“It’s alright.”
“I’ve raved to my business partners about your APAs. Your Scotch Ale was amazing—”
As I cut in, I’m grimacing at how overly excited I am. “I just had a lot of success with a lager.”
“Tell me about the flavor profile.”
“It’s characterized with honey and orange notes.” I continue to identify how alluring the draft was based on Leith’s response, his slamming me on the counter. I bring my statement home with precursory words such as “bold, yet smooth and delectable.”
“Listen, sit tight for me a little while longer. I’ll juggle around a few things and connect with you by the end of next week. Then we can discuss how Mia’s Label can be incorporated with my chef’s menu and review some legal humdrum. How does that sound?”
“Great.” I happy dance inside. Working with her head chef would be amazing. I’ve read many write-ups about their award-winning dishes.
Minutes later, I hang up. Rolling my shoulders around, I murmur, “Take that, Leith. You stack cash; I can too. Okay, Chevelle, stop talking to yourself. Keep your mouth closed. You’re not telling Leith everything. This business connect is a surprise.”
Emotions catapulting like a rollercoaster, I alternate from craving my best friend to wishing Leith viewed me as an equal partner in our marriage. The best friend feeling wins out. Saying goodbye to Leith every Sunday evening never gets easier. And in a sense, that makes me the luckiest woman in the world that I’ve found someone I miss the second he’s away. Our bond is stronger than the distance between us. Because of our connection, Leith is the first person I want to call to celebrate my success. But I’ve promised myself to keep it a secret, so I need an outlet.
I dial up my old coworker, Justice. Once she answers, I ask, “You working at Michie’s tonight?”
“Nah, it’s poetry night. Got a little anger I need to get out.”
“Damn, I’m not feeling poetry.”Share feelings, put it all on the table.Yeah. That sounds so like me.“Also, the hub’s home for the weekend. Before you get all in your feelings, how about something funny this afternoon?”
“What, the movies?” Justice asks.
“Yup. Let’s meet at the theater with those spicy Jamaican hot wings.”
She moans. “Girl, now, you’re speaking my language. I found a coupon for the new theatre in LA if we go before four p.m.”
“Yay!” I place the iPhone on speaker and surf the Fandango app, finding a new film with my favorite comedian. I chuckle. I love a good drink before the movie to bring on the laughs. We make plans to meet a little later and hang up.
Justice and I became closer toward the end of my career when we spent long nights working at Michie’s. Between the rush crowd or when the night slowed down, those were our best chats. But in the beginning, Justice had a sour face if ever I’d seen one.
I had seniority at Michie’s, and usually, I gave the newbies a wink and a smile. Then they’d shake a martini like they were expecting a hundred-dollar tip, which just made stashing extra cash easier.
Not Justice, though. It was a job for her. Though I had to hand it to her, she was a damn good mixologist. When there are two of you, and the business is packed a hundred strong, being the only one to move consistently was enough to pull out my hair. Though she was good, Justice didn’t get a single tip for her capabilities. She never smiled. I carried her share of the tips we split.
One day, I snapped at her about how no job was everjusta job to me. I might have lacked a zeal before Leith, but I did my best when I put my name behind something.
Justice had gone off on me, saying she had no reason to smile. She told me about how the love of her life had committed suicide. Their life had been good. She’d done nothing but beenhappy, smiling.Justice sneered. Everything had been perfect in their relationship. Then it wasn’t. So, what did it matter if she smiled or not?
When I accidentally popped off about knowing a little something about that, Justice snapped. I guessed she wanted to compare sob stories since I was fine, never crying about mine.
“Yeah, sure. What do ya know about grief, Miss Smiles?”
“Well, my pops blew my mom away with a shotgun, then he turned the gun on himself too.” I hadn’t meant to say those words, but it all rushed out on an exhale.
After that, Justice and I had a different kind of respect for each other, and she smiled at the patrons.
* * *
An hour later,I’m navigating the winding curves when Justice calls me.
“Chevelle, tell me you’re getting off the freeway.”
Although I have yet to navigate the freeway, I parrot, “I’m getting off the freeway.”
“Um-hmm. My funds are too tight to pay an extra online convenience fee. I’m at the theater kiosk. Looks like there are a few left.”