Page 76 of The Difference Between

With a heavy sigh, I do, acres and acres of them bright green under the clear blue sky. It’s warm out, but the few dots of yellow winking from the trees around us mean fall isn’t so far away. Cicadas saw a song through the calm, and the air sighs a breeze strong enough it blows my hair and makes the leaves rustle.

Banyan says, “If I didn’t prune the ladies, they’d be weak. Energy needs to be guarded. Harnessed. Focused.” He points his shears at me. “Same goes for people. Trying to keep everything, kills everything.”

It’s the first thing he’s said that almost resonates with me.

We’re quiet a beat, both looking out at the vines until he says, “Hard to believe Banyan bringing the sex did all this,” and ruins the moment.

He’s completely inappropriate, but a laugh puffs out of me. “I want you to lead tours,” I tell him. I don’t believe half the bullshit he says, but tourists will love it, and he knows enough about the wine and grapes he’ll be able to sell bottles. “Teach people about the vines as they drink wine. We need to work on your presentation.”

He shimmies his hips. “Tell daddy what you like, Fire Lady.”

“Don’t say daddy,” I tell him. “And I’d like it if you didn’t come across as a skeezy pervert who gets his grapes off on the actual grapes.” I eye his bare belly. “You’ll need to fully button your shirt.” At his bare feet: “And wear shoes.”

“I’ll bend if you bend.”

“My shoes are off,” I remind him, wiggling my toes. I’ll die before I tell him how good the grass feels under my feet. “That’s all you’re getting from me today. Now take me down the next row and explain everything the way you just did but without the sexmentary.”

“Sexmentary.” He points the shears at me. “Funny girl. We can work with this.”

He doesn’t do much better on the next two rows, but by the end of the morning, he’s almost bearable.

Twenty-One

Iconsider myself a patient person in that if I go into a situation knowing it’s going to take some time, I can wait for the pieces to fall into place. A take-private tech deal once took years of me slowly circling like a buzzard on roadkill until the time to strike was right.

However, with note cards, markers, and a bulleted list of strategies for Addie and me to practice her lines with, her only wanting to draw pictures has me on the brink of crawling out of my own skin.

“Is that a bunny?” my mom asks over her shoulder.

Addie nods enthusiastically.

“That’s just wonderful,” Mom coos. “Did you see this drawing, Reese? A bunny.”

It looks like a cat. A rainbow cat.

“Lovely.” I drag the drawing and markers away. “Maybe we can draw more after we’re done rehearsing these lines.”

I almost had her start practicing while I finished cleaning the tasting room so I could keep working, but since I’m a fish out of water with her as it is, I needed to be able to focus.

Little did I know, distractions are everywhere, my mother included.

“Don’t you need to nap, Mom?”

“No.”

We exchange icy looks before she wanders out of the kitchen, leaving Addie and I alone with a craft store worth of supplies.

I give Addie her copy of the script, the lines for Dorothy highlighted in bright yellow.

She looks at the paper then looks at me.

Instead of Gavin there to make Mom’s car feel too small on the drive home today, it was the silence. I felt myself panicking in the quiet—I don’t know anything about kids!—and found a Taylor Swift playlist to fill the void.

Now, in my mother’s kitchen, I still don’t know anything about kids, but Taylor Swift’s poppy lyrics aren’t here to save me.

I clear my throat. “Where should we start?”

Addie’s face scrunches as she looks at the mountain of supplies in front of us—there are a lot of supplies. Maybe I should throw some away. Out of nowhere, I think of Banyan’s singular line of wisdom about pruning. Trying to keep everything, kills everything. If I wouldn’t come across as unstable, I’d sweep everything off the table.