Nobody’s Perfect

Chapter 33

The next day we had a delightful breakfast and then launched into a Vine Friends presentation in a cozy conference room. There were nine of us, counting Donna. Once again, I took the seat at the very end of the table, feeling very much like the one person no one wanted to sit next to.

I d been sure to shower extra well that morning, so that couldn t be it.

After tasting nine wines, Donna had sandwiches and chips brought in. If I were going to remember anything about what I d sampled, I was definitely going to need lunch. All those little smatterings of wine had begun to add up.

Apparently, I was supposed to use the spit bucket in front of me, but that seemed like a waste of perfectly good wine. As a result, I was feeling pretty good about Vine Friends at the moment. No doubt that was their strategy.

Since I d been hoping to go out to the wineries rather than stay cooped up in the hotel, I gathered up my lunch and walked outside for a little sunshine. No problem with me eating out there, because those other women weren t going to speak with me anyway.

I texted Suja to see if Lucky had come home yet. Hope surged through me at the sight of those three gray dots that said she was answering me. Then her words came back: Not yet. She did say Barney was doing better. I texted Abi to tell her that I had heard and was glad.

She replied with a simple Thanks .

I texted Rachel to tell her I was in wine country and that I could now see why she loved the place so much.

She didn t answer.

I tried not to read too much into it, but she d been so mad about that second video. I kept hoping she would think about what I d said about posting it before her request.

Or maybe she s just really busy.

Maybe.

I thought about texting my mom to tell her that I was being very independent right now, thank you very much, but just the idea made me sick to my stomach. She was right about how I d made her the butt of several very public jokes and taken her for granted.

What was I supposed to say to any of that?

Just the thought of Mom leaving and my poor Lucky out who knows where made my throat close up. Tears threatened.

Put all of it in your mental chest of drawers, Vivian.

But I couldn t seem to put everything away so easily anymore. I swiped at my eyes and took several breaths in an effort to regain my composure.

No longer hungry or able to swallow for fear of tears, I wrapped up the other half of my sandwich. I still couldn t make myself get up from the bench where I sat outside soaking up the sun.

Come on, Vivian, you need to at least finish your commitment here.

Finally, I stood and headed back into the hotel, pausing in the hallway outside the conference room when I heard my name.

I don t know why that Vivian person is even here, said someone. I think it was Moe.

Come now, what does it matter to you? That had to be Curly. She seemed to be genuinely nice.

All I m saying is I haven t seen her at any of the other events around here. That was definitely Larry. I checked out her Instagram page, and she can t expect to go to many of these things if she doesn t beef it up. YouTube? That s not where our people are.

Our people?

What did she mean by our people ? And what did it matter if I reached out to different people? How was that any skin off her button nose?

Whatever. It was Moe again. She s like the rest of them. We ll never see her again. She s another flash in the pan.

Deep breaths. It doesn t matter what they think.

I held my head up high, schooled my features, and walked into the room.

Oh, hi, all three of them said, as if they weren t being mean girls not seconds before. Only Curly s smile reached all the way to her eyes, so I smiled at her.

This pie-in-the-sky YouTube thing that gives you the illusion of success . . .

A flash in the pan, Moe had said. An illusion, Mom had said. Either way it was an awful lot of unneeded animosity. It had never occurred to me that YouTube people and Insta people would fight each other. Silly me, I thought there were plenty of viewers to go around. No matter. We only had another two hours, and then we were on our own.

In came the representatives from yet another vineyard. Donna stood to the side and let them all speak, almost as though they were auditioning for a part. I thought of my conversation last night and the name on the card: Marisol Jung. I scanned the list of people I d met today. I didn t recognize any of these wineries but one. Considering my background, that didn t mean a lot, I supposed. Still, no reason why Marisol couldn t have been on this list, was there?

I wanted to interview her instead. Maybe I preferred her wines because I d tried them first. I itched to find out, but I had to fulfill my obligations first. I d finally given in to the spit bucket because I had to be able to drive at the end of this. And the last presenter that afternoon? It was the name I recognized, but the wines were terrible-at least to my novice palate. I made liberal use of the spit bucket. Vine Friends had probably hoped I would be toasty enough not to realize how bad those particular wines were.

The minute I got out the door, I called the number on the business card.

Marisol answered, surprised.

This is Vivian from last night. Could I please find out more about your wines? I blurted.

She gave me directions to a little caf in Yountville.

I drove away from the hotel, knowing we were supposed to network that evening at an optional wine tasting out in the courtyard, but I needed to either see a friendly face or do something productive. With any luck, meeting Marisol would accomplish both those goals.

You re being a coward because you don t want to face Larry, Curly, and Moe.

Maybe. Well, Curly wasn t so bad, but she seemed to always be with the other two.

Next time-and there would be a next time someday if for no other reason than to spite the people who said I couldn t-I would be here again, and I would rent that convertible.

Finding a parking space in Yountville was an adventure, but I finally found a spot in a residential area a couple of blocks over. As I was parking, a black cat walked in front of my car, and I gasped.

Nope. Two eyes.

As if my cat would be in California.

I closed my eyes and banged my head on the steering wheel for a moment.

I couldn t think about Lucky right now. I blinked my eyes and took deep breaths until I thought I could handle focusing on Marisol and her wines.

Following the GPS on my phone, I walked two blocks to a modest caf that looked like a hole in the wall-especially when compared to its neighbor, a sleek, modern restaurant.

Once inside, my eyes had to adjust to the dim lighting. The small caf was full of round tables for four. I spied Marisol at the bar in the center.

Hi, I said, kinda feeling like I was on a first date.

Hello, Vivian, isn t it?

That s me.

And you wanted to sample more of my wines?

I ll pay of course, I blurted.

No, no. The wine is on me, but I recommend the beef short ribs because you re going to be sampling a cabernet, she said as she gestured to a booth nearby. I ve partnered with the restaurant, so they ll let you try the wines as long as you re buying food.

I really appreciate your meeting me. I couldn t- I stopped myself. I didn t need to tell Marisol that I couldn t take any more of the very people who d flown me out to California.

Couldn t stand the fake anymore? she supplied.

I heaved a sigh of relief. Yes, but I shouldn t say that. I should be grateful. You don t mind if we do a video and some pictures?

Maybe Moe was right about my lack of Instagram. If so, there was no reason I couldn t learn something from her snark.

Marisol smiled widely. I looked you up after you called and watched some of your videos. I don t mind at all, but I feel I should warn you that I m not one of the official winemakers for Vine Friends. That happened to be my regularly scheduled night at the hotel, and they decided to order a few finger foods to go with the wines I was already offering.

They didn t pay you?

She laughed out loud, a rich sound. No, dear. No one pays me except for the kind souls who buy my wine. I have an arrangement with the hotel, but even those winemakers you probably met with today were paying Vine Friends to be included in their service. They approached me once, but I couldn t afford their fees.

Oh.

They must ve been using the money from the wineries to pay for my trip. In exchange, I would make videos or put up Instagram posts. That was the quid pro quo I had agreed to. Similar to Busy Mom Cosmetics, but it somehow felt more . . . convoluted?

I guess they ll be expecting a lot from me for this weekend, huh?

Probably.

Well, I ll cross that bridge when I get there. Tell me more about your wines.

Marisol shifted into business gear. She had the waitress bring us one of their sparkling wines, then told my viewers that she d named the wine after Zora Neale Hurston because one of her fellow writers had written of her that wherever she went, she was the party.

Then we each ate a strawberry-and-spinach salad paired with a dry ros that Marisol called the Sandra, named after an author with the last name Cisneros.

How did you get into the winemaking business? I asked.

She grinned. My father worked as a winemaker for years, and he told me I couldn t do it.

So . . . spite. I can respect that.

Just wait until you try the Toni.

Sure enough, the Toni-as in Morrison-was her crown jewel, a cabernet sauvignon that would ve met with Rachel s approval, so named because it aged well, and Toni Morrison apparently hadn t published her first novel until she was thirty-nine.

Who knew that I d be learning about American authors tonight? I would ve liked English class a lot better if I d been able to drink wine while taking it. Of course, my retention skills might ve been impacted, but it would ve been a lot of fun.

The waitress tried to talk me into dessert, but I could not eat another bite. I d been so absorbed in the beef short ribs and mashed potatoes that I d even forgotten to ask Marisol any more questions. I turned to my phone, which I d put on a little tripod on the table in order to record. Well, Mom Scouts. We ve just achieved our Sommelier Badge and our American Literature Badge all in one evening. I ll be sure to put a link to Lit Wines my bio. Thank you so much for joining me, Marisol. It has been a pleasure.

Likewise.

I quit recording and leaned back into my booth with a satisfied groan. I m so glad I met you and got to try your wines. Could I order a couple of bottles on the spot and ship them?

Absolutely. She drew order forms from her purse, and I picked out three wines for Rachel.

Well, for all of us, really. Hopefully.

Afterward, Marisol and I made small talk all the way to the parking lot. She stopped to study me. Thank you, Vivian. I feel like you ve really seen me.

I could say the same, I said.

There s one thing I aim for both in my wines and in my life, she said. Honesty.

I think you ve achieved it, I said, even though I was beginning to wonder if I would ever be able to achieve honesty on my YouTube channel.

The next day, Vine Friends provided a final breakfast. Larry, Curly, and Moe were being unusually nice. Luisa and Lorena smiled in my direction. Venzia shared a table with me, and I learned she was from New Jersey and usually specialized in writing about fancy food but occasionally would do a series on wine pairings. I should ve been hanging out with her from the start.

We gathered a last time in the courtyard, the weather too gorgeous to believe, in that sweet spot in the seventies. The whole experience had been surreal, but I had a lot of thinking to do on my way home.

Well, thank you everyone for joining us, Donna said. I look forward to all your videos and stories. As a parting gift, we ll be sending select bottles to you from among those you sampled. You can also purchase as many as you d like for half off-just send me an email before midnight.

Yeah, many of those wines were a hundred dollars a bottle but didn t really taste like it. I d need more than half off to make Donna s day with an order.

Not that I had minded paying full price for Marisol s Lit Wines.

When I thanked Donna for the experience, she held my hand a little longer than necessary, adding, I know I can expect a video and some Instagram pictures from you as a way of saying thank-you for this trip.

Her smile never wavered. Neither did mine.

I d do what I had agreed to do, even if her attempts to manipulate me made me want to run in the opposite direction. Once I d made my Vine Friends video, then I would edit Marisol s video and put it up. If Vine Friends didn t like that, then so be it.

At first I d been excited just to be noticed-kinda like that night at the frat party so long ago-but now I was beginning to see who really cared about me and who wanted to piggyback off my unexpected fame. If I were going to really make something of my YouTube channel, then it would have to be on my terms from here on out.

If flying west had been invigorating, flying east brought nothing but exhaustion. Instead of arriving with daylight to spare, I arrived after it was dark, barely able to hold my eyes open. Even so, I made it home thanks to loud sing-along music and rolling the windows down. As I pulled into the driveway, I spied a glint of something green on the front porch thanks to the headlights.

My heart stopped, and I jerked the van into park way too quickly before jumping out and running to the porch to find an irate Lucky. She yowled in indignation, filthy and no doubt flea-bitten. I picked her up anyway and hugged her close. She rewarded me with an impatient purr and sharp claws that pierced my shoulder.

As I walked to the open garage door, she began to wriggle.

No, ma am. You are not going to run off from me again.

I made sure the garage door closed behind me before I gently set her down on the floor. I tried to look her over for any injuries, but she demanded food. I gave her just a little bit for starters and got fresh water, which she lapped at as though she d been lost in the Sahara instead of suburbia.

Then, and only then, did she allow me to pick her up and inspect her.

There I sat on the floor in the hallway, crisscross applesauce in spite of my skirt, looking over my cat with her matted fur. She suffered my inquiry with ears laid back. Best I could tell, she was fine underneath the dirt and the fleas.

With an unladylike grunt, I clambered to my feet while still holding the cat. As we passed through the bedroom on the way to the primary bath, she wiggled in the direction of the bed. Oh, no. You re not sleeping with me until I bathe you.

She laid both ears back at the word bathe.

With one hand on the cat, I carefully ran a lukewarm bath with dishwashing soap in the garden tub. Lucky eyed me warily.

Look, I haven t had time to enjoy this tub in at least five years. Think of it as self-care, but for cats.

Then I gave the cat a bath.

Neither of us enjoyed the tub or the experience.

Only a few scratches later, I had a shiny, fluffy cat who smelled of Dawn. I only wish I d had someone there to record it, because the Cat Bath Badge had been a struggle-especially the part where I had to get all the mats out of her fur. She hadn t been happy. I hadn t been happy. Neither of us had anyone to complain to but each other, and we had. Vociferously.

Once I d toweled up all the excess water and rinsed out the tub, I let her sleep with me on the bed. She first curled up on the pillow that had once belonged to Mitch. At some point later, she nestled beside me, her purrs comforting me.