Love Story
Page 2
A road trip that won’t be happening.
I blow out a breath. Tomorrow. I’ll deal with all of that tomorrow.
I smile as the Congratulations, Spock sign flutters in the warm June breeze.
Suddenly, I can’t wait to see what sort of gloriously fattening welcome-home meal my mom has prepared, have a beer with my dad and brother, gossip with my sister, and enjoy two nights with my family before I start my dream job as hospitality manager at Chateau St. Magrit, one of the biggest wineries in Napa Valley.
“Spock.” Craig says my name as I reach for the handle of the front door. I glance back, and he gives me a slightly sheepish grin. “For what it’s worth, it wasn’t my idea.”
“What wasn’t?” I say.
Then it hits me.
The sign in the front yard. The cars lining the cul-de-sac. The fact that my parents haven’t been out to greet me, even though I’d have bet serious money that my mom would be impatiently waiting by the living room window, my father making up excuses for why he needed to be out in the front yard for when I drove up.
I groan. “They didn’t.”
Craig grins wider. “It’s not every day their baby girl comes home with a fancy degree in tow.”
“I’m not even the baby,” I mutter. That dubious honor belongs to Brandi, my little sister by four years.
Then I take a deep breath and push open the door.
I’m prepared for it, but the “SURPRISE!” still makes me jump a little. And then, even though it isn’t quite the small, intimate homecoming I’d been dreaming about for weeks, my eyes water all the same, because everyone is here.
My parents, beaming at me, Brandi looking seriously grown-up even since I saw her at Easter. Aunts, uncles, cousins. Neighbors who’ve known me my whole life, grade school friends, high school friends. Even some former coworkers from Luna Winery, the local Virginia vineyard where I discovered my love of the wine business…
I drop my bag, ignoring the fact that my Revlon mascara and off-brand tampons are probably scattered all over the area rug as I run toward my parents with a happy squeal.
Not exactly dignified grown-up behavior, but I don’t care.
The second my mom’s arms go around me, and I feel dad’s hand mess up my hair, I don’t care about anything except that for forty-eight glorious hours I’m home.
Don’t get me wrong, my dream job in Napa is pretty freaking fantastic—it’s everything I’ve been working for since I was like, five.
But right now, this is where I want to be more than anything.
It’s the kind of homecoming you see in Hallmark movies, complete with a big bouquet of Congratulations! helium balloons tied to the back of our dining room chairs.
It’s perfect.
Even as a quick scan of the room tells me there’s one rather crucial absence.
“Lucy Darlene Hawkins, you’re too skinny!” my mom says, pushing me back.
I grin, because I know my mom’s quest to fatten up her children is how she best shows her love. Unfortunately for her, all three of us take after my dad’s side of the family, which means we’re lean.
My leggy sister also got my dad’s height, whereas I got the short genes, coming in at just under five two. Something my five nine “little” sister reminds me of now by resting her forearm on my shoulder. “Hey, Spock. You like your sign? Craig and I worked hard on that.”
“Love it. Although maybe you could tell Mom exactly how you knew to make the l look so perfectly like a penis?”
My mom says, “Girls!” in exasperation, and Brandi gives our mother a cheeky smile.
“I’m not sure what a penis looks like, Mom. What’s this penis Spock is referring to? A type of cocktail?”
Everyone’s in the kitchen now, happily heaping pasta salad and potato salad onto paper plates, the enormous platter of what looks to be the local Gabby’s Fried Chicken rapidly depleting.
I’m about to sink my teeth into a drumstick when my mom pulls it away from my face and tosses it onto a plate.
“What the heck?” I say. “I thought you said I was too skinny.”
“You have your whole life to eat,” my mom says, clapping her hands excitedly, a strand of dark hair falling across her cheek. “We have something for you.”
I glance around, realizing that “we” means my immediate family, although my sister and brother look decidedly more skeptical about the surprise than my giddy parents.
I let my mom lead me to the garage, following after my dad as the sibs drag along behind.
I admit I’m expecting the ta-da moment to be a little more, well…anything.
I glance around at our familiar, cluttered garage. I see one too many rakes, an overflowing garbage can because my dad forgot to take it out to the curb yesterday. There’s the old hideous brown station wagon….The only thing that’s new is a ladder, and I can’t imagine how it warrants a ta-da!
My parents are still beaming expectantly, awaiting my response.
I give Craig and Brandi a Help! look but they’re too busy trying not to crack up.
It’s my dad who caves, clearing his throat and gesturing with his hand toward the car.
I scan over the station wagon, affectionately dubbed Horny by my brother his freshmen year of high school, and then I see it.
The bow.
Not a big bow, but a tattered, dirty-looking red bow that I think had a former life as a Christmas-tree topper.
“Umm—”
I blow out a breath. Tomorrow. I’ll deal with all of that tomorrow.
I smile as the Congratulations, Spock sign flutters in the warm June breeze.
Suddenly, I can’t wait to see what sort of gloriously fattening welcome-home meal my mom has prepared, have a beer with my dad and brother, gossip with my sister, and enjoy two nights with my family before I start my dream job as hospitality manager at Chateau St. Magrit, one of the biggest wineries in Napa Valley.
“Spock.” Craig says my name as I reach for the handle of the front door. I glance back, and he gives me a slightly sheepish grin. “For what it’s worth, it wasn’t my idea.”
“What wasn’t?” I say.
Then it hits me.
The sign in the front yard. The cars lining the cul-de-sac. The fact that my parents haven’t been out to greet me, even though I’d have bet serious money that my mom would be impatiently waiting by the living room window, my father making up excuses for why he needed to be out in the front yard for when I drove up.
I groan. “They didn’t.”
Craig grins wider. “It’s not every day their baby girl comes home with a fancy degree in tow.”
“I’m not even the baby,” I mutter. That dubious honor belongs to Brandi, my little sister by four years.
Then I take a deep breath and push open the door.
I’m prepared for it, but the “SURPRISE!” still makes me jump a little. And then, even though it isn’t quite the small, intimate homecoming I’d been dreaming about for weeks, my eyes water all the same, because everyone is here.
My parents, beaming at me, Brandi looking seriously grown-up even since I saw her at Easter. Aunts, uncles, cousins. Neighbors who’ve known me my whole life, grade school friends, high school friends. Even some former coworkers from Luna Winery, the local Virginia vineyard where I discovered my love of the wine business…
I drop my bag, ignoring the fact that my Revlon mascara and off-brand tampons are probably scattered all over the area rug as I run toward my parents with a happy squeal.
Not exactly dignified grown-up behavior, but I don’t care.
The second my mom’s arms go around me, and I feel dad’s hand mess up my hair, I don’t care about anything except that for forty-eight glorious hours I’m home.
Don’t get me wrong, my dream job in Napa is pretty freaking fantastic—it’s everything I’ve been working for since I was like, five.
But right now, this is where I want to be more than anything.
It’s the kind of homecoming you see in Hallmark movies, complete with a big bouquet of Congratulations! helium balloons tied to the back of our dining room chairs.
It’s perfect.
Even as a quick scan of the room tells me there’s one rather crucial absence.
“Lucy Darlene Hawkins, you’re too skinny!” my mom says, pushing me back.
I grin, because I know my mom’s quest to fatten up her children is how she best shows her love. Unfortunately for her, all three of us take after my dad’s side of the family, which means we’re lean.
My leggy sister also got my dad’s height, whereas I got the short genes, coming in at just under five two. Something my five nine “little” sister reminds me of now by resting her forearm on my shoulder. “Hey, Spock. You like your sign? Craig and I worked hard on that.”
“Love it. Although maybe you could tell Mom exactly how you knew to make the l look so perfectly like a penis?”
My mom says, “Girls!” in exasperation, and Brandi gives our mother a cheeky smile.
“I’m not sure what a penis looks like, Mom. What’s this penis Spock is referring to? A type of cocktail?”
Everyone’s in the kitchen now, happily heaping pasta salad and potato salad onto paper plates, the enormous platter of what looks to be the local Gabby’s Fried Chicken rapidly depleting.
I’m about to sink my teeth into a drumstick when my mom pulls it away from my face and tosses it onto a plate.
“What the heck?” I say. “I thought you said I was too skinny.”
“You have your whole life to eat,” my mom says, clapping her hands excitedly, a strand of dark hair falling across her cheek. “We have something for you.”
I glance around, realizing that “we” means my immediate family, although my sister and brother look decidedly more skeptical about the surprise than my giddy parents.
I let my mom lead me to the garage, following after my dad as the sibs drag along behind.
I admit I’m expecting the ta-da moment to be a little more, well…anything.
I glance around at our familiar, cluttered garage. I see one too many rakes, an overflowing garbage can because my dad forgot to take it out to the curb yesterday. There’s the old hideous brown station wagon….The only thing that’s new is a ladder, and I can’t imagine how it warrants a ta-da!
My parents are still beaming expectantly, awaiting my response.
I give Craig and Brandi a Help! look but they’re too busy trying not to crack up.
It’s my dad who caves, clearing his throat and gesturing with his hand toward the car.
I scan over the station wagon, affectionately dubbed Horny by my brother his freshmen year of high school, and then I see it.
The bow.
Not a big bow, but a tattered, dirty-looking red bow that I think had a former life as a Christmas-tree topper.
“Umm—”
