Page 90
The next morning, the bright sun streams through the kitchen window as Lexi brews my coffee and pours herself a travel mug of steaming tea. I lean against the counter, clutching my mug as the coffee pot continues to gurgle. “I want to build a real relationship with Gavin, Lex,” I tell her nervously. “But I’m scared and completely overwhelmed. Not only did I think fatherhood might not happen for me, but if it did, I’d assumed I had eighteen years to get it right.”
She sets her mug down and looks at me encouragingly. “It takes time, Sam. Just take it one day at a time.”
“I know.” I hang my head. “I have no right to ask, but is being with someone who has a child a deal-breaker?”
She splutters her tea. I reach over to pat her back. “It’s not like you have a toddler you’re co-parenting with Shelly. We have bigger issues than this.”
I stand up straighter. “Like what?”
“You need to find a way to forgive yourself and deal with years of manipulation by your mother. If it’s important for you to be a better spouse and parent than the ones you had, you may want to see a therapist. Look at the impact her words had on your life. Both of our lives. Years we won’t get back.”
I hang my head in shame.
She reaches for my hand. “I’m not trying to pile on to the mountain of stress you’re dealing with. But if we stand a chance of having a healthy relationship, you need to deal with the last twenty years in a constructive way.”
Her advice sounds simple, but the actual process will probably be slow and uncomfortable. Yet building a bridge with Gavin forces me to come face-to-face with every terrible decision I’ve made over the last twenty years. Regret is a heavy coat I can’t seem to shrug off. But I need to get some help to deal with this before it starts to eat away at me from the inside out.
After weeks of brooding in the dark corners of the property, choosing complete solitude among the grapes, I get into my car and drive over to my brother’s house.
When Sebastian opens the front door, I brace myself for another fist to the face. Instead, he just stares at me, taking in my disheveled hair, unkempt beard, and worn-out flannel.
“Can you… help me find a therapist?”
Sebastian blinks, surprised. But then he steps aside to let me in.
Honestly, I’m amazed he’s even speaking to me at all. But then I see Bella sitting in the living room, eyeing us carefully over her mug. Ah. That explains it. Bella would give him absolute hell if he ignored me right now.
That, or they both feel sorry for the shell of a man standing in their entryway.
“Let’s sit down,” Sebastian says, his tone surprisingly gentle as he closes the door behind me.
Dr. Gilbert Miller’s office is an obsessive-compulsive’s dream. Every item has its place. There are no nicknacks or personal touches. Clean and fresh, with only the bare necessities on display. A stark contrast to the dirt, crushed grapes, and diesel exhaust cologne I must be wearing.
I shift in my seat. This is one of the most uncomfortable green velvet chairs I’ve ever encountered. Looks like something my mother would’ve bought. More for show than for anything practical. I thought they had chaise lounges to lean back on while you dump all of your problems at their feet.
Across from me, Dr. Gil Miller sets down his notepad, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he leans back. I’m trying not to look directly at him, because I’m finding it hard not to stare. He’s got an uncanny resemblance to Matthew McConaughey. I wonder if he’d autograph my copy of Greenlights if I brought it to an appointment.
“So, Sam,” Gil begins. “What brings you here today?”
I stare down at the floor, rubbing my jaw. My face feels like it’s still swollen from my run-in with Sebastian weeks ago. Plus, I still bear the superficial burn marks from putting out a fire my mother may have set, and my contract wife will probably leave me soon. But I go with, “My life is a wreck.”
He stays silent.
“And I’m the one who wrecked it.”
“That’s a heavy burden to carry,” he responds carefully. “Where do you want to start?”
I take a deep, shaky breath, looking up at the high ceiling. “At the beginning, I guess. Please don’t mistake what I’m saying. I take full responsibility for every mistake I’ve made. And there were many. But between the words that shaped my self-worth and the actions that further eroded it, I’m in a bad place.”
He adjusts in his seat. Only a small movement, but whether it was intentional or not, it feeds the drive to continue. As if he’s assuring me he’s all in. “I grew up in a pretty dysfunctional household. I know I’m probably in the majority there, but I spent thirty years believing I was never going to amount to anything.”
I rub at my sore neck muscles, realizing this is going to be harder than I expected. “My parents were overindulged socialites whose only priorities in life were to satisfy whatever itch they needed to scratch at that very moment. They remained together despite hating each other because of money. However, I think dear old Mom saw the writing on the wall when I was little.”
“How so?”
“She had no interest in the family business. But I did. Even as a child. My grandfather and I spent every spare moment on the vineyard. He was a rich man on his own. Family money. But Sutter Creek became a wildly successful venture. It was clear my mother had no respect for the land. He knew eventually I’d manage it as he did. Which probably stirred resentment. But I’m not the doctor. I’m just giving you my opinion now that hindsight has become clearer.”
Matthew—I mean, Gil sits silently with his hands steepled beneath his chin. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, I decide to push on.
