Page 51

Vivienne

Stars scatter across the night sky, their quiet brilliance mocking me because my mind is louder than ever and my soul feels like it's being ripped in half.

All day, my heart has been in Denver with Xavier and Holland. I hate that he was alone today in court. When we spoke earlier, I could hear the exhaustion in his voice. I wanted to crawl through the phone and hug him. At the same time, my head is spinning over what I need to do here.

My feet swing dangle beneath me as the porch swing creaks. The rhythmic motion does nothing to soothe me. I'm alone out here with the gravity of everything I've been avoiding to keep me company.

Harlowe leaves in the morning--her suitcase already half packed inside--and I have two days left before I head back to Denver. Just less than forty-eight hours to face the conversation I've been pushing aside for far too long.

The festivities are over and I'm waiting for my mom to come out and enjoy the swing like I know she does every night, hoping I can get through this without making a mess of things. I let out a bitter laugh--the irony of it isn't lost on me. I've been carrying this uncomfortable truth with me the whole trip, too scared to disrupt anything or anyone.

Maybe I'm not as recovered from my people-pleasing ways as I'd like to believe.

The hinges on the door behind me squeak and I glance over to see my mom, still in the flowy maxi dress she wore to host hundreds of people for HarvestFest. She's still as beautiful as alway, her long dark hair with more pronounced waves than mine hangs loose down her back, gray woven through it, sparkling brown eyes, and two wine glasses dangling between her fingers.

"Mind if I join you, Stellina."

The nickname she uses for me, the same one Noni used for her, doesn't hold its usual comfort. "I'd like that." Any other night, I'd mean it. I love my family, but this resentment in my heart for my lost childhood is causing a rot that I can't continue to live with. The thing is I don't even know who owns the blame. It could just easily be me for letting this fester as long as I have. But I need to cut it out tonight. I want to go home from California with an open, unburdened heart. One that's free to be given.

"It's been so good having you home," she says, and I slow the swing so she can join me. "I wish Tenley could have come."

"She wanted to be here but school comes first."

My mom nods along and holds out the wineglass for me to take.

Taking it from her, I stall, saying, "Sometimes I forget how beautiful it is out here."

"It's the most beautiful place in the world to me, but I suppose Colorado holds its own wonder."

"Sitting out here, looking at the stars, makes me feel closer to Erica. There's not a day that goes by whether I'm here or in Colorado that I don't miss her."

My mother pauses with the wineglass halfway to her lips and then lowers it. "Losing Erica was hell. It changed us all. There's not a corner of this land or the houses on it that doesn't hold a memory of her."

"Sometimes I wonder if my life would've turned out very differently if she hadn't died. If I would've been a different person."

The wrinkles around mom's eyes deepen, and her lips pull down. "I think we all would've been different. She was a light in this family. The hole she left behind never fully healed and all of us have felt it for a very long time."

I rip off the Band-Aid. "Of course. And I'm not saying I was hurting worse than anyone else, but it changed me in ways that I'm only starting to realize. I was still a child, but I became a caregiver to a toddler. I threw myself into helping with Tenley--it was the only way I felt I could help. And it gave me a purpose. Something good in all the darkness. But it's like . . . after that, it became my job to take care of everyone. No one ever asked me if I was okay with it. I was a kid, Mom."

She looks stunned like my words are a physical blow. "What, no, you loved helping with the little ones."

Shaking my head I stand my ground. "I felt like I had too. And I let it go on for so long, speaking up felt impossible. I just wish someone would have asked, even once, if I was happy."

"After Erica died all you wanted was to be with Tenley." She sniffles.

I know this hurts her but I can't hold back now that I've started. Years of frustration and pain bubble out. "That might be true, I never asked for what came after. Anytime I wasn't at school I was watching Tenley, Cade, the twins. Then Luca and Levi had their boys and any hope of breaking free was gone. It became expected. I'd walk in the door and a baby would be dropped in my arms."

"That's . . . It's not true."

"Remember when I wanted to join the school newspaper?" I ask.

She squints like she has to think about it.

"The club met after school. When I brought it up you frowned and made a comment about not having anyone to get the twins off the bus so you could open the tasting room. They weren't my kids. Maybe I'm being a brat, but I just wanted one thing that was mine."

Her eyes widen, but I'm not done. "So I tried again a few months later. I wanted to go to the summer camp Harlowe went to every year. But Luca and Levi didn't have anyone to watch their boys for the week and you couldn't close the tasting room to watch them because it was tourist season."

Her mouth opens like she wants to say something but I drive forward. The feeling of getting it out is cathartic. "I missed my senior prom because the buds were breaking and the shoots needed thinning. Even if I'd been able to go, Harlowe was the only person I was close with because all of my time was spent running a daycare. The only identity I had when I left here was caregiver. I was a teenager and I just wanted a little bit of normalcy."

My mom hangs her head. When she lifts it again, her eyes are brimming with tears. I almost take it all back--tell her to forget it and go back to pretending I'm a well-adjusted adult, when that couldn't be further from the truth.

"You were so good with Tenley--and with the others. You were thoughtful and responsible." She breathes, the first tear falling. "It made everything so much easier. We thought you wanted to help."

"I did want to help. This is not about being to entitled to contribute. But I didn't feel like anyone saw me as a kid with needs of my own. I was a commodity. Whenever someone needed something, they just came to me, they did ask . . . And I kept letting it happen because I didn't want to let the family down. The thing is, I was hurting. She was gone and was tasked with filling the space she left behind, but she was like a sister to me and that wound never healed because I never stopped to let it."

Her warm hand covers mine, pulling it into her lap. "I didn't mean for it to be like that. You were so strong, and we leaned on you--too much."

"Yeah. You did. And now? I've spent my entire adult life scared of getting close to anyone because I'm terrified of disappearing into their needs the way I did then."

A pained exhale leaves my mom, her hand tightening around mine. "I didn't know. I wish I would have seen it--stopped it." She looks up, realization striking her teary eyes. "Is that why you picked Maryland for school?"

I nodded. "I needed space to figure out who I was without all of this ."

"And did you figure it out?" she asks.

"Yeah, I think I did."

"Thank you for telling me this, for letting me in." She takes my face in her hands. "My eyes are open now, Stellina, and I hope it's not too late."

I sniffle, feeling lighter than I have in years. "It's not."

"Are you going to talk to your dad and brothers?"

I bite my lip. Having this conversation with my mom is one thing. Having it with Leo, who never moved on from losing Erica, is another thing entirely. "Do you think they would want to know?"

She brushes a piece of hair from my face, tenderly tucking it behind my ear and cupping my face. "Yes, they would. All of them would want to know. You've been distant even when you're here. They miss their sister. Just like I miss my daughter."

I lay my head on her shoulder and we sit like that, watching the stars twinkle and sipping our wine in silence. It's healing.

Some time later, the door swings open and Harlowe steps out on the porch with a bottle of wine and an empty glass of her own. "Can I join you?"

My mom yawns, stretching out her legs before standing. "I actually need to get to bed. HarvestFest might be my favorite two days of the year, but boy does it tucker me out." She gives my hand a tight squeeze before she stands.

At the threshold she looks over her shoulder, grinning at how Harlowe's taken her spot and my head is in her lap as she plays with my hair.

"Goodnight, girls. Love you both."

"Night, Mrs. Cardoza," Harlowe says.

"Love you, Mom," I say, my voice carrying a tenderness I haven't felt in a while.

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving the rhythmic hum of the vineyard around us.

Harlowe glances down at me, her fingers still moving idly through my hair. "So . . . how are you holding up?"

I take a moment, letting the weight of the evening settle in my chest. "Better than I've been in a long time, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." A faint smile tugs at my lips. "Telling her was the right thing to do. It's like I can finally breathe again. Like I can start healing."

My fierce protector doesn't respond right away. Instead, she gives my hair a light tug, enough to draw my attention. "About damn time, Vi."