“Being Jillie Jones Lawson’s daughter can’t be easy.” Cori Melbourne unzipped a canvas bag, pulled out a yoga mat, which she unrolled on the floor of the studio in one smooth motion, and dropped down on to it. “I mean, that’s a lot of pressure to live up to, am I right?”

Tabitha didn’t know how to respond, so she stared down at Cori’s shiny black ringlets for a moment.

“She was—she is—my biggest influence,” she finally said. “I can only hope to have a career like hers someday.”

Cori looked up at her and cocked her head to the side, studying her face. Tabitha remembered what her twin sister Gabrielle had told her that morning. Don’t let your face go into that frowny thing it does when you don’t like a question. Just smile at her and tell the truth.

Well, she hadn’t lied yet, and she pulled her lips into what she hoped was a not-bitchy expression.

Tabitha didn’t own a yoga mat of her own, so she walked to the back of the studio to a stacked pile of mats. She pulled one from about midway down, figuring it was probably the least used of the bunch, and tried not to think of how many people had sweated on it before her. She dropped it on the floor beside Cori and flopped down next to her.

“So I’m looking forward to diversifying my portfolio. I feel there is a lot of opportunity for some incredible synergistic energy here.”

Tabitha clamped her mouth closed after saying this sentence, and pushed her lips into another bright smile. They sounded like official business-type words, but she wasn’t entirely sure she had used them correctly. She didn’t know how to adequately say I want to get the hell out of my job without actually lighting fire to the employees I love and the business I’ve worked so hard to build. “Synergistic” was the word she came up with. It made sense in her head.

Cori Melbourne sat cross-legged, facing forward but eyeing Tabitha in the smoky mirror in front of them.

“I still don’t completely understand why we’re talking about this job,” she said. “You’re leaving El Zop?”

“No, no, of course not. It’s just that I have been looking for some opportunities to work with new people, expand our reach, bring new influences into our portfolio.” Business word salad. Again.

The teacher walked into the room and bent over an iPad to start the music. The room filled with vaguely musical plings and gong noises. The sound of running water made Tabitha feel like she needed to pee. She crossed her legs and pulled her spine erect, trying to mimic Cori’s pose. She thought her face might crack from the forced serenity.

“I mean, like this. Doing a job interview during a yoga class. That’s a company that shares my values.”

“Do you do yoga regularly?”

“Yeah, totally. I mean, no, not really. I never have before, but that’s what I’m saying. It’s what I want my life to be like. I’ve never had time for yoga before because I don’t have a company that makes things like yoga a priority.”

“Time to calm your mind, quiet your speaking.” The instructor spoke with in a low vibrato that sounded like she was underwater. It set Tabitha’s teeth on edge. She took a deep breath. Cori’s eyes had drifted closed, and she sat motionless. Tabitha closed her eyes, too, but then cracked them open so she could watch Cori in the mirror. She wondered how long they would sit in this position. Nobody seemed inclined to move. Did they do anything except sit around? She had always thought yoga was all about complicated movements, but maybe she had it wrong. She could be down with a sitting class. She’d have to find another position, though because her tailbone was starting to hurt. Maybe she could lie down.

“This isn’t a job interview.” She sat up straight again when she heard Cori speak, and turned her head to look at her. Cori hadn’t opened her eyes, hadn’t changed positions, but she spoke in a low whisper. “We don’t believe in job interviews. Old World New School importers is not a company like that. We don’t interview people; we get to know them. Instead of hiring employees, we invite friends to join our family.”

Tabitha nodded with what she hoped looked like wisdom, though Cori still hadn’t opened her eyes.

“Right, I understand. I mean, I work with family too. A real family, you know. I co-own El Zopilote with my husband. Ex-husband. And my sister, my twin? She works there, too, as the tasting room manager. It’s important to us that we keep a positive family atmosphere.”

Cori opened her eyes as they all stood and raised their hands over their heads. She inhaled deeply and then bent over, her elbows resting on the ground in front of her and her head dangling just above her yoga mat. Tabitha’s legs screamed at her when she tried to copy the movement, so she bounced her body a little bit, hoping she looked casual and playful.

They stood again, hands over their head, and then drifted back down to the ground. Cori could bend almost in half; Tabitha tried to mimic her but thought she might pass out.

“I’m not going to lie. I worry about El Zop’s”—Cori paused for an interminable moment—“reputation.”

“Reputation?” Tabitha stood up then, thinking that the blood rushing to her head was causing her to hear incorrectly. “We have a stellar reputation. Our most popular wine—the Zo Zin—just won first place in the California Wine Fair. We’ve been voted Best Overall winery at Vintner International for four years running. I’m a Silver Level Master Somm, and I’ve already got my application in for next year’s SommFest.”

“Yeah, I know.” Cori stood again and raised her hands over her head. “I know all the accolades. The awards don’t mean all that much to me. I’m talking about authenticity.”

“Authenticity? I’m, like, the most authentic person you’ll ever meet,” Tabitha began, but she was interrupted by a hand on her shoulder.

“Quiet your mind,” came a watery voice in her ear. “Now is the time for stillness, for learning about your inner being. The time to talk comes later.”

Cori looked annoyed, and she bent over again. Tabitha stared around the room, at the group of butts sticking up in the air. Now she’d have to chew on the word authenticity for the duration of this damn class, and she had no idea what Cori meant. Why didn’t people put on business suits and conduct interviews in offices anymore? Yoga classes smelled disgusting. Maybe that was the authentic part.

“You are game to try something new. I do like that about you.” Cori set two plastic shot glasses on the table in front of Tabitha and sat down across from her. Her skin seemed to glow from some magical internal light. Tabitha didn’t know if the class caused her skin to look so dewy, but she hoped she looked the same.

“What a great idea, to do something physical,” Tabitha lied. “It’s a real opportunity to get to know people outside of the typical wine environment. I mean, it’s so old-fashioned to taste wine together, right? Why would you even want me to do that, for a wine job?”

Cori sipped her drink, watching Tabitha. She had a quiet manner about her that made Tabitha profoundly nervous, but she forced her body to remain still and match the steady gaze.

“Do you have faith in the business practices of El Zopilote winery?” Cori asked.

“I’m very proud of the work we do there, of what we produce.” Tabitha paused before continuing. “Do you have questions about our business practices?”

Cori opened her mouth to answer, and then closed it again, seeming to reconsider. “A few times I’ve tasted bottles and wondered about the labels. That estate Meritage last year, for example.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Tabitha nodded so hard that she could feel her ponytail whipping against the back of her neck. “That was a special one. A passion project for my husb—for Royal.” She stopped and dropped her fake smile. “I would have labeled it differently, if you want to know the truth. But sometimes you play the game.” She hoped the answer didn’t sound too feeble.

“What game is that?”

“We are both owners, but Royal is the Head Winemaker. I’m Operations Manager. Ultimately, he has the final say on the presentation of our products. I don’t always like it, but I respect his choices and will work my ass off for the company. As I will for your company. Old Wines New Planet.”

“Old World New School. We call it OWNS for short. As in, everyone takes ownership of what we do there. Not just a team, but a family.”

“Right. I love it.”

Cori paused. “But you don’t plan to leave El Zop?”

“What I’m doing now is looking to work elsewhere in the wine industry. Expanding my horizons. I’m trained as a sommelier, and I’m good at it. Really good at it. I’ve spent the last few years only selling El Zopilote wines, but I can do so much more. I’d like to do that for you.”

“We don’t sell wine. We sell experiences. OWNS is the opposite of a winery. We source wines from all over the world and bring them here to the States. We sell to restaurants, to individual collectors, to small boutique stores. One branch of our business takes wine to small tasting parties within people’s homes, teaching them in small, personal sessions how to experience what they are tasting. We bring the people what they want, instead of trying to sell them what we have.”

“That’s exactly what I miss. I used to love being in a restaurant, talking to someone who maybe didn’t know much about wine, and have them taste a few things. There is nothing that is as fun to me as introducing people to an experience they are going to love forever.”

“I’m not sure I’ve made the job requirements clear. I’ll need you to travel. Locally and internationally. I need a scout to try new things, bring us new product.”

“I understand. I have a lot of flexibility at the winery. I’ve turned over the daily on-site business to my twin sister Gabrielle, who is our Tasting Room Manager. I do the books at home.” Her new home, Tabitha didn’t mention. In her sister’s spare bedroom. She’d give Cori authenticity, but didn’t need to give her the sad details.

“What are your life plans? Where do you want to be in five and ten years?”

There was a time when Tabitha loved this question. A time when she could answer it easily because the future had a mapped-out, decided quality to it that never needed to be questioned. Education, travel, career, more travel, accolades, eventually a family. She could have predicted it almost to the day.

Very little of it came true, of course.

“I don’t know,” she finally answered, without explanation.

Cori watched her, tapping her now-empty cup against the table. Tabitha had forgotten about the shot in front of her, so raised it to her lips.

“Holy firebomb, what is this?”

A smirk touched the corner of Cori’s lips. “Ginger, lemon juice, and cayenne pepper. It’s cleansing.”

“That is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted in my life. Why does everyone in California drink stupid shit like this?” Tabitha stood up. “I’m getting something with chocolate. Do you want anything?”

“No thank you.” Cori’s gaze, and her attention, drifted around the room.

Tabitha sat down again. “Listen. You want authenticity. Here it is. Royal and I are divorced and I want to get as far away from him as possible. But we own a business together, and I don’t want to leave anyone in the lurch. It’s a business I’m proud of, but I want to do more of what I’m good at. I can talk to people about wine. You know that about me. I’ve been selling wine Royal’s way for a long time. He made me part owner when we got married, but he was always the boss. That’s fine. I think it shows that I know how to work with people, even if we don’t share the same philosophy. But if you give me a chance, you’ll see what I can do for you.”

“Which is what?”

“I can teach people how to love wine.”

“Maybe it’s unfair of me to ask where you want to be in five years,” Cori said. “The universe is too unparalleled to make those predictions.”

Tabitha wasn’t sure that was the correct use of that word, but what did she know? She had already thrown around the word synergistic with no regard for its meaning, so she kept her mouth shut.

“The real reason I asked where you want to be in five years is that we are expanding our offices around the world. Instead of sending reps to the wine regions several times a year, I want people based there, so they know what’s going on. A rep living in Italy can follow the local culture, be aware of the trends and winemakers who are trying new things, as well as the ones who are sticking to the old ways and producing the best juice.”

Tabitha sucked in her breath, the air in her lungs sharp and her tongue still on fire from the spicy ginger drink. “Italy,” she murmured. “I love Italy,”

“I mean, that’s just for starters, and it’s only one region we are looking at. France, obviously, Argentina, Australia, South America. Hell, if I have my way, we’ll have reps in every country in the world someday.”

“But I want Italy,” Tabitha murmured. “I want to be your Italy rep.” She stopped, wondered if she sounded desperate.

Cori sat forward now, looking engaged for the first time.

“Why don’t you start as a consultant for us at first, while you, ah, extricate yourself from El Zop. And your husband. I can put you in charge of the local scheduling and send you on a few short overseas trips for now. You can figure out the lay of the land, get to know our company culture, see if this is the opportunity you are looking for. If it works out, and it looks like you will be able to sell your share of the winery in a year or so, we can bring you on part time for now and start talking about making you our full-time Italy rep.”

Tabitha nodded, not trusting her mouth to convey what she was thinking.

“Getting you on our team—in our family—would be a real feather in my cap, I’m not going to lie.”

“Cool. I won’t lie either. Yoga is dumb and boring; I don’t want to do that again. I’ll work my ass off for you otherwise.”

Cori grinned. “Welcome to Old World New School.”

Tabitha reached out her hand to shake Cori’s. “Glad to be here. Let’s eat some chocolate.”

“What the hell is happening here?” Gabrielle stood in the doorway of the bathroom and stared open-mouthed at her twin, who wore only jeans and a bra and stood barefoot amid piles of blonde hair.

Tabitha squirted a blob of hot-pink gel onto her scalp and massaged it into the shorn hair left on her head with her gloved fingers. “Just going for a new look.”

“Anytime a woman does a dramatic haircut, I always think she’d be better off just seeing a therapist.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need a therapist,” Tabitha shot back. She yanked the gloves off her hands and dumped them into the trash can, leaving a streak of fuchsia dye down the side of the bin. She pulled a long sheet of cling wrap from the box and wrapped it around her head, smashing it down with a vengeance. “I just need new hair, and for Royal to sign the final divorce settlement so I can move into my own house.”

“What’s wrong with my house?”

“Nothing’s wrong with your house—that’s the problem. Everything here is perfect, and I’m messing it all up.” She grabbed a broom and swept the hair off the floor. There was a lot of it down there, and she wondered now if she should have let a professional chop it all off for her. “I mean, I want to be able to dye my hair without being afraid that I’m ruining your reputation as a perfect wife and a perfect mom.”

Gabrielle stood with her arms crossed and leaned against the doorjamb, staring at her sister, who had stopped sweeping and started furiously scrubbing pink dye that had splashed into the sink.

“How did the interview go?”

“It went great. I got the job.”

“Which you wanted?”

“Of course I wanted it. It’s a great company. Full of self-actualized hippies who know what they want in life.”

“Tabitha.”

The sound of Gabrielle’s voice stopped her, and Tabitha leaned on her palms and closed her eyes.

“I couldn’t answer these really basic questions. Where do I want to be in five years? What’s it like being Jillie’s daughter? I just stumbled over the answers.”

“Who cares?” Her sister laughed. “You got the job anyway, so you must have said something right.”

“I told her I hated this ginger bullshit drink and I think that was the first time she liked me. We did yoga. Yoga! For God’s sake! The whole time, I was thinking Mom would have a fit if she heard me.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t.”

“I sounded like an idiot. The old me could have answered her questions. I used to know what I wanted, G.”

“Wrong.” Gabrielle grabbed a towel and used it to wipe dripping pink liquid from her sister’s neck. “You knew what Mom wanted. Now it’s time to figure out what you want.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You got the good shiny hair, and I got boring hair. You got a good marriage, and I picked a douchebag. You got a mom who never comments on your life choices, but I got a mom who does nothing but criticize me.”

“Well, now you have pink hair, so you showed me.” When Tabitha didn’t laugh, Gabrielle continued. “Remember that time Mom told me that having a baby would ruin my career? Or the time she told me I ought to consider some filler work on my face because I look older than my years? She criticizes me as much as she criticizes you. I just don’t care.”

“Do you know how scary it is not to know what’s next?”

“Everyone does. You get used to it.”

“Not me,” Tabitha replied. She turned on the shower and pulled the plastic off her head. “I won’t get used to it. I’ll get my mojo back. Cori is sending me to Italy next month, and I’m going to be the best somm they’ve ever hired. I’m going to taste every wine in Treviso. I’ll be like a wine-tasting machine, and I’ll get to the top of the somm world without Royal Hamilton.”

“Sounds super fun,” her sister said, but Tabitha ignored her sarcastic tone. “Shall I call a therapist for you?”

Tabitha stepped out of her jeans and into the shower. “Nope. Scissors are way cheaper than a therapist. Look at me, I have pink hair, and a new job, and no husband, and all of my problems are totally solved.”

She could hear her sister laughing as she watched the pink dye run off her head, down her body, and swirl around her toes.