Page 37

“Fernando,” Von deadpans.
“What?” I say. “That was the rooster’s name.”
“Ah, yes,” Al says, leaning back in his chair. “I can just picture it. Caden’s Coop. A haven for Argentinian chickens. Did you harvest their eggs too?”
“Actually yeah,” I shoot back, grinning. “They were delicious. Came in all sorts of colors.”
Von raises a slender eyebrow. “Who even are you right now,” she says, taking a sip of her wine.
We’re eating in the dining room, the one place in this house I’ve never liked. It’s somehow enormous and stuffy all at once—no windows, lots of pretentious art on the walls, and a massive oak table with a chandelier hanging overhead. We used to eat in the kitchen, where it’s light and airy and we could see the bay. Mom loved eating in the same place that she cooked. I wonder if all the meals have been in here since she died.
Dad is at the head of the table and the rest of us are scattered at various chairs. The table sits twelve, so there’s a lot of space.
Dad and I have not spoken to each other since he arrived. Which is fine by me. I’d rather talk to my siblings anyway.
“Whose booths are you making?” Daisy asks.
“Just Dev’s and Jake’s. Oh, and Isla’s,” I add, glad my voice doesn’t crack on her name.
Daisy gasps. “Isla is doing a booth? That’s awesome!”
“Isla…” Von says, her eyes narrowing. “Isn’t she that girl you were?—”
“Thanks for getting the permit sorted out,” I say to Finn, cutting Von off.
Finn gives a self-important shrug. “Happy to help.”
I dig into my pasta, feel lighter, buoyed by the turn today has taken. I can help Isla. I can make something for her. Something useful.
I can’t wait to see her again tomorrow. Engaged or no, I’ll take every last second I can get with her before I leave.
“Carpentry?” Dad says with disdain, injecting himself into the conversation like a bucket of ice water tossed on my head. “Chicken coops? That’s what you were doing in Argentina?”
I meet his cold dark eyes with defiance.
“I helped patch the roof of an outbuilding too,” I say. “I can fix the engine of a car or motorcycle. I can mend my own clothes if they get torn. I’ve spent hours crouched picking grapes. I know how to cut and prepare staves for wine barrels. I’ve learned how to operate a press and clean out a crusher. Want me to go on?”
If Dad thinks I’m ashamed of doing manual labor or gaining actual skills, he needs to think again. I’m proud of what I’ve learned at Catarina Azul. Daisy is gaping at me and even Von looks surprised. Alistair chuckles.
“So that’s where those giant arms came from huh?” he says, polishing off his glass and reaching for the wine bottle to pour himself another.
I hold my father’s gaze. He’s unflinching, his face revealing nothing.
“Is this meant to impress me?” he says.
I grit my teeth. “No, Dad. My life doesn’t revolve around you anymore.”
Finn’s eyes widen. Alistair is practically salivating with glee at the tension in the room. Then Daisy pipes up, her voice determined.
“Tell us more about this winery,” she says.
“It’s called Catarina Azul,” I say, turning away from my father. “It’s one of the top sustainable wineries in Argentina. I’ve learned a lot there.” I slice my gaze back to Dad. I remember a time I was so terrified to share my ideas with him. When the thought of revealing my dreams was panic inducing. But not anymore. He doesn’t have that power over me any longer—and I really know what I’m talking about now. I’ve lived it.
“Everton could benefit from sustainable practices,” I say. “With climate change, soil erosion, and hotter summers, the methods Sebastian Ramos—he’s the winemaker at Azul—the methods he practices could really make a difference here. Plus, sustainability is popular. Younger generations are concerned with, you know, having a planet that’s livable.” I look at the twins. “It’s good PRandgood politics.”
“Shit, he’s right, Dad,” Alistair says as Finn nods thoughtfully.
My father puts his fork down. “We are not changing the practices at Everton. They’ve worked just fine for the last eighty years.”