Our morning together, Addie’s and mine, stretches on like a long stretch of open road that never quite seems to end. We make a big breakfast and eat it leisurely, listening to a podcast on wine that I’ve been enjoying lately. We talk about going to one of the weekly wine tastings in a nearby neighborhood, and look up what kinds of tastes they’re pouring today. We talk about Addie’s work, and how rarely she spends nights at home anymore; we talk about my next job and what it might be. Addie thinks I should buy a vineyard in Napa and just “see how it goes.” I think I want a bit more of a plan than that, but I like the idea of pouring wines at a tasting, of drinking wine and talking about wine with friends or strangers. I like the idea of being part of the harvest, too—after many years of looking at computer screens for most of my work day, it’d be so interesting and different to actually do physical labor, using my body as part of what I can offer for work, instead of keeping my body and mind so separate.
We don’t talk about Sidra, or about the jerk of a man who interrupted our scene last night, or about George. The three of them are like giant rainbow inflatable elephants, filling every corner of the room, yet we are acting as though they are not here.
After we’ve eaten as much as we...