Eight Hundred Grapes: a perfect summer escape to a sun-drenched vineyard. Laura Dave

were the hardest part of not living near home, these little versions of their father: blond curls, strong smiles, adorable little boys. I loved them from five hundred miles away, but it wasn’t the same as seeing them more often than that, and I felt it when I squeezed them, thinking how that five hundred miles was about to get exponentially larger.

      I wrapped my arms around the twins, nuzzling into them. “What are you guys wearing?”

      “We’re firefighters,” Josh said.

      Margaret touched the top of Josh’s head. “A fireman came to the boys’ kindergarten to do a presentation,” she said. “It’s their chosen career path for the week.”

      Peter looked at her with disdain. “You mean, forever.”

      Margaret touched his cheek. “Yes, love, I mean forever.”

      I nodded, letting them know that I believed them. But they were already squirming away, starting their fire truck engines and running out the back door to the vineyard to play, to get the kind of love only my mom could provide for them.

      “I guess I should go too,” Margaret said. “We’ll catch up later?”

      I nodded. “Sounds good, Margaret.”

      It did not sound good.

      She looked over at Finn. “Hey, Finn,” she said.

      Finn looked up, right at her, but only after she looked away. “Hey,” he said.

      And it was impossible to ignore what was between them—like it was taking everything they had to avoid looking at each other at the same time.

      The room was silent. Margaret followed the twins outside. Bobby moved toward the doorway awkwardly, standing there, biting his nails.

      I reached for a fork in the center of the table, holding it up. “Bobby, where are you going?”

      Then Finn stood up. “I have to get to the bar,” he said.

      Bobby moved toward the hallway. “I’m going to unpack,” he said.

      Then they both walked out, in opposite directions. Leaving the lasagna to me.

       The Wedding Crashers

      Synchronization. To operate in union.

      On a vineyard, synchronization meant watching and waiting until everything lined up.

      You didn’t step in too quickly.

      You also didn’t step out.