Fifty-five
When Asher didn’t show up for breakfast, not even at his typical late hour, Vivian went up to his room. There, she found another unhappy person wrestling with a suitcase. Asher was messily unpacking a bag that still had clothes in it from a previous trip. A different suitcase, empty, was open on the bed.
Bridget, she understood. But where on earth did he think he was going?
“What are you doing?” she said, closing the door behind her.
“Mother, I need some space,” he said.
When Vivian gave birth to a son, her firstborn, she had assumed he would be just like his father. She had been twenty-two years old, without any grasp of the reality that children are their own people from the moment they take their first breath.
To be fair, she wasn’t alone in this. Leonard had clearly believed that all he would need to do was set his son loose in the fields, and the winemaking that was in his blood would do the rest to ensure that he grew up to be Leonard’s right hand and heir apparent. But Vivian realized early on that Asher was much more like herself; his beauty made it tempting to be more decorative than productive. He was capable of working hard, but at the same time he resented it. Plus, it wasn’t unusual for the son of an accomplished man to struggle in his shadow.
If they’d had a second son, none of this would have mattered. Leonard could have put all of his time and energy into grooming him. But they had a little girl. And yes, Leonard did invest a lot of time and care in teaching her everything—the same as her brother. The only difference had been his intention. Only his son was presumed to be a worthy heir.
How ironic that as farmers, she and Leonard took so long to understand that nature was stronger than nurture.
Vivian picked up a T-shirt from the floor. “Is this all laundry?”
“Mother, I’ve got it.”
She looked around the room, considering how best to ease into the conversation she intended to have. “Where’s Bridget? I haven’t seen her this morning.” No, she hadn’t seen Bridget since she gave her a ride last night to her apartment in town, eliciting a promise that she not run off too far.
“I asked her to leave. I broke off the engagement,” he said. “Please don’t do that.”
Vivian continued to retrieve clothes from the floor. It gave her something to do, an excuse to linger in the room. “I’m sorry about your engagement. I thought you were happy with Bridget.”
“I am. I was.”
She looked up at him. “So then why?”
He ran his hand through his hair. “Because I have to figure out my life—something I should have done a long time ago. But Dad wanted me here and made me believe this place would always be something to count on.”
“And that was an easy route for you to take,” she said. “I think if we’re being honest, that is part of the equation.”
“Fine. It might have been easy at first. But I’m paying for that now.”
“Why are you overreacting? You were at the meeting yesterday. Your father is optimistic.” Had he, too, seen beneath Leonard’s veneer? Or had Leonard told him something he wasn’t telling her?
“Optimistic? If he’s listening to Leah and her ideas about rosé, I’d say he’s acting desperate.”
“That’s not fair. And regardless of what you think of Leah’s strategy, why are you punishing Bridget over it?”
“I’m not punishing her. I’m letting her off the hook. When I asked her to marry me, I thought we’d live here and help out at the winery and it would be a comfortable life. Now I don’t know where I’ll be in a few months.”
“So? That’s what marriage is—being together through good times and difficult times. If Bridget left you because of this situation, I’d say fine—let her go. But if she isn’t bothered by it, then I say that’s all the more reason to marry her.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’ve been side-eyeing her for a year now and suddenly she’s the prize?”
“Oh, Asher. Stop being such a child. If you two love each other, that is the prize.”
It was true. And it was true for her own marriage as well. Winery or no winery, mistakes had been made on both of their parts. She could forgive Leonard all of his faults—if only he could find it in his heart to forgive her.
“How long can that last when I’m unemployed and she’s making money? Would your marriage to Dad have worked like that?”
“Don’t you think I wish I could step in now and offer a financial contribution to this situation? Don’t you think your father would be relieved if I could? Maybe our partnership would have been stronger if I hadn’t been relegated to the sidelines.”
Asher seemed to consider this. She moved to the bed, sitting down and patting the spot beside her. He rolled his eyes but sat down.
“Asher, it takes a strong man to let a woman shine—not a weak one. That’s why Steven is out here for your sister. And why you should stick with Bridget. I wish your father made more room for me. In this way, you can outdo him. You can be the better man.”
Leah faced a room filled with dozens of women looking to be inspired by the wonders of wine and cheese. The class, assembled in the tasting room, looked at her expectantly while she struggled to focus. The conversation the night before with her father played over and over in her mind. When she told Steven about it, he didn’t seem surprised. She could tell he didn’t want to push her, but at the same time, he was ready to pack up and leave. He didn’t say this, but she could tell he was thinking it. And who could blame him? The roller coaster was getting to her, too.
“I’d like to start by telling you a little bit about Hollander Estates and the differences between our North Fork wines and the wines produced on the West Coast. North Fork wines are relatively new. While there are several dozen wineries out here now, Hollander Estates was the first, founded in 1971 by my father, Leonard Hollander. I come from a long line of winemakers, starting with my great-grandfather in Argentina.”
The assembled women clapped. And then, incredibly, one more person joined the class: her father. Leonard took a seat in the back, an inscrutable expression on his face.
“Vintage is very important for East Coast wines. Vintage refers to the fall when the grapes are harvested. Out here on the North Fork, that means a lot. There’s a greater difference from year to year for our wines than for our West Coast counterparts. This is also true for Europe. We are at the mercy of the weather. Cooler temperatures mean the grapes retain more acidity and are very aromatic.”
Hands shaking, she poured herself a glass of Viognier and took a sip. Was Leonard there out of curiosity? To give feedback afterward?
“Our first pairing today is the Pawlet cheese and the Viognier. We’ll sample the cheese first. You’ll notice it’s yellow and firm. This is a washed-rind cheese. Now slice a small piece and smell it. Light, slightly meaty. The rind, by the way, is edible, as are the rinds of all cheese made in the US.”
She waited while everyone tasted the cheese, some eating it right off the small knife, others coupling it with bread.
“For our wine pairing, we have Viognier. We began planting these grapes in the mid-nineties and planted them again four years ago. Viognier does not have to age, and so these grapes were picked less than a year ago. You’ll note this wine is very clear, crisp, acidic. It was actually more clear at the start of the summer, and the Pawlet was a paler yellow at one point. One of many parallels between cheese and wine.”
The class sipped the wine.
“Any thoughts?”
A woman raised her hand. “It’s a little like Sauvignon Blanc.”
Leah nodded. “It’s made in a similar way as Sauvignon Blanc. Our seaside conditions here on the North Fork are perfect for these wines. While I’m pairing the Pawlet with white wine today, another option is . . .” Did she dare say what she really wanted to say? What she’d planned on saying before her father showed up? “Another option is to pair it with a rosé. Next summer, we will have our very first vintage of rosé to share with you.”
The women nodded appreciatively and clapped. Leonard jumped up from his seat and walked to the front of the room. Her stomach churned.
“Ladies,” he said to the room. “I’m Leonard Hollander. Welcome to Hollander Estates.” He consulted the printout in her hands. “I see your next cheese is the Capri. Why don’t you sample that while I borrow my daughter for a moment.”
She followed him into the oak room.
“Can’t this wait?” she said. Fine, maybe she’d gotten ahead of herself. But he couldn’t just interrupt the class.
“Leah, I’m fine with you carrying on business as usual as long as we’re open. But don’t make promises we can’t keep. It’s only going to make things worse when this inevitably hits the press.”
“You told me last night that you put on a show at the production meeting. So let me put on a show now.” She crossed her arms.
He narrowed his eyes. “I really bet on the wrong horse, didn’t I?”
What was that supposed to mean? That she had tenacity and Asher didn’t? It was gratifying to finally have her competence acknowledged, but not at Asher’s expense. She sighed. Even when her father was complimenting her, he still found a way to be divisive!
“Dad, let’s not go there.”
But yes, he had bet on the wrong horse. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake. She was absolutely willing to bet on herself. The question was, how? What to do?
She returned to her classroom, taking in the group. Mentally, she reached back into her earliest experiences of the winery, as a little girl watching her mother gather with her friends. In the past few weeks, with her wine and cheese classes, in reaching out to book clubs, she had taken steps to make Hollander a destination for women looking for a communal experience. But if Hollander was truly going to be for women like the ones filling the room that afternoon, if the wine was really for them, then she had to make them a part of it in a real way.
And she had an idea just how to do it.