You Had Me at Merlot!

The invitation came through my old email address. I hesitated before opening it since I hadn’t received anything at that address for ages. I glanced through the sender info and realized it was a high school classmate—Natalie—not a friend exactly, but a classmate who never left home. When most of us went away for college, jobs, maybe marriage, Nat stayed and worked for her father in his lumber business. I haven’t seen her since our ten-year reunion, and I wasn’t planning to return for this one. I mean, I can’t imagine there are many classmates keen to attend a 30-year gathering. But here’s Nat, pleading, dramatically detailing the school-wide reunion and the special events planned for each class, and in our case, a get-together at the area winery which had flourished in the years since I left my home town. My parents are gone now, but they did tout the winery and the growth of the property and its effects on our town.

I considered the possible bleakness sitting around a table with failing thin, or overweight, balding/gray-haired, false-teethed people my age who were nothing like me. We’d talk about our health, our great doctors and surgeries, and we’d see who had survived a particular cancer or other, and who had grandchildren. I shut off my mind right then and decided I didn’t want to be there. What would I tell them if they asked as they looked at my clothes, my blondish-fused full head of hair, and the heels I wore instead of tennis shoes or flats? I could dress up in my jeans, but that would hint at my status as well. The label on my skinny jeans reads like an ad in a couture magazine, and not Levi’s, or Lee Jeans, or Wrangler, although I have a couple of pairs of those too. I pictured Nat in a flowered-print midi-dress with some bodice embroidery. Carol might be wearing a pantsuit from the local department store—new, but without any style or a scarf for color.

I printed the email, tacked it on the board above my computer and I even marked the date on my calendar. It was far enough away to slip my mind without an obvious reminder.

Life went on. I flew to San Francisco for a meeting with my tech crew. Rather than heading straight home, I booked a suite for the weekend in The Boulders—a nice resort in Arizona. I planned to do some sightseeing and take photos for the summer publication, but that wasn’t work, and I thought the time in a relaxed setting would be good for me. The pandemic had worn us all out in one way or another. I was exhausted from the work-arounds, cancellations, obstructions to “normal” that we all endured for over a year. That sounds odd to give it any credence for that amount of time, as it was for me like being in a bubble bouncing around between quarantines and distancing without breathing any fresh air. I have been one of the lucky ones, if luck has anything to do with it. Others prayed, stayed home, isolated themselves and worked or studied from the dining room table in a house of depressed, crabby people if they were with family. My bubble was not without social contact, or travel, even at a minimum. I have been careful, and I have maintained a sense of grounding, of staying aware of the news, the latest reports and the dimmest statistics.

A month passed. I sat at my desk to make some notes for my scheduler. The reunion invitation caught my eye, and I realized I should at least report that I wasn’t planning to attend. A quick email to Nat would take care of it, and I didn’t waffle as I thoughtfully crafted a note of regret.

It was about two days later when I received Nat’s email. She sounded enthusiastic saying how many classmates had responded and were planning to attend. “Several from as far away as Idaho and Colorado!” She said how sad she would be if I weren’t there. “It may be our last, you know. Carol and Mandy are helping me with arrangements, and we’re getting excited. Oh, and you remember Ken and Matt, of course. They both asked about you. Oh well, it’s not too late to change your mind. I will save you a spot, make a name-tag, and reserve a room at the Marshall Inn. Come a couple days early and we’ll start the party like we used to.”

I live on the shore of Lake Michigan near Glen Arbor. It would be a four-hour drive to Marshall, although I haven’t been there since my parents died. Or I could fly out of Traverse City, but that means I would have to rent a vehicle. This is nonsense. I’m not going! I said that practically out loud and then that intuitive inner voice answered: Why not? You spent your growing up years there, with those people. They’re your tribe. Their impact on your life as it was and as it is now is worthy of your concern, especially since you’re at that age when it will next be retirement notices, sad notes of family, or maybe even notes about how you inspired them to live life differently, fully, and wholly alive.

I remembered how fiercely I fought to have Joanie on our softball team. She couldn’t walk, but she could throw a softball exactly where she wanted it to go. Pitcher of the year wasn’t a bad outcome! Peggy was so shy she barely opened her mouth. We got her to sing one night at a slumber party and her voice was amazing! She became the soloist in the choir that year; I heard she directed the city-wide children’s choir.

I looked at my calendar—actually stared at it—imagining how much I might regret not being there. I put off my final decision in favor of a Zoom meeting with the promotions team in Chicago. My team, my company. Would I be where I am today if it weren’t for those classmates and friends and family from Marshall?

~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rang scaring me out of a trance of sorts. I didn’t recognize the number, and it’s late in the day—too late for business calls. “Good evening, this is Alexis Adams. “

“Alex, is that really you? This is Matt, Matt Sovino. I hope it isn’t a bad time…”

My heart did a little extra bump as I said, “Matt, it’s good to hear your voice! Who talked you into calling me? Nat?”

“No, although she did give me your number. Calling was my idea. I want you to come to the reunion. I’ll fly up to get you if transportation is an issue. This is one of those times when we should think of firsts, not lasts. Seriously, I don’t plan to sit around and discuss my meds, do you?”

I laughed and said, “No—not my idea of social stimulation. So you’re still flying! That makes me happy. No more cross-wise landings in the wind?”

“Or propeller and bird collisions. I’m flying a Honda Jet these days, and it’s all your fault!”

“Oh, Matt, no one’s said anything sweeter to me in years…”

“Well, it has been years. What do you say, Alex? Don’t take too long to think about it. There are others scrambling to ride in the air in a Honda.”

“Let me think it over ….Okay, you have a passenger.”

“Awesome! We can talk timing and other arrangements later now that I have your number.”

“I swear I can hear you smile, Matt. I took all of two seconds to think it over. How’s that for years of practice?”

“Practice for what, Alexis? Waiting all these years for me to call?”

“Maybe! We’ll have some time to discuss it, unless your plane sounds like that old jalopy you forced us to ride in. I’ll bring earplugs, a parachute, and not much luggage. Don’t want the weight to be a problem, you know.”

“Yah. Yah. We’ll talk soon. When’s the best time to reach you? Between 11 pm and 2 am?”

‘Nope. Between 11 am and 2 pm, most likely. Long lunches...”

“Swell. Talk soon. Glad you’re coming!”

“Bye, Matt. Thank you for the great idea, and I’m looking forward to it though I’ll need to check your log book before we take off… Toodles!”

Laughter as the phone clicked. I always liked his laugh. Low and honest.

Another quick glance at the calendar, and I circled the reunion date. My head was making plans I hadn’t even thought of. Two weeks away. Do I need a haircut/color? Go shopping? Casual clothes in Marshall aren’t my kind of casual. Check with Nat about activities… outdoor? Indoor? Physical anything—like games or races? Haha, at our age? Weather? Copies of my books? No… too flashy and uppity. Camera batteries? Check with my assistant to see who can cover any contingencies. What’s even on the business calendar? The trip to California opened up both cans of worms and some nice surprises. Those are being handled and I have several Zoom conferences to follow any progress. Julie, the SFO SVP, is capable and savvy. She will be thinking of things that hadn’t yet occurred to me. If I were so inclined, she could step in as my full-time replacement without much change to the company’s climate and goals. Our bottom line is recovering well from the last blast of economic disasters that killed too many small businesses.

Ah, enough.

Georgina is my girl-in-charge here at home base. What a godsend this girl is. She’s bright, but not cocky as some young women are these days, thinking they don’t have to work to be successful as the world hand-outs are intended for their age group, and education is practically secondary to any hope of success. “Who you know” used to be the phrase. Now it’s “work hard, be kind, and be smart ….”

As I walked toward my office, I glanced in the hall mirror and stepped back. Oh, wow! I need to do some work on the ol’ girl looking back at me. I looked tired, almost indifferent, and where is my tall and proud self? Still in California? Time for gratitude, self-care, and self-awareness. I don’t lack confidence, but it doesn’t show when the real me is taking a time out.

~~~~~~~~~~

The day of departure dawned. I was excited, but nervous, more so for seeing Matt again. We’d never had closure, but no possible future back then either. His plan would be running the winery. Mine would be international anything.

Matt called yesterday to see if I chickened out and to tell me his ETA so I could meet him at the private airport for small planes regularly flying from outlying areas to the shore. No parking hassles or other possible delays. Security was sufficiently familiar for Matt as a well-known pilot.

We greeted each other like old pals settling in for a great flight on a sunny morning. I was fascinated by the plane’s amenities, and by Matt, a great host and provider of details. I expected to land in Marshall, but Matt planned to land at his family’s vineyard where our class’s Friday evening social was to take place. He surprised me with a guest suite for the weekend, and transportation in a company vehicle if I chose not to be Matt-chauffeured.

And that was it! Our last-first date! We were treated like royalty among family and staff. The honored-class wine-tasting was a welcome rite-of-passage from the high-school years to a comfortable adult gathering (among the misfits, wannabes and thought-we-were-somebodies) filled with laughter, lifetime stories, and renewed friendships.

With a special toast, Matt introduced everyone to this year’s Vintner’s Choice Wine—a new Sovino Merlot that will bring this winery well-deserved distinction.

Plus, I think I’m falling in love…