Page 8 of Pour Some Vino On Me

"But, honey, Crue hurt you. He shouldn't be able to go on with his life like nothing happened between the two of you. It's been six weeks, and he hasn't even tried to contact you."

I'm well aware of how long it's been—between my missed period and the positive pregnancy test in my bathroom garbage. I fight the urge to touch my stomach like I've been doing all day today since I first found out I was pregnant.

"Mom, I said it's fine. I'm a big girl. I'll get through this." I don't add that I'll have a little one helping me get over the pain—someone I can transfer all that love to.

"But…"

"No, buts. Now, are you going to help me with the plans for the wedding venue?" It's time I get started on my dream of having an all-in-one wedding/conference center on the vineyard grounds. What better way to showcase the winery than to hold weddings overlooking the vineyard?

Plus, my child will need a legacy of their own to grow up with since they won't have a father.

"Fine. I'll help you look at the plans for the new venue but then you and I are going to Vine'yl Anthems for a drink. It's time you went back to the bar and had some fun. I hear your Dad hired a new and upcoming rock band for tonight. They're a cover band, but they have a few of their own original songs."

The last thing I want to do is go back to the bar where I first met Crue. It's bad enough I'm still sleeping in the same bed we made love in, but to go back to the place where he helped me conquer my fear of singing in front of an audience again would be too much to bear.

I've been lucky enough that my Dad took over the running of the winery. He said he wanted to give me time to concentrate on the plans for the new venue, but we both know the truth.

"You win. I'll go to Vine'yl tonight." I throw up my hands in defeat. Whoever said my Mom is America's Sweetheart has never seen this side of her before. She's like a dog with a bone. Maybe I need to get her focused on my Dad's bone so she'll leave my bone, I mean, my life alone.

Mom claps her hands together and squeals like a preteen girl at her first rock concert, "I've got the perfect outfit you can wear. It's one of my vintage denim miniskirts, which I used to wear back in the '80s. It's one of my favorites. Your Dad's, too. Whenever I wore it around him, it didn't stay on very long, if you catch my drift." Mom wiggles her eyebrows at me, and unfortunately, I do get her drift. "You might meet someone at Vine'yl who will want to see it crumbled on his bedroom floor."

Ugh, who is this woman, and what did she do with my sweet, wholesome mother?

"Um, no thanks. I'll stick with something from my closet." I rush out of the room before she can tell me anything else about her sex life or mine.

Back in my room, I review the plans for the new venue and approve the final draft with a click of my mouse, leaving me plenty of time to get ready.

Once I shower and dress in my favorite short, tight purple dress—one that won't fit me much longer—and matching high heels, I slowly make my way down the stairs, debating with myself if this is a good idea or not, when my eyes land on my Mom waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a short denim miniskirt that I can only assume is her favorite—at least someone is getting lucky tonight.

Kyrie

Purple Rain

Vine'yl is packed when we finally arrive. Luckily, we have a VIP table next to the stage. That's where we find my Dad waiting for us.

"Damn, Presley, are you wearing what I think you're wearing." My Dad's eyes light up like a Christmas tree as his eyes roam over mom's outfit. I'm pretty sure they're going to ditch me tonight.

"Do you like it?" Mom twirls in a circle, giving him a come and get me look.

"I'd like it better if it was crumpled up on our bedroom floor." He lunges for her, nibbling at her neck as he pulls her close to his body.

Gross.

"It's not gross, Kyrie," Mom says, making me realize I said the word out loud. "It's human nature to want to procreate." Okay, I was wrong the first time. That wasn't gross—this conversation is.

Trying to change the subject, I turn to my Dad, who is still nuzzling Mom's neck, "What's the name of the band tonight?"

"Hair Comes the Reign. They're an '80s cover band, but they specialize in Prince songs."

"Well, that's an odd combination." I'm not going to complain since I love all things rock music, and of course, I love Prince.

"Here's their playlist." Dad hands me a piece of paper with the songs they'll be singing tonight.

"Thanks." I take the list and scan the song titles—each one is a favorite of mine, starting at the top with Purple Rain. This isn't surprising to me since Dad said they specialize in Prince music, but I'm still a little shocked that every title on the playlist is one of my all-time favorites.

The lights on the stage flicker, alerting the audience that the band will be taking the stage. I set the playlist on the table, giving the stage my full attention. If I'm going to be miserable, at least I'll do so while listening to my favorite songs.

I wait for the stage lights to come on, but when they never do, I stand and excuse myself from the table, telling my parents I'll be right back after I fix the problem. I'm halfway to the bar and the breaker box when I hear his voice singing my favorite Prince song. The way he sings about never wanting to cause any sorrow or pain to the woman he loves has me turning around to face the truth of his words.

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