Dead Letters(55)

“He drove me to Oregon, and I stayed with his family for a couple weeks. They were nice, and I was having a minor identity crisis. Jordan was…very kind.” He had been; he had barely batted an eye when I’d told him I didn’t know what I was going to do next, and he had put clean sheets on the bed in the guest room and told me to settle in. I sip at my glass of Pinot Noir, so similar to the glass of wine Jordan handed me in the guest room of his parents’ home while telling me to figure my shit out and take my time. I feel choked up at the memory. “I stayed with them for as long as I felt like I could, and then I realized what I was doing on the West Coast. I took the bus down to California to see my dad.”

“Oh,” Wyatt says. “You weren’t…”

“Fucking my gay friend from college all that time? Nope. I was…” I take a deep breath, feeling achingly sad. “I was na?vely begging my father to give me a way out. I—fuck, I’m humiliated even now.” I worry that I’m going to start crying. The wine is clearly getting to me. I’m not usually a weepy drunk.

“You wanted a job,” Wyatt guesses.

“I asked him to let me work on his vineyard for a bit. An internship maybe, or just some entry-level gig. I told him I didn’t want to get in his way or affect his new life; I just needed some space from Zelda and Mom. I was qualified. Overqualified. He let me stay for a while, and I didn’t work up the courage to come out and ask him for the job until I’d been there a few weeks.”

“But he said no.”

“Obviously. He seemed embarrassed by the whole thing, remorseful. Like he really wanted to help me out but he just…couldn’t. I got the impression that his new wife had told him she didn’t want me around, and it was her money, her vineyard.”

—

We had awkwardly faced each other across a table at a café in town. I clutched the diner mug filled with coffee I couldn’t bring myself to drink and tried to explain.

“It’s not like it would be charity, Dad. I’m qualified to do this.”

“I know that, Little A! I know you’d be a competitive candidate even if we were doing an open hiring. It’s just that we’re not really looking for anyone right now—”

“I’m happy to start as an apprentice winemaker. Even a pourer in the tasting room.”

“Oh, kiddo, that would be throwing your talents away. You’re too good for that!” His phone had rung, and he glanced down at it anxiously. I assumed it was Bianca, who was very precocious with the cellphone. Or his newest wife. “Listen, can we maybe talk about this some other time? If you want to stay out here, I know this great place where you can crash. I’ll get you a deal on the rent….”

—

“You told him about Nadine?” Wyatt asks.

“Of course. I was pathetic. I told him she was sick, that Zelda was crazy, that Hector was claustrophobic and I didn’t know if I could live there. I was desperate not to go home, so I humbled myself. I wanted him to take me in, rescue me, but he…he rented me an apartment fifteen miles away.” I finally crack, a fat tear spilling down my face. “He didn’t even want me in the house. It was like I contaminated his picture-perfect family. The New Antipovas. His current wife wasn’t a drunk, his new daughters were normal….It’s like I was a reminder of his guilt, of the balance he didn’t settle here, in Hector.” I sniff, crying. I realize I’m monologuing, performing like I do when I’m drunk. But I’m not drunk; I’m fine.

“Oh, Ava. You reached out. And he rejected you,” Wyatt says softly, stroking my arm. “You kept yourself so self-contained, for years, and that was the first time…” I nod miserably, more tears tumbling from my eyelids. It feels good. “Zelda didn’t know?”

“I didn’t tell her. I just…disappeared. And left her. With Mom.”

“You left me too.”

“I thought you would always be there. I think I thought I was testing you. Your…devotion,” I say, not without a trace of embarrassment. “I think in my head, I thought: I’ll leave, and not tell him where I am, and if he waits for me, I’ll know…”

“You expected me to come find you,” he says in sudden realization. “You were waiting for me to come and bring you back, to follow you.”

I bite my lip. He’s right, sadly enough. That winter, alone in my modest apartment near Napa, with nothing to do but drink and wait for spring, I fantasized about him knocking on my door, showing up outside the apartment or Marlon’s vineyard one day. Proving that he wanted me, just me. I am ashamed of it now, but I know that’s what I hoped for. Only no one came for me, not Wyatt, not Zelda, not my mother. My father stayed stubbornly on the periphery, never explicitly saying he wanted me far away but making it clear we weren’t going to be close. I had nothing left, so when winter loosed its grip, I took a plane back to New York. And found that Zelda and Wyatt had done just fine without me.

“I am sorry, Ava. I…didn’t know,” Wyatt says.

“No way you could have. It wasn’t like anything…really happened, exactly. Small betrayals.” That is what a lifetime of this family has amounted to. I swallow more wine, and it calms the lump in my throat. Wyatt leans over and puts his arm around my shoulders, wiping away a tear with his other hand. He pulls me roughly in for a hug, and I let him hold my head against his overdeveloped pectoral muscles, feeling comforted in spite of my old resentment. He strokes my shoulder blades clumsily, and I know he’s trying to soothe me. Inevitably, I tilt my head back and his eyes meet mine. Everything else is just instinct.