Page 34 of Before We Say Goodbye
“Ha. Sure. Someday, as I hoist myself onto my unicorn and hold up my bottle like Excalibur, I will tell you that I was always great and that you were always right.”
She sat back with satisfaction. “Good. Now that we have that settled, I have some news I want to share.”
Otis suddenly remembered how much of a selfish arse he could be, always vomiting his issues onto her. It was time he listened, for once. “Forgive me,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on with you.”
“What’s going on with me?” Bec looked around, as though she were about to confess to robbing the bank next door. “You know. School. Learning numbers. Being Jed’s chauffeur. Waiting on you to make enough wine to hire me. Oh, and did I mention that I’m pregnant?”
The air was sucked out of the room.
In an instant, Otis forgot all about the terrible wine he’d made and the epic rejection he’d received from his hero. It felt like his insides had been removed, leaving him hollow, especially in his gut, where a hole had been blown into him.
“What kind of face is that?” she asked, her words echoing through the numbness.
He fruitlessly commanded his body to take a breath. He told himself he better get it together, that Bec needed him to smile. This was a big moment—the biggest. Using the same weak commands that he’d attempted to force himself to breathe, he told his mouth to bend. His lips moved into a curve that carried with it no sign of elation.
“You’re turning blue,” she said. He heard: “You’re turningblue blue blue blue blue blue...”
Finally, he was able to suck in air and gather himself. “I’m so happy,” he said lifelessly. At least he got it out. “Really, I’m thrilled. Just ... surprised.”
“Are you ... surprised?” She leaned forward and said in a whisper, “That’s typically what happens when you can’t stop chasing your wife around the house.”
He was relieved to see her smiling, despite his botched processing of the news. “I don’t think it was the chasing that did it.”
They both laughed, and he reached for her hands. Their gazes fell into place like a key twisting in a lock. “The whole biology thing really does work, doesn’t it? What a miracle.”
She smiled, the kind that could take away someone’s pain. “Only you, Otis.”
Here she was, the woman he’d spend the rest of his life with, the woman he’d raise children with. “It really is a marvel of science. I wonder if it’s a boy or a girl.”
“What do you want it to be?”
“A girl,” he said so quickly and forcefully that the light above them rattled. “Unquestionably, a girl. I can’t imagine bringing up a boy, dealing with all the things boys deal with.”
She let go of his hands, but in a teasing way. “So girls are easy and don’t deal with things?”
“Yeah, but their things are far more ... graceful.”
“Ah, I see.”
After sharing a smile with her, he asked, “And you? Boy or girl?” They’d had the conversation a few times, but now the question had the potential to drum up different answers.
Rebecca stared off into the middle distance for a while, then said, “I want whatever’s supposed to come. I’m just ...” She suddenly teared up.
“What?” Otis was coming back to life more by the second. It hurt to see his lover upset. He leaned in. “Tell me.”
A veil of earnestness fell over her face. “I want to do it right. I want our little person to grow up happy and safe, always knowing that we’ll love him no matter what. I don’t want our baby to grow up like I did.”
“She won’t.” Otis shook his head, reality settling in. “I swear we’ll give her our all.” He saw a little girl running into his arms and became determined to bring the joy back to this moment. “I’ll give her my all, and we’re going to live one big and bold and beautiful life.”
Long before anyone else had made it to the winery the next morning, Otis stood in the cellar, staring down at the tank that held the first wine he’d ever made. He considered what Bec had said about bottling it as a reminder of how far he’d come. A sparkly thought of one day sharing this wine with his child—daughter (please, God, let it be a daughter!)—gave him a lift. Perhaps a day would come when they could all laugh about his failed inaugural effort.
It was a nice thought, but a far stronger force was at play. If he bottled this wine, then he’d be gathering evidence against himself. He would be bottling proof that he wasn’t capable of greatness. He would be verifying that yes, in fact, his father was correct in warning him off dropping out of college. Otis could imagine Addison’s horrid reaction if he ever tried this wine.
No, Otis had to get rid of it and move on as if it had never happened. Before Bec’s words again played in his head, he knelt down and opened the bottom valve. His reductive wine flowed out of the spout, splashing onto the concrete and then running like a river toward the drain. He didn’t turn away until the tank was as empty as his heart.
Chapter 10
A Harvest to Remember
