Saturday Story

Thank you for joining me to read part 10 of my first Saturday Story (if you’re new to my blog, you can find parts 1-5 here, and parts 6-10 here).

I hope that you have a great weekend, and I look forward to posting Part 11 next Saturday!

Rags to Riches: Part 10

To Riches:

Chandeliers hung from the ceiling of my parents’ wine cellar. The warm, mahogany wood- with rich, deep reddish-brown tones- added to the classic look of an already stunning space. Bottles of wine- housed in row upon row of wood racks from floor to ceiling- provided a liquid map of my parents’ travels throughout the years. Wine from various countries and regions- from many different eras- adorned the walls.

When I received the windfall of money, my family members added personalized touches to their lavish living spaces. My parents included their individual touches throughout the house (my father always loved cars, and my mother loves flowers, gardening and cooking), but the wine cellar had been a pet project they completed together. I’ll never know how many bottles they enjoyed as they planned what this space would look like; it certainly was a far cry from the lone, dusty wine rack they had when we were growing up- complete with three or four special bottles that- to this day- have never been opened.

Adjacent to the wine cellar is a tasting room and bar. When we’d all get together, the adults would sit in this room after dinner, as the kids played with the karaoke machine, toys and video games in the massive rec room down the hall.

Over the years, my mother commissioned artists to paint murals of landscapes my great-grandparents would have seen growing up in Italy. They’re beautiful, and my dad loved them. He would sit (with a glass of wine or a cocktail, depending on the time of day) in one of his leather recliners and marvel at the detail of the art.

My father loved this room.

I couldn’t believe he would never sit to marvel at the art, at this room- at his life- ever again.

……

From Rags:

“Chris, maybe you should have some water,” Priscilla suggested, kindly. The three of us had been drinking on a patio at our favourite pub for hours. Chris was imbibing at a rate much faster than my sister and me.

“Or a coffee?” I asked.

“No, no, no,” Chris slurred, as he responded. “Water is fine. I don’t really want to stay up much longer. I think I’m done with this day,” he finished, miserably.

Priscilla and I looked at our younger brother with sorrow. Chris had come out to our parents that afternoon, and told them that he is in a relationship with Dave (a friend whom he had invited to brunch with the family earlier in the day).

“At least Mom’s okay with your relationship,” Priscilla said, encouragingly.

“She cried, P,” Chris said, darkly.

“You said that she hugged you before you left, right?” Priscilla asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, so Mom is fine,” Priscilla said, confidently.

“And Dad?” Chris asked, his voice breaking as his eyes welled with tears for the fourth time this evening.

“He’ll be fine. Both of you will be fine. He just needs some time to adjust,” I said, sounding more hopeful than I felt.

“What does it matter these days, anyways?” Priscilla interjected, a little louder than she would have three drinks ago. My brother looked at our big sister. “I mean, you and Dave can get married, have children… you can adopt… you can have one of mine,” Priscilla shrugged and smiled, as Chris and I chuckled.

“Thanks, P, but let’s ease up on the marriage and family talk, okay? You just met Dave today.”

“So, it’s not that you’re gay- you do have commitment issues,” I said triumphantly, in what was quickly becoming my drunken haze.

“Ahhh, yeah,” Priscilla pointed at me as she nodded in agreement, and motioned to our favourite server for the bill.

“No!” Chris retorted, then smiled. “I like Dave a lot, okay? It’s just- it’s good. He’s good. What’s the rush?”

“He is only 22,” I agreed, as our bill arrived.

“Yeah, yeah. Lucky bastard,” Priscilla said, with a smile.

“Should we get an Uber?” I asked.

“No, Dave is coming to pick me up; he’ll drop you guys off.”

“Thanks. That’s a good man,” Priscilla said, approvingly.

“Thanks,” I echoed, as I gave her cash for half of the bill.

“Tonight’s on us,” Priscilla told my brother. “It may have been a rough day, but it was a big step in the right direction.”

I nodded. “Yeah, you did the right thing. It was brave. Everything will work out,” I said, as I touched Chris’s arm. “Dad will be fine.”

…………

Please enjoy reading Rags to Riches: Part 11 here.

*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

© 2018 Amber Green