Bec snorted. “You got a few more weeks for that.”
“You don’t even like wine,” Abby said.
Sera sniffed. “I don’t mind it. You’re the heathen who can’t stand the stuff.”
“I—”
“How about sparkling cider?” Rachel asked. The always-prepared exec at RoboTech pulled out a bottle from her bag.
Sera wrinkled her nose.
“And chocolate?” Rachel added, extracting a chocolate bar with a flourish.
More nose wrinkling, but Sera’s eyes were dancing.
“How about we actually go inside the house and get settled?” CeCe said.
“Good plan.” Kelsey moved to the lockbox of the AirBnB they’d rented and plugged in the code, extracting a set of keys.
Bec snagged them from her and opened the door, stepping back and declaring, “Preggos get to enter first!”
Sera huffed. “You guys are the worst.”
“Accept the offer graciously,” Abby called.
Sera whipped around and glared. “Sometimes I wonder why—”
“First in, means you get first choice of the bedrooms,” Trix said.
Sera paused on the threshold, eyes meeting Trix’s. “Good point.” She addressed the group at large. “And I also think that being a hundred months pregnant means that I get to assign rooms.” She strode into the house, tossing back over her shoulder, “And I declare that Abby is going to sleep in the bus.”
“Hey—”
Their driver chose that moment to get back onto the bus. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, ladies,” he said and shut the door with a snick.
Abby looked from the bus, slowly backing down the driveway to the house, eyes wide.
They all burst into laughter.
Even one-hundred-months-pregnant Sera.
Then they carted their butts inside and got some wine. Well, except for Sera. She had sparkling cider.
And chocolate. Couldn’t forget the chocolate.
It was two in the morning.
She couldn’t sleep.
Probably because she’d basically slept the day away and then dozed on the bus.
But this wasn’t a bad place to be stuck not sleeping.
Vineyards rolled over the surrounding hills, darkened shadows at this hour, their leaves barely distinguishable in the moonlight. She knew their branches would be heavy with grapes at this time of the year, though they were not ready yet for harvest.
Sighing, she brought her glass to her lips and took a sip of the Zinfandel, the sweetness of the rosé dancing across her tongue. Her father’s winery produced a very similar variety, though thankfully none of Heather’s friends were the type of people to support a total asshole.
Probably, because their own parents weren’t much better.
There was something about money that changed people, turned them into . . . something selfish? Something self-absorbed. Something—
Well, that wasn’t fair, was it?
She’d met plenty of selfish and self-absorbed people during her travels, knew those weren’t necessarily traits that were isolated to the wealthy.
Maybe it was less that the rich were bigger assholes and more that the wealthy were able to facilitate their needs because they had the funds and power to do so.
She took another sip and set her glass down, reclining back on the chaise that was on the back porch of the house they were staying at.
It was a beautiful find, a one-story ranch with eight bedrooms and ten bathrooms—yes, she’d counted, yes, she’d also got the full real estate rundown from Sera on the way in. Apparently, Sera had tried to get her husband to buy the home when they’d first met and had fallen in love. Tate had waffled, someone else had bought it, and now she had to live here vicariously for one weekend.
But the house was set on a smaller vineyard, a hobby-type one that was more for show than production. Unlike her father’s, which was somewhere over the hills, acres and acres of wine-grade grapes filling the vines, an army of workers tending the grapes, aiding with production, hosting tastings.
It was a lucrative business.
And yet, it was as important to her father as this hobby farm was to the owner of this house.
As in, it wasn’t important at all.
Her father had made his money in tech and military contracts, but everything else he had his fingers in—wine, a cruise line, a professional hockey team based out of L.A., an airline—was just a hobby.
A billion-dollar set of hobbies.
Insanity.
And yet, no tuition for medical school. No donation to the medical organization she’d worked with when they’d been critically short of supplies after a hurricane in the Caribbean. Heather and Jordan had donated. Abby and Sera had donated. Bec had donated. Tanner, her friend, not yet having “made” it had donated even though he’d been struggling at the time. Trix also knew that even though she’d just met Kelsey, Rachel, and CeCe that they too would have opened their wallets.
But her dad. Nope. Her mom. Definitely not. She lived from alimony payment to alimony payment and, as a consequence, could rarely rustle up money for “extra” things.
Let it be noted that those extra things often included items like food. Or paying the electricity bill. Hell, until Trix had moved halfway around the globe, she’d received many a call from her mom wondering why the lights didn’t work.
Ridiculous.
A grown woman with four children, who should have been set for life, who should have been able to take care of them easily, had just bailed on any and all responsibility.
It was no wonder that Bobby, Will, and Kevin had turned out the way they were.
Namely, assholes.
But they’d learned from the best.
And everyone coped in their own way.
She just . . . wished that things had been different. That her parents had gotten their shit together and actually acted like parents, that she could find a way to connect with her siblings, including pushing through the reserve with Heather, who didn’t deserve her tentativeness. Trix should be able to connect with the one person in her life who’d been steady and there. She should be able to open herself up to the fact that Heather’s wonderful group of friends was fine with including her and not making her feel like she was an obligation or something to be tolerated.
But . . . how to push through or be open?
It was absolutely terrifying.
She didn’t stay and fight for things she wanted—didn’t demand her dad pay for school or her mother get her shit together, didn’t pressure Jet to stay or declare his unending love. That just wasn’t the way she operated. Trix managed it herself and if for some godawful reason she had to ask and was turned down, she simply adjusted her expectations and surrounded herself with a safety net. That net kept toxic people out, kept her heart and mind and soul safe and . . .
Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest, but she purposefully created distance between herself and all of the bad in the world.
From the disappointment, the heartache, the betrayals.
The being left behind, forgotten.
But after spending the evening with her sister’s friends, after being wrapped up in conversation and included and laughed with, Trix had to wonder if the net that kept her safe was also hurting her.
Was the anxious feeling she’d been experiencing her mind revolting?