Page 52 of The Difference Between

I can’t help it, I laugh. These glasses could easily retail for twenty to thirty dollars a pop. Tasting glasses should be cheap as hell then slapped with a Glass of Vine sticker. Even if the man gave them a good deal, if all these boxes are filled with them, they paid a pretty penny. Thousands of dollars for glasses alone. “That’s a terrible plan.”

Gavin asks, “Why?”

“These glasses could be on display at an art gallery or sold at a premium price.” I gesture with the one in my hand. “Not a freebie with a taste of wine.”

Nancy’s full-wattage smile is back. “I said that glass should be on display somewhere!” She smacks Gavin in the arm with her notebook. “Didn’t I say that, Gav? Greg alwa⁠—”

Frustrated, Gavin says, “I don’t think that’s the point Reese is trying to make, Mom.”

She huffs and swats his words away.

“Your barndo?” I ask Gavin, half joking. “How’s that fall in all this?”

He leans against the wall, hooking one ankle over the other and folding his arms over his chest. “Still part of the property.”

I don’t know real estate well, but I know enough to know he’s probably screwed. They likely don’t have enough equity in the property for the lender to approve subdividing his portion off. Without that, even if he paid his parents for it, he doesn’t legally own it. It will be sold with the rest of the property. Unless he finds a generous buyer, he can kiss it goodbye.

All this fresh air must be confusing my brain cells, because yes is tap dancing on the tip of my tongue without even seeing the numbers or running it by The Family.

My mother is already driving me crazy, and even though I have a baby to make, with only nine donors to decide between and a few appointments to show up to, I have nothing to do with my time. I’ll die a slow death of boredom over the next months, and my sisters and mother will end up in shallow graves in the backyard while I sit and stew over Matt swimming in a pool of Fizz Co pop.

But more than all that, I feel bad for the woman standing in front of me. And Gavin. And Amanda for not being here. There’s not much here for me to do, but I want to help just the same.

“Give me the night,” I say, “and let me play with the numbers and talk to the firm.”

My eyes meet Gavin’s, and he mouths, Thank you. I smile—barely—at the same time the door swings open and a girl walks in.

“There’s Ads,” Gavin announces. “Come meet Miss Reese.”

The girl skips straight toward him.

“Hi,” I say on instinct and with a smile.

“Hi,” Addie says, looking my way.

At the same time I move to set the wineglass on the bar, I take her in. I see her glasses first—bright red and cutely kid sized—but then the rest of her face registers and catches me completely off guard.

Blindsided by yet another thing I didn’t know, I release the glass. Only instead of it resting firmly on the bar, it hits the corner, toppling to the ground and shattering.

“Oh no,” Nancy says with genuine concern. “Addie, can you grab a broom? Reese, are you okay, sweetheart?”

“I got it,” Addie says, doing as she’s told. Her voice has a slow cadence and lacks the crispness of most people’s, much like her features. Her almond-shaped eyes are bright and sharp behind her glasses, but her mouth and nose are soft on her round face.

I’ve sat in boardrooms with CEOs and watched billions of dollars transfer hands.

I once kept my cool through an entire meeting where the slimy owner of a cutlery company kept his hand on my thigh, waiting for the deal to be done to properly kick him in the dick.

I know enough business law I could pass the bar exam.

But in this inoperative vineyard faced with an eight-year-old girl, I don’t know what to say.

Because Addie Nickels isn’t just Amanda’s daughter or a girl who lost her parents or the kid who lives with grown-up Gavin.

Addie Nickels also has Down syndrome.

Fifteen

Addie smiles the kind of smile that brightens her whole face as she looks at me. Her eyes are the same clear blue as Gavin’s and shine just as bright.