Back to You (10 page)

She’s just as excited as I am. I’m so grateful that she supports my hobby. Most wives would probably bitch and complain at the idea of their husband locking themselves in a sound proof room after working a fifty hour week. Not my Mia. She deserves an entire album full of songs dedicated to her—I better get to work. And God knows I have plenty of angsty material to work with. I might even write up a song about strangers on shuttle buses and what they can do with their useless opinions. I’ll call it
Shove It!

If I’d known I was supposed to call ahead for a
private
tour, I would have gladly done so—and maybe even sold my fucking soul to the devil just so I don’t have to spend my supposed-romantic afternoon with these assholes.

Yes, I get the thrill of looking important by asking all kinds of pretentious know-it-all questions about the natural character, acidity, and fermentation of the grapes, but we can’t step two feet without one of these bozos making a comment or clicking their tongues in their mouth.

What happened to getting lost in one of the vineyards and screwing around? I’m here to get drunk and get it on. And Fanny Pack and Steve-O are
not
part of the equation.

I eye the tour guide for any chance of a quick, discreet getaway, but then notice that Mia is just as content as the rest of the group, listening to all the details and sipping away on a sample.

I follow suit, accepting yet another mouthful of one of the whites (can’t remember if we’re in Pinot Grigio or Chardonnay territory—who gives a fuck?), and chug it down without following any of the suggested guidelines for proper tasting.
Tastes fucking fine to me!
I’m annoyed that I have to share Mia with these people and frustrated that this isn’t going as I’d planned it in my head.

“Hey,” Mia nudges against me. “You okay?” She must sense my agitation.

I roll my neck on my shoulders with an audible crack. “Yeah, but… wanna head out of here?”

Her eyes go wide and she actually stomps her foot. “No! I’m having fun! I’ve always wanted to do this. Aren’t you having a good time?”

How can I tell her I’m not, especially since she’s obviously enjoying herself? From the looks of her glassy eyes and the grin on her face—Mia’s having a
really
good time. “Ha! You’re tipsy, aren’t you?” I ask, poking her in the stomach with my finger.

“No,” she says with an ear to ear grin. “Okay, maybe a little,” she whispers, bringing her thumb and index finger an inch apart as measurement. “I didn’t eat anything before we left and that cheese they offered in the beginning smelled like feet. You know how much I hate cheesy feet.” She giggles, letting out a loud hiccup this time. Her hand flies over her mouth, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“Wow! Mia Murphy, you are a lush!” I joke.

“And… so what if I am?” she asks with her hands on her hips and an adorable, face-brightening smile.

“I can’t take advantage of a drunk woman.”

“A: I’m not drunk. And, B: you can if she gave you permission
before
she started drinking.”

Who the fuck am I to argue with that
?
“Perfect. Love it! Let’s find a way outta here.” I pull her by the hand, starting for the other direction.

“No!” She protests. “We’re just getting to the good stuff. I want more wine.”

“I think you’ve had enough for one day, don’t you?”

“Barely. Come on, they’re moving again.”

Her enthusiasm forces me to concede, half-willingly.

We walk, arm-in-arm, following the rest of the herd. We stop at another section and get another lesson in grapes. Believe it or not, it’s not the tour that’s boring the life out of me. The tour guide is nice enough—she even has a sense of humor that’s brightened up the dullness of our crowd, but that damn Barbie is so irritating. I don’t even know what it is. She just rubs me the wrong way.

And here she comes… great! I try to look interested in our surroundings by fingering one of the vines and making a concerned face, but she’s in between me and Mia before I can finagle an intelligent-sounding assessment of the fruit before me.

“My gosh, how does one choose? I think I’m gonna have Daddy ship home a barrel of each!”

I scrunch my nose in disgust—her voice is like nails on a damn chalkboard. But when she starts to speak again, I snap back to attention. That’s it! Now, I know why she looks familiar! Cheryl Hines from
Curb Your Enthusiasm
! She’s a dead ringer… only Larry David would have cut her up in to little pieces—and even found a way out of it—if she were anything like
this
chick.

“Hey, anyone ever tell you that you look like—” Before I can finish making my accusation, Big Daddy’s calling for his bride.

“Samantha! Come back here, baby. Why do you keep running off?”

Mia’s face turns white and tears pool in her eyes. Her hands drop to her side, balling into tight-knuckled fists. I can’t help but see the hurt radiating off her—she’s paralyzed by it, unable to move or speak. I want to reach out to her and erase whatever it is she’s feeling, but I can’t imagine what the hell’s got her so worked up. Did I do something? Did I say something? And then it hits me—of all the fucking names in the world this irritating bimbo has to have the same name as the woman who nearly cost me my marriage? “Oh shit!” I groan, rushing to Mia’s side.

She shoves me away, already stalking off.

“Mia! Wait! Stop!” I never imagined something like this would trigger her. It has to be the alcohol, the heat—I don’t fucking know! Why does that bimbo’s name have to be Samantha?

Why does her name have to be Samantha?

I’ve been fine—content even—just going about my business, following Declan’s vacation rules and then, BAM! Instant reminder of all the ghosts that just won’t stop haunting me!

My pulse quickens, my cheeks heat up as if they’re on fire, and the latest sample of wine creeps up into my throat, pooling there as if getting ready to erupt like an angry volcano. I’m gonna be sick. Right here.
Wonderful.

Memories of that night at Declan’s Christmas party come back in sharp, vivid flashes. I was mortified finding out about his infidelity the way I did—where I did. Being humiliated in public and having to deal with the crippling feelings while trying not to make a fool out of yourself—yeah, impossible. And that’s exactly how I feel right now.

Declan calls out to me as I run off, but I don’t even look back. I’m not dealing with these emotions in front of all these strangers. I knew they were bound to escape me some time, and that’s why I’d begged Declan to have a talk while we were alone, but—damn him!

“Mia!” His calls are getting closer and I can hear his footsteps reaching me. I still don’t turn around, afraid to see that everyone’s staring at me and wondering what my outburst is about. How flipping embarrassing.

His hand grips my shoulder and I shrug it off. “Leave me alone for a minute, Declan. I’ll be fine.” It’s a blatant understatement, but if we’re to get on with this tour and the rest of this day, I’ll have to push it all down for just a little while longer. I can’t let
Samantha
bring out the ugly.

“Please.
Mia.
Please just look at me. I’m sorry.” His voice drips with remorse. It’s heartbreaking.

I don’t know what it is but hearing him say those words—again and again and again. This time it makes me angry because I have an awful lot to be sorry for myself.

Without caring who’s around to hear, I take a deep breath, turn around, and purge the way I need to. “Why do you keep apologizing?
Please
stop saying you’re sorry! I know you’re sorry, I get it, but you
didn’t
take it further than a kiss with that girl, you
didn’t
leave your kids weekend after weekend to spend time with her, and you
didn’t
throw it in my face either. So, tell me Declan, why the fuck are
you
apologizing to me again when I should be the one begging for your forgiveness?”

Declan’s face says it all. He doesn’t need to say a word. I know I’ve just picked at all the healing scabs, poured salt deep into the cracks of his wounds, and broke his heart all over again. Does it get any worse than this?

“Um, Mr. Murphy. We’re going to have to continue the tour witho—”

Declan doesn’t take his eyes off me to answer the tour guide. He says the words like an emotionless robot, “Go on without us. We’ll catch up or make our way back home.”

The tour guide doesn’t argue or try to persuade Declan otherwise. Instead, she turns to join the rest of our group, which is doing a piss poor job of pretending not to be nosy.

We both stare at each other in complete silence as we wait for everyone to clear. We’re left alone in the presence of grapes—I don’t even remember what flipping kind they are—and the tension is thicker than the hot summer humidity.

“Say something!” I finally shout, unable to take it any longer. This is finally that moment—it’s all come to a head, and he has nothing to say.

He finally slumps forward, digging his hands into his hair that’s become unruly from a long day in the heat. When he comes back up to face me, his expression breaks my heart. “You wanted this. You wanted to hash it out, didn’t you? You’ve been waiting and nagging me to talk about it and I know I was doing the wrong thing by making you keep it all bottled up inside, but—” He takes a breath to steady himself, maybe even to gulp back the tears I see forming in his eyes. “You don’t think part of me wants to hate you for what you did to us?”

When I hear him use the word
hate
I cringe. Could he really hate me? I never once hated him when I thought he’d slept with that girl. I felt betrayed and hurt, but I never stopped loving him. “You hate me?” I say, impossible to hold back the tears.

Crossing his arms across his chest, he starts to pace. “I didn’t say I hate you. Of course I don’t hate you, but—Listen, Mia, I know I fucked up and I know you ran off to fulfill some fantasy with what’s-his-name
because
of what I did, but don’t think for one second that I wasn’t dying inside.

“You don’t think it fucking killed me to watch you pretty yourself up for
another man
? Or to play babysitter for you while you did God knows what with him? It was torture. It was infuriating. It broke me, Mia.” If any words could sear through a person’s heart, those were it.

“Part of me didn’t think you cared, Declan. You just let me go. You came back from Hong Kong and barely put up a fight.” That’s what it had felt like. Yes, we argued. Yes, we threw ultimatums back and forth, but never once did he try to stop me from being with Noah. He never asked me to choose him until that night he sang to me.

“Because I wasn’t going to force you to be with me if it wasn’t what you wanted. You needed time—I thought that was fair. But you took that time and spent it with
him.
You didn’t try to work on us or figure out what was wrong with us, you—”

Wait a damn minute!
“I didn’t think there
was
anything wrong with us, at least not until you “almost” fucked that masseuse.” I made a show of air quoting almost. Sure, that’s what he said—and yes, I believed him, but how could I ever really know the truth? “You know what, I guess my sins seem greater than yours and I hate to pull out the
you started this
card, but Declan, you made me feel like all of a sudden I wasn’t enough for you. You made me doubt everything we had because in that moment when I thought you’d been with someone else, I felt like everything we’d ever worked for was taken away. That broke
me
.”