Monica
Hazelnut
"Signorina! Stop! You can't go in there." My nanny shouted.
My first day at the mansion and I couldn't afford to just stay in the bedroom. I just came home from Batangas when I graduated from middle school. I'm here for the holidays so they shouldn't stop me from wherever I want to go.
"Signorina!" I could hear her gasping for breath so I stopped to face her.
"Come back home. I won't be long. I'll be home before nightfall." I told her.
"The Signor will scold me if I leave you here alone." I saw the fear in her eyes as she mentioned my father.
In the eyes of our laborers, Papa is frightening. Because of his power and the influence of our family, no one wants to mess up their work. When one of them didn't do their work properly, he immediately fired them without consent. All the ties were being cut and he made sure that they will not set foot in this place again.
"He won't know. And I won't let you get in trouble. This is what I want." I don't want to just lock myself in the room and just wait for my father's command to come out or not.
"Let's go back home, Signorina. You'll just get tired of it." She pleaded.
"It's more tiring if I just stop in the room doing nothing." I replied.
Thankfully, I no longer have much difficulty with Tagalog. I grew up in Italy and I am aware of the foreign language I have to use there. But when I came home, I easily learned Tagalog with the help of my Mama.
You might be wondering, where is she now? She was in that place where I couldn't reach. Not here, not in another town or country. She's in heaven. She died after giving birth to me. She had two miscarriages. And on their third try, she had given birth successfully. Her body couldn't take the pressure, so she died.
"Signorina!" My nanny called me again when I started running.
Ever since I was a child, I have loved going to this place. It's just inside our land and it's too wide that's why I don't go around. Half of that is the vineyards, half is the storage of processed grapes and the rest is for Papa's mansion.
This warehouse is big and long. Papa says this whole warehouse is a wine cellar and it contains gallons of stored grape juice. Those that have been stored and placed in bottles and boxes will be sent to Manila.
"This is huge!" I said the moment I entered the factory.
Big fermentation tanks, wine racks, wine maker machines and over a hundred workers are all here. The finished products were settled on the second floor. The boxes of wines were piled and arranged accordingly. It's just nice to watch because it seems like the workers are moving at the same time while doing it.
"Signorina Monica, I don't think you should be here." Mr. Valmoria, my uncle approached me.
"Good day, Uncle. I'm bored at home so I'm here." I answered when I confronted my uncle.
"Your Dad is definitely looking for you," he said.
"I didn't go far. I'm still in the land. He probably wouldn't be angry if I wanted to see how our product is made." I rolled my eyes and I couldn't help my amazement at what I saw.
This is the process before we sell our product to the public.
"All right I'll let you here. But don't bother the workers so they can focus on what they're doing." My Zio consented.
"Grazie, Zio!" I thanked him before he left my side.
I went everywhere my feet took me to walk around this room. In its size and length, my favorite are the fermentation tanks at the end that contain the aged grape juice. I took a cup to open and taste one of them.
"Carluccio's. 2020. 26 days." I said out loud.
My father told me the meaning of the labels in these barrels. Our surname as the brand of our product, the year of process and the age for tannins. After 27 days, the wine will be transferred to the bottle to age.
I opened the faucet and poured a generous amount into the glass. I tilted the glass first to observe the wine. The color is medium bodied red and I can still see the opacity in this wine. The viscosity is good. I swirled the flute to release the wine aroma. Five laps of swirling, then I smelled the wine to skip the alcohol fumes and guess its flavor. When I got satisfied by the smell, I finally sipped it and took my time to taste.
There's bitterness in it but the sweet taste resurfaces as it gets adjusted in my tongue. The taste will get better when it is transferred to the bottle. The color will get darker, the age will get older and the quality will get phenomenal.
"You liked the taste?" I got interrupted when a man beside me suddenly spoke.
He was carrying paper and a pen and seemed to be writing while looking at the barrels surrounding us.
"The taste is good. But I think it is not yet ready." I commented.
If I were to stare at the guy, I wouldn't think he is not working here. His aura was more matured and authorized. His build resembles a million dollar bachelor. And his face, the hazelnut color of his eyes, that squared chiseled jaw ...
"When should it be ready?" He asked.
"The fermentation of the wine in the cellar should be twenty four to twenty seven days, before transferring to the wine bottles to age." I answered confidently.
My father taught me about this, that's why I am confident.
"The wine that you drank is twenty six days old. Its aroma and flavor was not yet fully combined." He said.
Yeah, I know that.
"So the day after tomorrow, the wine inside this barrel will be transferred?" He keeps on taking notes in his paper and it frustrates me because I don't have his full attention.
"Yeah," he said without looking at me.
I hate this feeling when I am talking to him and he's not looking at me. I don't know, I just want his attention whenever I talk. This is the first time that I got interested in a man who's older than me.
How old is he, anyway? Twenty four? Twenty five?
"What are you writing there?" I asked. I took three steps to keep my distance close to him.
"None of your business," he said.
Wait! Wait a second! Did he just mock me?
"What did you say?" I just can't believe it!
I can't believe what he did to me before. I'm not the type to brag about my luxury. I do not want to. But I'm used to respecting and choosing the words before they say it to me. Maybe he didn't know me. Because if he knew me he wouldn't say that or he wouldn't treat me like nothing like before.
I came out of the factory with a frown on my face. How nice I woke up this morning but my whole day was replaced by annoyance and anger because of that immodest man!
"Signorina!" Ophelia, my nanny since childhood, greeted me happily and enthusiastically.
"Nanny, andiamo!" In my annoyance, I shouted and walked away first.
"What's the matter?" My nanny asked when she noticed my eyebrows furrowed.
"I'm going to report to Papa! There's a boastful worker inside the factory! Manang! He mocked me!" I complained. I want to vent my annoyance so the step I take closer to home is heavy.
"Let it go, child. Come on and let's go home. It's almost night too." My nanny said.
As much as she wanted to, I ignored that arrogant man's rude treatment of me. I don't want my night to be distorted if I always think of him. So I just focused on eating dinner.
The food at the table was delicious. Prosecco or better known as white wine along with Soppressata or the so-called salami was first served on our table. Papa and I love pasta so Carbonara was served as the main course. Our table is not complete without desserts, so we also served the traditional Cannoli that Papa loves.
"Buon appetito," Papa said. It means enjoy the meal.
"Buon appetito," I answered back.
Our table was covered in silence. Papa doesn't like us to talk while eating. Eating is divine and our rest in the whole day of working and grinding. He wants us to stay silent while eating because this is the time for praising and thanking the provider for its spontaneous glory and blessings that he bestowed to us. Even we prayed before eating.
The night was well spent because Papa let me watch movies with him. I don't often be with my dad because of his busy schedule. He goes to Manila almost every day, especially when it comes to importing wine bottles to sell to the public. So whenever we have the opportunity to be with each other we don't miss it.
We all want to cherish those moments so that we have something to look back on in the future. Life is short and time is not in our favor all the time. We have everything in our hands, the most important things in life that money can't replace. Family, friends, time, and happiness.
Even if it is one hour or less than fifteen minutes a day, make the most out of it. Because we can't take back what's done. And we don't want to regret it in the end.
Weeks have passed and my stay here begins to be exciting as days pass by.
Who would have thought that the man I loathed before for being rude will be my friend now? And the funny thing about that was he changed so fast. He began to be soft and gentle with his words towards me.
"If I only knew that you were my boss's daughter, I wouldn't be rude to you," he said.
"I also made a mistake. I didn't introduce myself to you before." My answer.
I didn't have time to introduce myself to him before because I was preceded by annoyance and anger at what he did to me.
"It's not hard to know that thing. By your demeanor and behavior, I know you're a daughter of the rich." His eyes are now fixed on me.
"What do you mean? Francis, be careful what you say." I threatened him.
"Modest acts. Spoiled. And doesn't know any housework." He answered.
My hearing throbbed because of what I heard. He starts insulting me again. Does he really like seeing me irritated with him?
"Come osi?" I said. It means how dare you in Italian.
"What are you saying? You know I don't understand your other language." He said.
"I don't know about you!" To my annoyance, I left him under a tree near the vineyard.
"Monica!" He called but I didn't look back.
Is it ugly to make friends with someone older than me? I am eighteen while he's twenty four. We have a six years gap.
Is it bad if I feel comfortable and safe beside him?
I can't name this feeling because this is new to me. But when I am with him, my heart races so fast that it feels so difficult to breathe. It was not suffocating, though. But I like it. I like this feeling. And it helps me to wake up happy and gracious every morning. I chose to focus on business because I want to know more about Carluccio's. And spend more time with him, of course.
He sometimes teaches me about the things that I needed to know about the business. When he had free time, he helped me to learn the process of wine. Whenever I go to the factory, he is the one who tours me inside.
Only now did I find out that he was the Assistant Supervisor in the factory and that he was my Zio's assistant in observing and repairing the factory. He started as a Harvester in the vineyard and when they saw his skill and knowledge in the process, he got promoted.
"Is it true that the longer the wine is stored, the more it tastes?" I asked. I read that on the internet last night while studying the product.
"No. That's depends on the formula and pH balanced of the wine. Some wines like Pinot Noir and Sangiovese, are more capable of tasting better with age than are less acidic wines. White wine also has natural acidity that helps improve its flavor over time." He explained. I just listened as it spoke on the other phone line.
"Both white wine and red wine contain tannins, but red wine contains significantly more. White wine gets a small amount of tannins from the grapes and picks up more from being aged in wooden barrels." He added.
He's really impressive.
"What should we do to improve the taste of the wine and age longer?" I asked again. Even though I have a book in front of me now and can see the answer to my question I prefer to listen to what Francis has to say. I would rather believe what he says.
"Tannins are a natural preservative, capable of keeping a bottle of wine palatable for forty years or longer. When a wine is young, its tannins give it a bitter and astringent flavor. In time, the tannins dissipate and cause the body of the wine to develop its own aroma and essence. It will improve over time, imparting a smooth, rich flavor without the bitterness of a younger wine." He explained deeply now.
"So it is all about the process, right?" I questioned.
"Yes. A careful and detailed process of tanning the grapes." His voice became husky and deep.
"According to this book that I am reading, aging wine properly allows its time to develop a smooth, full flavor that enhances the experience of drinking wine. Is this correct?" I asked.
"That book will not be published if the information is not correct," he mocked again. There we go again.
How long have we been talking on the cellphone? I'm wearing earphones now because my hands need to hold them. I didn't even bother to look at the clock because all that's important right now is his voice.
"I just want a second opinion!" I hissed. I just wanted to make sure that I am learning.
I heard him chuckle. Sounds like music to my ears.
"Proper aging of wine is all about its temperature. Humidity must be just right to make aging wine at the proper rate. Too much humidity causes mold to accumulate, especially around the cork. Too little humidity causes the cork to crumble, which allows oxygen to enter the bottle and cause oxidation." He explained again.
"The cork must be a proper fit to the bottle," I commented.
"That's correct," he praised. I feel so confident right now that he complimented me.
"How hot or how cold?" I asked again.
"For best aging, keep the wine at temperatures between fifty and fifty five degrees Fahrenheit, which is ten to thirteen degrees Celsius." He said. And the book was also correct!
I don't know if everything he said is now entering my brain. The only thing more important to me now is to hear his voice. Maybe I sleep better when I hear my favorite music right now, his voice.
"Stop asking questions. Go to sleep." He ordered. That I am willing to obey.
"Okay," I said without hanging up the call.
"Good night," he said.
"Buona notte," I said with Italian accent.
"Hang up the phone now,"
"You first,"
"No, you do it."
"Just hang up,"
"Fine. Good night. Bye."
"Bye,"
For a few seconds, we remained silent. But no one hangs up.
This is a rest for me. This is the new definition of rest and chilling out for me. Just hearing him talk. Late night calls on random things. It's indescribable but this is how I feel.
"You never hung up," a few more seconds passed but I still hear the background in his place.
"I was waiting for you," he said.
"But I told you to hang up," my voice became softer.
"Alright. Bye." Finally!
As we talked I just smiled. I didn't feel numbness or jaw pain because I liked what I was doing.
I go to the factory more often. Papa has allowed me and my nanny is no longer with me. As long as I get home before nightfall, that's the only condition. It's also good because I'm getting more familiar with the business, with the workers and even gaining more knowledge about grapes and wine.
"You never told me that you will be harvesting grapes at this hour," I said.
The sun is straight and it is hot on the skin. The afternoon is very hot and the leaves from the trees are not enough to cover the heat of the weather.
"I told you to wait under the tree. You shouldn't have followed me here anymore." Francis replied.
"I can't talk to anyone if I just wait there," I complained. That's why I'm here to talk to you. Even if it's hot and painful on the skin.
"It's hot in here. I know you're not used to the heat of the weather here in the Philippines." He continued to harvest grapes.
"When it's cold in Italy, it's really cold. When it's hot, it penetrates the skin as well. The only difference is that there are four more climates there than here." I, on the other hand, just follow him as he moves to the other tree.
I constantly caress my arms because it seems to be scorched by the heat. My eyebrows are inseparable and my eyes are smoky. Even if I cover it with my hands, it is useless because the hole is still penetrating.
"You are so stubborn, Monica." Francis said while taking his straw hat and putting it on my head.
"Go there in the tree. Wait for me there. I'm also close to finishing what I'm doing." He commanded.
"I don't want to!" I hissed.
I don't want to wait that long.
"It's hot here. Maybe later your body won't handle it and you'll die. Go there." He growled back at me.
"Call someone to do this work for you. You're a supervisor, aren't you?" Why is he even doing this when his real job is to command and observe the plant.
"Damn it!" He sighed.
He finally let go of the large basket and scissors he was carrying. He grabbed my arm and pulled me into the shade of the tree. We're both sweaty now but that doesn't matter to me because his handsome face is all that I am seeing right now.
He became more attractive through that sweat!
I think I like this man.
I think I like a guy who's older than me.