Read Online Christmas in Wine Country by Addison Westlake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Addison Westlake
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move?”
Seizing upon the first things she saw, Lila offered them up as evidence. “I bought really warm fuzzy boots because I know it gets chilly up here on the coast. And, I bought these tall rubber boots because it’s also pretty rainy.”
Her mother didn’t even have to say anything in response for Lila to realize how stupid that sounded. But Lila didn’t know what else to say. How much dumber did it sound to try to explain that the air in Redwood Cove felt good? She liked looking at the waves. The bookstore felt like home. Sometimes back in SF when she left her building during lunch hour she felt like she’d stepped into a marching band on parade when really she wanted to sit somewhere quiet.
Lacking the words and, perhaps, the confidence to explain what even she didn’t quite understand, the conversation continued to deteriorate. Her mom lobbed more worries and difficult questions. Lila metaphorically stomped her foot with adolescent absurdity and insisted that, yes, mom, she did have on her headgear.
Finally hanging up, Lila realized that the hardest person to convince that she had everything under control was herself. Honestly, she felt like she’d been spat off of a fast-spinning carousel. There she sat, amidst the boxes, dusting herself off and wondering what, exactly, had happened and where, exactly, was she now?
Pulling her hair up into a ponytail she decided: time for tea. Picking herself up off the floor she headed back into the kitchen. It easily outsized the living room and had to be double the size of the bedroom. The owner of the building had described it as an “Italian kitchen,” the heart of the apartment.
With a mug of English Breakfast tea, Lila sat in one of the new kitchen chairs she’d acquired, again thanks to Annie and her knowledge of second-hand shops in town. Sparkly red vinyl and metal, the chair would have been right at home in a 1950s soda shop. Positioned at just the right angle, she tucked her feet up, rested her elbow on her knee and her chin on her palm and gazed out at the gray girth of ocean.
And couldn’t help but think of Phillip. While he’d certainly be appalled by Redwood Cove’s lack of cutting edge Asian-fusion cuisine, he’d have to appreciate the beauty, so misty and sleepy and yet surrounded by the rugged violence of the rocky surf. At least it was raining. Nothing worse than feeling blue with a gorgeous sunny sky to remind you that the problem really was you. Lila realized that if she were a cartoon character, she’d have a dark cloud drawn over her head. Gratefully, in a show of solidarity, Redwood Cove had its own dark cloud up above and a steady stream of slate gray rain perfect for a good funk.
Taking another sip of tea, Lila wished she could feel mad. It would be so cathartic to burn letters he’d sent her and such. Of course that would have meant that there were letters. Sexy text messages—sexting she believed it was called—sure. Lots. But hitting delete on something electronic had no bite to it.
The problem was, she didn’t want to delete any of them. Even the stupid ones, full of type-os and incomprehensible abbreviations. She wanted more, with her little phone buzzing.
Instead, there they were in her mind’s eye: Phillip and Axelle . In Phillip’s perfect apartment, thoroughly modern. No color to speak of, just shades of monochromatic black, white and gray. Mirrors and postmodern found art. She’d never exactly felt comfortable there, but it sure put anything she’d grown up with to shame. Featuring flowered curtains and lace doilies under knicknacks on coffee tables, her Gram kept quite an embellished house.
There they’d be, sipping sidecars and listening to soft jazz. Axelle would have picked out the music herself , instead of Phillip having to once again express dismay at Lila’s lack of musical knowledge. He didn’t count knowing all the words to Van Halen’s greatest hits. In fact, he’d seemed vaguely embarrassed by her
Seizing upon the first things she saw, Lila offered them up as evidence. “I bought really warm fuzzy boots because I know it gets chilly up here on the coast. And, I bought these tall rubber boots because it’s also pretty rainy.”
Her mother didn’t even have to say anything in response for Lila to realize how stupid that sounded. But Lila didn’t know what else to say. How much dumber did it sound to try to explain that the air in Redwood Cove felt good? She liked looking at the waves. The bookstore felt like home. Sometimes back in SF when she left her building during lunch hour she felt like she’d stepped into a marching band on parade when really she wanted to sit somewhere quiet.
Lacking the words and, perhaps, the confidence to explain what even she didn’t quite understand, the conversation continued to deteriorate. Her mom lobbed more worries and difficult questions. Lila metaphorically stomped her foot with adolescent absurdity and insisted that, yes, mom, she did have on her headgear.
Finally hanging up, Lila realized that the hardest person to convince that she had everything under control was herself. Honestly, she felt like she’d been spat off of a fast-spinning carousel. There she sat, amidst the boxes, dusting herself off and wondering what, exactly, had happened and where, exactly, was she now?
Pulling her hair up into a ponytail she decided: time for tea. Picking herself up off the floor she headed back into the kitchen. It easily outsized the living room and had to be double the size of the bedroom. The owner of the building had described it as an “Italian kitchen,” the heart of the apartment.
With a mug of English Breakfast tea, Lila sat in one of the new kitchen chairs she’d acquired, again thanks to Annie and her knowledge of second-hand shops in town. Sparkly red vinyl and metal, the chair would have been right at home in a 1950s soda shop. Positioned at just the right angle, she tucked her feet up, rested her elbow on her knee and her chin on her palm and gazed out at the gray girth of ocean.
And couldn’t help but think of Phillip. While he’d certainly be appalled by Redwood Cove’s lack of cutting edge Asian-fusion cuisine, he’d have to appreciate the beauty, so misty and sleepy and yet surrounded by the rugged violence of the rocky surf. At least it was raining. Nothing worse than feeling blue with a gorgeous sunny sky to remind you that the problem really was you. Lila realized that if she were a cartoon character, she’d have a dark cloud drawn over her head. Gratefully, in a show of solidarity, Redwood Cove had its own dark cloud up above and a steady stream of slate gray rain perfect for a good funk.
Taking another sip of tea, Lila wished she could feel mad. It would be so cathartic to burn letters he’d sent her and such. Of course that would have meant that there were letters. Sexy text messages—sexting she believed it was called—sure. Lots. But hitting delete on something electronic had no bite to it.
The problem was, she didn’t want to delete any of them. Even the stupid ones, full of type-os and incomprehensible abbreviations. She wanted more, with her little phone buzzing.
Instead, there they were in her mind’s eye: Phillip and Axelle . In Phillip’s perfect apartment, thoroughly modern. No color to speak of, just shades of monochromatic black, white and gray. Mirrors and postmodern found art. She’d never exactly felt comfortable there, but it sure put anything she’d grown up with to shame. Featuring flowered curtains and lace doilies under knicknacks on coffee tables, her Gram kept quite an embellished house.
There they’d be, sipping sidecars and listening to soft jazz. Axelle would have picked out the music herself , instead of Phillip having to once again express dismay at Lila’s lack of musical knowledge. He didn’t count knowing all the words to Van Halen’s greatest hits. In fact, he’d seemed vaguely embarrassed by her
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