Bait Page 8

  “No tomato. That's fine.”

  “I just brought one in. It's no trouble.” She looked expectantly at me, proud of her garden and wanting me to eat something she'd harvested. I was like that with my brews. The look in her eyes was easy to read. It said, “Eat the tomato, I grew it just for you.”

  “Actually, that sounds really good.” She smiled, prideful.

  “So what’s new, baby boy? Where did you fly in from again?” She busied herself with making the sandwich and I waited patiently on the barstool opposite her.

  “Phoenix. Marc has me traveling a lot more since we've been so busy. We're actually buying the warehouse across from our building now. It's crazy.”

  “How exciting.”

  “Yeah, it's pretty awesome. He said that we're hiring a few more people, too. Ten, I think, for now.” She nodded, listening.

  Marc's dad started Bay Beer Brewing Co. about fifteen years earlier, and had been slowly gaining clout. I didn't know what would happen to it if—when—Marc decided to retire. I was sure he'd leave it to Aly, but she wouldn't know what to do with it. I'd been thinking of talking to him about possibly buying into it somehow. I just needed to do it the right way since I wasn't family, and wasn't planning on becoming family either. Marc and I were pretty close, though, and he knew how much I loved it.

  “That's great news,” she said and took a plate from the cupboard and sliced the sandwich in half, then passed it across the bar.

  “So, I've been doing a lot of the traveling over the past couple of weeks. I'm actually doing a pretty good job selling.”

  “Of course you are. Look at you. That face. Your charisma. You know everything there is to know about that brewery. I'm excited for you.”

  “I kind of want to own it. Or part of it. Someday. I don't know. I need to talk to him about it more.” I bit into the pastrami sandwich and closed my eyes. There's nothing like a sandwich made by your mom. She had a secret to making them taste better than I did and we used the same shit. Moms.

  “You should do it. You've worked your way up this far.”

  It was true. I'd worked in the brewery, the docks, and recently moved into sales. I loved hearing her say she thought I could manage it. It was reassuring, even though she was my mom and she thought I could do anything.

  “We'll see,” I told her while chewing. My phone beeped and I pulled it out hoping it was Blake. She must have seen my face change from excited to something else.

  “Not who you were hoping for?” she asked.

  I said, “Not really.” It was Aly. Again. Yeah, I'd broken up with her a month earlier, but working for her father's company sort of kept us in close proximity. Especially that she was doing a lot more in the office. She knew where I was almost every fucking hour of the day. Don't get me wrong. I cared about her, but fuck. The spark—the bait—wasn’t there with us. Not like it was with Blake.

  “Hey, I was thinking,” she said. “You know how you have all of that brewing stuff in the basement?” she asked tentatively as she cleaned up the mess from sandwich making. “Can you show me how to use it? I think I want to make my own.”

  I laughed and almost choked on my last bite. “You want to make beer?”

  “Ale, Casey. I want to make ale. Will the stuff you have downstairs work for that?” She looked hopeful, like she'd already thought it through.

  “It will. What kind of ale, Momma? Are you trying to run me out of business?” I joked.

  She sat beside me on the barstool to my left and slapped my arm with the wet rag she was had. “No, don't be stupid. I just want to see if I can make it. I have lots of things I can use in the garden and I thought it would be fun for you to show me how.” She nudged me. “You'd have to come over a little more than you do, and I know you're busy now, but I think if you showed me I could do it.”

  She was the coolest mom in the world. Not that Carmen was awful or anything, but I wish my mom were Audrey and Morgan's mom, too. They were totally missing out.

  “You're damn right you could. You have a brewing prodigy for a son.”

  After we talked a little more, she prodded for more information on the person who I wanted to be calling me.

  We went downstairs and I showed her how to set up the siphons, fermenters and carboys. She wrote everything down.

  I had fun and she said it sounded easy enough. I told her to stop by Bay the next day and I'd make her up a little starter kit with a few other things she'd need. She agreed and told me she'd buy me lunch for my help and instruction.

  To be honest, it made me proud to see her interested in doing it. That was the first brewing kit I'd used and it was how I made beer for all of my friends back in high school. I couldn't buy beer when I was underage, but I made a shit ton of money making it. My dad had left that set up when he left my mom. Cory and I found it in the storage room down there when we were about fourteen. It was amazing what a little research and juvenile mischief led to.

  She'd immediately caught me on my first batch, but she'd just laughed and said that at least I was smart enough to get around the system. She'd stored my yields in a refrigerator that she locked so that I couldn't get into it whenever I wanted. I eventually found the key, but was quick to replace what I took. I think she drank more of it than we did, so she never got on our asses about it.

  Being there with my mom that day took my mind off Blake for a while, but it all came back when I got to the apartment and heard Micah on the phone with her.

  Micah said, “That's great, I knew you'd get the job. Congratulations!” Then she covered the receiver, which never fooled anyone, and said “Hi, Casey,” to me as she watched me walk in. There was no way for her to know that I'd sent Blake a text the day before, so I didn't let my true excitement show.

  But she got the job.

  She'd be traveling.

  She'd be away from her boyfriend and he might not like that. They, sadly, might not work out. What a shame.

  And I'd be traveling too. She might not text me that day, but she would soon. I’d wait.

  The possibilities were endless.

  Monday, June 23, 2008

  “THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS, Micah.” And for the first time, in I didn’t know how long, I felt like things were going in the right direction. I pretended I didn't hear her say hello to Casey and focused on our conversation. “They said they liked my ideas and offered me the position on the spot. I can't believe it.”

  “I can. You're awesome. When do you start?” I could hear the excitement in her voice. One of the best parts about the job was that they had two main offices, one in San Francisco and one in Seattle. Couture Dining Incorporated specialized in the hospitality industry. They designed restaurant themes and menus for hotels all over the world. They were the benchmark in hospitality dining and, branching out, a new part of their company would focus on the invention of new restaurants and another other part on revamping already established ones with fresh menus and systems.

  That morning, when I woke up after getting some of the best sleep I'd had in ages, I was excited. But after going to the interview and then out to lunch with Bridgett and Lance, the owners of CDI, I was having a hard time not coming out of my skin. It felt so right.

  “I start next week. They have a trade show in a week or so in Chicago and invited me to go. Ahhh,” I screamed. “I need to call Reggie. I might just stay with him. Ah, he's going to love this.”

  “That sounds fun. I'm so happy for you.” I was so happy that I might get to see her more. “Call me when you find out when you'll be in town. You can stay with me if you want, it’ll be like we're roommates again.”

  “I will. Micah, I'll never be able to thank you enough for recommending me. Ahhh. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Talk soon. ’Bye, B.”

  When we disconnected, I immediately called my brother Reggie and waited for him to pick up. But then I realized it was almost two in the afternoon and he'd still be working. I heard his voicemail message, “Hello
, this is a Reagan Warren, I'm not available. Leave your message and I'll return your call as promptly as possible.” My brother was becoming such a stiff.

  “Hey smear, it's your baby sister and I've got great news. You're going to love it and that's all I'm going to say. You'll just have to call me back to find out. Don't make me wait,” I rambled and then I hung-up.

  I called my parents next. My dad was a professor and my mom a grade school teacher, so I knew they'd be home at that time of day in the summer. They were so excited for me. They invited Grant and me out to dinner to celebrate. I shouldn't have accepted, because of the special night I had planned with him, but the job trumped that. It was major. We could do dinner some other night that week. I placated my real thoughts with these reasons for re-nigging on my night with Grant; deep down I knew it was because I chatted via text with Casey the night before and I was back at square one, feeling neutral towards Grant and the promise of his proposal.

  My fingers itched to text Casey my news, but I didn't. Doing what my brain told me was the right thing, I sent Grant one instead.

  Me: I got the job. It's much more that I thought it was going to be. I can't wait to tell you about it. Rain check on our night in. The parents are taking us out to celebrate.

  I didn't expect him to text back in quick fashion. Grant worked for his father's real estate company and he was often with clients or on the phone during working hours. I tried not to bother him much. He'd reply when he could.

  I needed to tell my boss at the restaurant about my new job, but that could wait until the next day. I had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.

  I'd been working my way up and they relied on me a lot. It would come as a shock, but sometimes opportunities happened when you least expected them. I hoped they saw it that way, too.

  My luggage found its way back to me about a week after I got home from San Francisco, but it would never be the same. It was really wrecked. I decided to make use of the rest of my day off and shop for new travel gear.

  I found the perfect charcoal-gray luggage set right as I walked into the department store. It was the least painless shopping experience ever.

  As I walked my bags to the car, I noticed a sign at the salon across the mall parking lot. It was a photo of a woman with a cute haircut and it compelled me to walk my happy ass over.

  I felt impulsive and spontaneous. It was becoming a habit, I guessed.

  I walked in and signed my name to the list and noticed there was only one other lady before me. I sat down on the row of plush chairs facing her and grabbed the magazine she'd discarded. I thumbed through it reading celebrity gossip and fodder. I looked at the pictures mindlessly.

  “I hate waiting before a haircut,” she said.

  “Yeah, I know. I just decided to do it, so I suppose I can wait a few minutes,” I admitted. She looked older than me by a few years and she dangled her sandal off the end of her foot nervously. I politely smiled and looked back down at the magazine.

  She asked quizzically, “Are you cutting a lot off? Your hair is sort of long.” I ran my hand over the braid on my shoulder and considered it.

  “I don't know. I want to cut it. I think I need a change.”

  “I hear you,” she said, “but every time I cut it too short I always regret it. Then it grows back and I do it again.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  She grinned a small smile. “Right?”

  “Maybe I'll get bangs.” I'd always wanted to try them and hopefully they would be enough to pacify the urge I had. It was decided. A trim and bangs.

  “I think they'd look nice on you. You have a good forehead for it,” she complimented and then was embarrassed again. It was a weird thing to say to a perfect stranger.

  “Thank you,” I said to reassure her and I laughed. “I think that's what I'll do. How about you?”

  “Oh no. I'm only getting a trim. My husband would kill me. He likes it longer.”

  I nodded. But something about that sentence irritated me. Sure. Her husband's allowed to have an opinion on what he likes, but the way she was so quick to shoot it down was a little sad.

  “If he didn't have a preference, then would you get it shorter?” I asked. I continued to smile, humoring her. I didn't want her to get defensive, I was only curious.

  She looked up at the large poster behind me, which showed the nail polish colors that were available, as she squinted in contemplation. “I don't know. He's never told me to not cut it, but he always reminds me of how much he likes the length when he knows I'm coming in.” She smiled thoughtfully and it eased my unnecessary concern. “I don't know what he'd do.” She continued to look off into space, probably imagining the conversation they'd have if she came home with a short cut. “Is it strange that I like that he likes my hair a certain way? I'm sorry, my name is Annie.”

  She leaned forward and offered me her hand to shake, making our acquaintance official. “Blake. And no. On the basis that he does things that you like. Does he?” If it was a mutual thing for them to please each other, like that, then I thought it was great. If it wasn't, then I thought it sucked. “It's none of my business. I'm just curious.”

  “Oh. You're not married?” she asked and looked at my ring finger.

  “No. I'm not. God, no.” My reaction surprised me. I could have left God out of it. I'd have to think about that more later.

  “It's okay. Let me think. Does he do things like this for me?” She swung her foot at a more rapid pace, almost like she was shuffling through memories with her shoe. After a minute or so went by, she said, “Ah, ha! He cleans the toilet for me, because he knows I don't like it. I know he doesn't like it either, but he does it anyway. Does that count?”

  “I think so.” Even though it wasn't the same thing, I thought that was a compromise.

  We went back to our comfortable silence and she just sat there staring at the same nail polish poster. A woman with bright blonde, shaggy hair came out to the desk and looked at her list. “Annie?” and then she looked from me to Annie to decipher which one of us she was attending to next.

  Annie lifted her hand, but didn't say anything.

  “Hi there. As soon as I finish ringing her up,” the blonde stylist said, “I'll take you back and get you shampooed.”

  She straightened a few magazines and collected her things. She took out her phone and, presumably, sent a message. Then she pocketed it again.

  Annie walked over to me and said, “It was nice chatting with you, Blake, I'm sure your bangs will look great.”

  The stylist, upon finishing with her last client, walked around the counter and ushered Annie to the back saying, “So what are we doing today?”

  I heard Annie say, “Cut it all off.” And then she laughed. “I can get used to cleaning toilets.”

  I had the stylist cut my bangs thick and not too short. She said the part that I normally wore would train to lay flat, but the way she fixed it, after she gave me the trim and some new face fringe, I didn't see that there would be any problem with me styling it on my own.

  When I got home, I put on a little more makeup and slipped into an amber sheath dress and paired it with nude pumps. I was a little overdressed for Michael's, the restaurant my parents were taking us to, but I didn't care. I felt great.

  On the way over, the conversation between Grant and I mostly centered on my new job. I told him that I didn't want to tell him everything in the truck, because he'd just be bored at dinner, hearing everything twice. But honestly, it was because when I told him I would be traveling a few times a month, he didn't share my enthusiasm like I'd hoped.

  I said, “I'm excited. I'll be going places I've never been. I'll be meeting so many awesome chefs.”

  He only answered with, “Your hair looks different,” and kept looking at me oddly. It wasn't the most comfortable drive.

  My mom, dad, and Shane met us there and were already at a table waiting when we arrived. Mom stood up to hug me when we approached the table on the re
staurant’s outdoor dining deck. They knew I loved that place. It had decadent food and I loved eating outside. The weather was perfect for dinner on the patio.

  I didn't miss the look my dad gave Grant or the slight head shake with which he returned it. My intuition said it had something to do with my ring finger, but I put it out of my mind.

  “Blake, honey, tell us all about it.” My mom’s enthusiasm was exactly what I needed. Even Shane looked like he wanted to know all about my new job.

  “Well, it's a growing business and I'll be working with the owners on big idea things. At first, I'll accompanying them to trade shows where other industry people will be, as well as potential clients, and I'll go with them when they work on projects to get the feel of what my position will be. If everything goes well, I'll start going to shows on my own. They said they'd eventually want me to take on entire projects.”

  She quietly clapped her hands together in front of her mouth, like a thank you prayer, and smiled from ear to ear.

  Shane said, “That sounds cool, so will you be cooking then, or what?”

  “I'll do some cooking. Part of the job is revamping tired menus and coming up with new ones. So, there will be some cooking, but not like I was doing every day. It's more creative, and I love that,” I said answering him, and looking at my mom to show her that was the part I was most excited about.

  “And I'll get to travel all over the place. They don't have many existing customers outside of the U.S., but there are some. I think they said mostly touristy locations like Jamaica, St. Bart’s, places like that. And they also have clients in Alaska, which I think is cool. Oh, and they have two offices, one here and one in San Francisco. So, I'll get to see Micah more. I'm so excited.”

  “Wow. That's a lot of traveling. Take me with you,” my dad joked. “Your brother is already driving me nuts.”

  “Phillip, he is not.” My dad grimaced from what I bet was a pretty firm kick under the table, compliments of my mother.