They wanted to return to California, where both had been raised. They wanted a small town. They wanted charm. They wanted good weather. They discussed small beach towns like San Luis Obispo and Santa Maria, just north of Santa Barbara. They talked about going to the wine country: Sonoma . . . Calistoga . . . Napa. If they’d had a couple drinks, they’d dream bigger—maybe they could have both. Maybe they could split their time between the two: a small house on the coast and a place in the wine country, too.

It was the dream, the thing that kept them working and saving and looking forward. They’d raised me—their only child—in Tacoma, Washington. Dad had his own practice and Mom worked her way from being a teacher to a vice principal, and then a principal, bouncing around the Tacoma Unified School District, taking promotions and advancements when they came.

They both worked hard so they could be secure in their retirement.

They worked hard so they could be free.

Dad was the bigger earner. A good vet, and affordable, he had built a very loyal customer base, and even though he was ten years older than mom, he’d intended to work until she retired and then they’d pool their resources and move.

But Dad’s health changed. He developed tremors, couldn’t operate, nor did he trust himself during exams. He ended up selling his practice to a young veterinarian who’d been working with him for the past couple of years. The young vet was enthused. Dad suddenly found himself with far too much time on his hands.

It was this house on Poppy Lane that ultimately sold my parents on Napa.

They came to Napa for this house. They loved its history. They loved that it sat on a full acre, with most of the space stretching luxuriously in the back, the yard not filled with a pool but a small fruit orchard and a generous vegetable garden.

They loved the hundred-year-old house and Mom wanted the garden.

I was happy for them. I knew it was their dream, their house. It wasn’t mine. It wasn’t ever meant to be mine. I was already dating Andrew, and in my second year of dental school. I’d already hitched my star to Andrew’s. Wherever he wanted to go, I’d follow, and I knew he planned on returning to Scottsdale after graduation to join his father’s dental practice. He was clear about that.