Page 6 of So This Isn't Love
Frank nods, no more questions asked. That's what I've always liked about him. He never pushes.
I ease the car forward, and the first rays of sunlight spill across the endless rows of vines, highlighting the tender spring buds. The vineyard gnaws at me the way it did the last time I visited ten years ago, and not so different from the day I decided to leave for good—graduation day, when I announced I was skipping college to forge my own path. It wasn’t a good day. My father's rage, my mother's tears, Colton's quiet disappointment. None of it stopped me from choosing my own future over the one laid out for me since birth.
Now here I am, crawling back because my little brother fell out of a storage loft. The universe must be laughing its ass off.
I follow the familiar curves of the drive, deliberately not looking at the new wings added to the tasting room, the expanded parking lot, all the changes I've missed. This isn't home anymore. It's just a place I used to live, where my family happens to still be.
But as I navigate the winding approach to the main house, the old weight settles in behind my sternum, right where I left it ten years ago. Because no matter how far I run, how many records I break, or how many billions I make, some part of me will always be that screwup middle son, never quite good enough for the Bardot name.
The grand colonial facade of Bardot Vista's main house looms ahead, all pristine white columns and meticulously maintained gardens. I park in the circular drive, between Colton's practical Mercedes SUV and a sporty black Audi that must be Evan's latest toy. Around the side of the estate I see the bumper of the old pickup truck that still bears the original Bardot Vista Vineyard logo on its doors.
For a moment, I just sit there, hands still on the wheel. The last time I slept under this roof, I was twenty-two and certain I'd never need to come back again.
"Finn! Oh, thank God you're here!"
My mother bursts out the front door in a silk robe, her mahogany-brown hair falling from its usual perfect coif. Before I can even grab my bags from the passenger seat, she's rushing down the elegant front steps.
"Mom. I came as soon as I could." I submit to her fierce hug, breathing in the familiar scent of Chanel No. 5 and worry. "How's the patient?"
"Being stubborn." She pulls back, studying my face like she's hunting for changes. "Just like all my boys. He keeps insisting he's fine, but the doctor said..."
"Mom." I extract myself gently. "Let me at least get inside before you start the full medical report?"
She makes a sound that's half laugh, half sniffle. "Of course, of course. Though you wouldn't have to catch up on everything if you visited more than once a decade."
And there it is. I grab my bags and follow her inside, where nothing has changed. Same gleaming hardwood floors, same faint scent of lemon polish and expensive wine. The Bardot family shrine, preserved in amber.
I hear Evan before I see him. "Seriously, Col, I can handle the Weber account from here. Just prop the laptop where I can... ow, shit!"
"Language!" Mom calls out automatically as we enter the family room.
The scene would almost be funny if it weren't so painfully familiar. Evan's sprawled on the oversized leather couch, right leg elevated in a fresh cast. Same golden-boy good looks as ever, but his usual easy grin is more of a pained grimace. His laptop is balanced precariously on his good knee while he tries to convince Colton—looking every inch the responsible oldest in his rumpled dress shirt and designer stubble—that he can still work. And there's Tyler, Colton's nine-year-old, passed out inthe armchair despite the early hour and chaos. Kid's the spitting image of his father at that age.
"Well, if it isn't the Man of Adventure himself." Colton's deep voice is dry, but his relief is obvious as he crosses the room. He pulls me into a rough hug that catches me off guard. "Took you long enough."
"Had to wait for the Ferrari to warm up." I return the hug, and the part of me that missed this gets exactly two seconds of airtime before I shut it down. "Nice beard, by the way. Very divorced-dad chic."
"Better than your whole..." He waves vaguely at me. "...extreme sports Ken doll thing."
I chuckle. "Jealousy's a bad look, Col." I drop my bags and survey the damage. "And you, little brother. You look like hell."
"The loft ladder tried to murder me." Evan tries to shift and winces. "Though I think I won that fight."
"Yeah, you really showed those stairs who's boss." I move closer, noting the glazed look in his eyes. Strong pain meds, then. His blond hair is sticking up in ways that remind me of when we were kids and he'd follow me around the vineyard, copying everything I did. "Need anything? Water? More pillows? A lesson in basic workplace safety?"
"How about some tips on jumping out of perfectly good aircraft?" Evan attempts a smirk. "Since that's apparently safer than working in the family business."
He levers his casted leg an inch higher, showing off a looping signature on the plaster. "Check it out. Nurse Patti signed it before it even set. Beat that, daredevil."
I shrug. "Please. I've got scars on three continents."
"Scars don't give autographs, Finn."
Colton shakes his head at both of us, but he’s grinning. "The family daredevil returns to save the day. Speaking of which, thatcar? Subtle. Really says 'I'm just here to help out,' not 'look how far I've come' at all."
"Says the guy who traded his soul for a German SUV." I drop into the chair opposite Evan. "At least I'm not pretending to be responsible."
Evan laughs, then winces. "God, I've missed this. When's the last time we were all in this room together?"
