My Birthright Wine Became My Brother's Victory Toast

1: 1

The year I was born, my grandfather buried a barrel of daughter's-wine sealed with my name.

He said I should drink it when I came of age, so that from then on I could swallow whatever was bitter and taste whatever was sweet.

My name was written on the red paper across the seal.

"When Sabby grows up, I'll open it for her myself."

But Grandpa never lived to see that day.

When I was ten, my mother made me quit school to tend the winery.

"There's no future in a girl studying. Better she earn money to put your brother through school."

I was a good girl. I nodded.

For the eight years after that, the winery ran on me.

Today is my eighteenth birthday. It's also my brother's graduation party.

My father had the barrel carried out.

I'd only just reached for it when my mother tore off the seal-paper and told Jason Winslow to write across it:

"To Jason's future."

I stopped the man who'd come to open it.

"Grandpa left that for me."

My father shoved me back with one hand.

"It's your brother's graduation party today. Do you have to ruin it?"

My mother frowned.

"Jason's going to inherit this winery someday. It's only right the wine goes to him."

I froze.

"The winery is his too?"

Jason smiled and caught my arm.

"Sis, you make the wine, I'll carry on the name. Perfect."

At the table, my father raised the first bowl.

"This is the graduation wine Jason's grandfather buried the year he was born."

Nobody saw the old seal-paper trampled dirty by my father's foot, my name still written on it.

So it turned out my daughter's-wine and the winery I'd guarded for eight years both belonged to my brother.

If there was no place for me in this family,

then I didn't want it either.

...

The moment the mallet cracked the barrel open, my mother shoved the kitchen apron into my arms.

"Go carry the dishes out. We've got a lot of guests today, don't stand around getting in the way."

The apron was new, the price tag still hanging off one corner.

It was the only gift I got for my eighteenth birthday.

I tied it on and went into the kitchen.

Out in the yard the relatives crowded around Jason to toast him, praising my parents for raising a college boy.

Uncle Marcus caught sight of me and suddenly asked, "Sabby comes of age today too, doesn't she?"

My mother answered for me with a smile. "What's there to make a fuss over, a girl getting a year older? Jason getting into college, now that's what matters."

Uncle Marcus held out a cash envelope for me, and my mother reached over and took it.

"Thank you, Marcus. This'll go right toward Jason's tuition."

I stood in front of her with a platter in my hands.

"Uncle Marcus gave that to me."

The smile on my mother's face thinned.

"What's the point of splitting hairs like that between family? Your brother's getting an education. Someday he'll be able to look out for you too."

The first bowl of the daughter's-wine was carried over to Jason.

The heat of it made him cough, and my mother rushed to bring him water while my father patted his back.

Everyone crowded in around him. I dropped my head and pinched my own thigh, because it dulled the sting of the backs of my hands, scalded red by the steamer.

In front of all the relatives my father told him, "If you're short on money in the state capital, just say so. If anyone gives you a hard time, you tell your family. Dewbrook will always be your home."

I suddenly remembered the day I dropped out, when I was ten.

I'd stood at the winery door hugging my schoolbag, crying, asking if I could ever go back to school.

All my father said was, "This family's raised you all these years. It's time you learned to pay it back."

The same two children. One is told, going out the door, that if anyone wronged him he could come home.

The other never even made it out the door before she learned to take the whole family's hardship on herself.

Every dish at the table was one Jason liked.

The sweet-and-sour fish was set in front of him. The braised pork roast went into his bowl first.

My stomach had ached all day, and all I had was cold rice soaked in the back kitchen.

My mother came in for a platter and frowned when she saw it.

"It's a happy day today. Who's that sour face for?"

I lowered my head and swallowed that mouthful of cold rice.

When they cut the cake, I asked her one more time. "Mom, today's my birthday too."

She was fitting the paper crown onto Jason and didn't even turn around.

"I know. You got the apron, didn't you? Over a hundred bucks."

Jason scooped up a spoonful of frosting and held it out to me.

My mother stopped him at once.

"The whole cake's for the graduate. Don't jinx it."

I watched that bit of frosting go into my brother's mouth, and all at once I didn't have the fight left in me.

That night I washed the dishes from twelve tables, then carried the empty barrel back down to the cellar.

The osmanthus scent Grandpa had put inside still lingered at the bottom.

I searched a long time outside the courtyard gate before I finally found the old red paper, trampled and dirty.

The three characters of "Sabrina Winslow" had already blurred.

Just then my phone lit up.

It was Susan Abbott, who had reached out to me three years ago.

"You've turned eighteen?"

"The apprentice spot at Frostbrook Winery is still yours if you want it."

This time, I didn't write back that the family couldn't do without me.