.
Bobby looked across the table, nodding in Ben’s direction, their first and only hello. Ben gave him a nod back, giving me a supportive smile.
Then Bobby reached immediately, and deliberately, for the wine.
At another moment, Bobby would have wondered what had changed with Ben and me that had Ben sitting at this table. But Bobby wasn’t thinking about that. He wasn’t thinking about anything except what he’d overheard in the bathroom.
Luckily, Josh called out to Bobby, distracting him. “Daddy . . .”
He looked across the table at his son. He gave him a genuine smile. “Yes, what?”
“Where’s Uncle Finn?”
Bobby bit his thumb, Margaret answering for him.
“I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” she said.
Bobby looked away from the twins, toward Ben, just in time to see Ben put his arm lovingly around his daughter, Bobby noticing for the first time the child that wasn’t his.
“Who’s the kid?” he whispered.
Margaret hadn’t told him. I wasn’t going to break that news. Not when the rest of his world was unraveling before him.
Bobby didn’t want an answer, though. He was already reaching over and pouring himself some wine, not pouring any for his wife.
My father clocked that he ignored Margaret’s glass and took the bot
tle from Bobby, pouring some for Margaret himself. Margaret smiled at him gratefully.
“Thanks, Dan,” Margaret said, taking a long sip. “This wine is really delicious. What are we drinking?”
“Concerto,” my father said.
“Soon to be
Wine Spectator
magazine’s ‘Pinot Noir of the Year,’ ” my mother said.
“One of
Wine Spectator
magazine’s ‘Pinot Noirs of the Year,’ ” my father corrected. “And I had very little to do with it. Lots of strong, warm weather. The fruit just presented itself.”
“To you,” my mother said proudly, my mother, who was pre-gaming with us, her real meal a few hours away.
La Gare
.
10 PM
.
I must have been giving her a look, because she turned toward me. “What?”
Ben tapped on his wineglass with a spoon, all eyes turning toward him.
“Would it be okay if I said a few words?” he said, holding up his glass and directing the question to my father. “We are just so happy to be here.”
“Who’s
we
?” Bobby whispered.
Then the door swung open, a woman’s loud laugh making its way into the barrel room before she did.
“Is Finn bringing someone?” my mother said.
Which was when they entered, the loud-laughing woman and Finn.
The woman wore an outfit that matched her laugh. She had on a wildly short dress, her ample boobs falling out, the dress emphasizing her long blond hair, her longer legs. A real-life Barbie.
The twins and Maddie stared at her, mesmerized.
Finn held her hand, unsteady on his feet, slurring a little.
“Hey! I’m sorry I’m late. Bill didn’t show up for his shift.” Finn put his arm tightly around his guest’s waist, brushed those boobs. “I’ve brought my friend Alexis to make it up to you. Alexis, this is my family. Family, this is Alexis.”
She waved, leaning in closer to Finn. “Hi there,” she said.
My mother smiled, jumping out of her seat. “Hi, Alexis,” my mother said. “I’ll set a place for you next to Finn.”
My mother grabbed a woven placemat, plates for pot roast and pie, as Finn introduced Alexis around the room, finishing his introductions with the people he wanted to meet Alexis most.
“Alexis,” Finn said. “That is my brother, Bobby, and his wife, Margaret.”
He was rubbing her ass the entire time.
Bobby kept his eyes ahead of him, Margaret too.
Ben met my eyes, questioning what was happening. “You okay?” he mouthed.
I shrugged, at a loss as to what to do, watching Finn snuggling into his friend.
“Why don’t you two help yourself to the roast?” my mother said.
Alexis shrugged. “I don’t eat anything with a face. Except for shellfish.”
I stared at Alexis, ready to slap her, not for her statement but for being here at all. As though it were her fault.
“Alexis is actually a vegetarian,” Finn said.
Bobby laughed, but it was a mean laugh. Angry.
“Thanks for translating,” he said.
Finn looked at him, confused, uncertain why Bobby would be upset with him. He was oblivious that Bobby had found out about him and Margaret, too focused on his own asinine agenda: to move on from Margaret. Alexis was here for Margaret’s benefit. Bobby wasn’t supposed to know.
“Ben,” my father said. “You were saying?”
“What?” Ben said.
Ben’s eyes were still on Alexis and Finn, confused.
My mother touched his arm. “You were giving a toast, Ben,” she said.
“Right . . .” Ben raised his glass, trying to remember. “I was just going to say, I’m happy to be here. And I want to raise a glass to Dan and Jen for always making me feel like a part of your family, even when I haven’t deserved it.”
Finn laughed. “When was that?”
I pressed hard into his thigh.
“Ow,” Finn said. Then he raised his hand in mock surrender. “Just checking where we were on the honesty meter.”
Bobby shook his head. “Is that what you were checking?” he said.
“Eat,” my father said loudly, everyone looking at him. “Let’s eat.”
We all began eating, Finn keeping his hand over Alexis’s shoulder, groping her. Then he did the worst thing. He started to turn toward Margaret; Margaret, who was focused on her roast, shaking. Shaking in the face of Finn’s cruelty, of Bobby’s anger.
“Son of a bitch,” Bobby said.
Bobby dove for Finn, knocking him off his chair, the two of them landing on the floor, legs hitting chairs. Finn’s elbow knocking into the wall, crushing it.
Everyone was up from the table at once. My father moved toward Finn and Bobby, Ben moving to help my father. My mother and Margaret ushering the twins and Maddie away.
My father pulled Finn off of Bobby just long enough for Bobby to punch Finn in the face. Hard. The force of it pushed Finn back, leveling him, blood dripping down his face, through his cracked skin.
Finn held his jaw, shocked. His shock turned to anger, fueling him forward.
“Are you crazy?” Finn said.
“Screw you, Finn.”
The two of them were on top of each other again. Finn was on the offense now as much as the defense. He pushed Bobby through the front door, tumbling toward the lawn.
Finn tackled Bobby on the grass, the vineyard steps away, Bobby rolling over on top of him, ready to take another swing.
But Ben grabbed on to Bobby’s shoulders before he could, holding Bobby back and away, my father reaching down and pulling Finn up to standing. All of them stuck together.
Finn pulled away, straightening his shirt.
“What the fuck, Bobby?” Finn said.
Bobby, almost breaking loose of Ben, lunged at Finn again. But Ben grabbed him back. “What the fuck? You’re asking me what the fuck?” he said. “What about Margaret?”
“What are you talking about?”
“What about Margaret?” Bobby said.
With that question, Finn got quiet, aware that Bobby knew. He knew about him and Margaret. His eyes locked with mine, where I stood with my mother, two feet away.
“Don’t look at her,” Bobby said. “She has nothing to do with this. Look at me.”
Finn turned back to Bobby as Margaret ran outside, the twins and Maddie safely ensconced elsewhere. My mother put an arm around her protectively, not sure what else to do.
Bobby gave Finn a look, disgusted.
“You’re my brother,” Bobby said.
“Nothing happened, man,” Finn said.
“Oh, nothing happened? Okay,” Bobby said. “You’ve always fucking wanted her.”
Finn shook his head, laughing angrily. “Whatever, Bobby . . .”
“This isn’t even about her,” Bobby said. “It’s about me, you wanting my life.”
My father and Ben stood between them, holding them back. But they weren’t watching carefully. They were too mad, and I could picture it. One of them swinging, hitting Ben or my father in the head. Or both.
I moved toward both of them. “Why don’t you guys calm down and take this up tomorrow?”
“Why don’t you worry about yourself, there?” Bobby said, his voice harsh.
Ben immediately got protective, defensive. “Leave her out of it, Bobby,” he said. “She has nothing to do with this.”
Finn laughed and turned away from Bobby for the first time. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding. Now you’re in the business of protecting our sister, Ben? That’s impressive.”