Sipping on a syrah from the wine flight before me, I ask, “How do you like LA’s oldest producing winery?”
“Not bad, my darling. Not bad at all.” Christian nods then drinks his pinot grigio that he took a risk on trying, adding flavor to his purposely fancy voice.
I respond, “Not at all,” in the same put-on non-accent, giddy that he’s drinking wine at all.
“San Antonio Winery always was on this exact spot?” He looks around the room.
“From what I understood on the tour, yes, the winery’s been here over one hundred years. But the original vineyards are obviously long gone since the LA River is lined with concrete.” The thought makes my heart ache.
“They would’ve been nice to see,” he says.
“For sure. You’ve heard how LA has ‘a history of forgetting.’”
But I won’t forget.
A fabricated image of Pietro comes to mind once again, and as if he’s speaking through me, I shout, “I should open a winery.”
Did that just come out of my mouth and into the air? The air that Christian also occupies… Oh no. Oh God. O—kay.
Christian lurches his head forward as he drinks his wine, nearly spilling it. “What was that?” He has a growing grin as he wipes wetness from his lips.
The wine may be overcoming me more than I think, but here goes. “I’ve been having weird visions since Italy, visions that are starting to make sense today. Would it be so wild to consider…I mean to just entertain the idea of a family winery?” My high-pitched, cutesy tone doesn’t even convince me that this idea could be based in reality, but there you have it.
“Toni, I think you’ve lost me.”
His words pierce my inflated cheer in a possible double meaning.
Christian knocks on my forehead with his fist. “Are you alright in there?” He chuckles and sips from his glass again.
Since the cat’s out of the bag, I may as well run with it, like the time Nala made me chase her down the exterior hall when she escaped. “Well…” I pause, needing to play this right. “What if I can revive the family tradition? Third time’s a charm, they say.” I giggle to add lightness.
“Now you’ve lost your mind.”
It doesn’t work.
“Christian, stay with me on this. It’s not that far-fetched. Wouldn’t it be fantastic to have this for ourselves?” I flail my arms around, motioning to the Riboli family’s empire. Christian’s not the only one to convince of giving this thought any attention, though. What am I saying?
I’m a professional cellist. That’s what I do. That’s what I’ve always done. How could someone stop what they’ve been trained in and do a one-eighty swoop, let alone to a career they know not one iota about? Before my own logic talks me out of my newfound desire, Christian cuts in.
“Of course it would be…if we were rich and could spend money on a whim.”
“I know.” I drop my head in my hands. “I think I’ve been swept up in the idea of a reprieve from my boring job. This is crazy talk. Just forget what I said.”
He has to be right. Who am I to think I could make something like this work? And he’d be involved by default, sinking with me. I take a deep breath and sip my last drop of wine.
“Maybe you’ll find a performance job you love soon. Don’t lose faith.” He pushes his chair away from the table and extends his hand as he stands. “Ready to go home? We can see what new releases are streaming.”
I accept his hand and follow him out to the car. “Sure, a movie with you sounds great.” I try to convince myself my madness will disappear. It’ll be a great night together after a mostly wonderful day, and all wine visions will cease.
Before I hop in the passenger seat of my car, I snatch a flyer from the windshield but throw it at my feet. “Let’s put some good tunes on for the ride home.”
“That’s my girl.”