Chapter 3
Don’t worry, be Hoppy
“Uh-huh.” I nod my head despite Mom not being able to see me. “Yep.” Another nod. “Sure.”
I’m standing in my backyard in minus five temps shivering from the cold because I refuse to bring any negativity into my brew shack. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents. Although they retired to Arizona years ago and refuse to visit Wisconsin in the winter – even if it is Christmas – they’re good, caring parents.
But my mom is determined to marry me off. She thinks my being single at thirty-one is a personal failure on her part. She also thinks I should ‘get over my past’ because what Toby did was ‘to be expected’. Pardon? I should expect a man to betray me? If so, she can forget all about those grandchildren ever happening.
Who am I kidding? There is no doubt. She can totally forget about grandchildren happening. I am done with men. A picture of Grayson smiling with his two dimples on display pops into my head. Too bad men cannot be trusted.
“At least promise me you’ll think about it,” Mom insists.
“Sure,” I agree although I haven’t the first clue what I’ve agreed to as all my mind can think about is all the places on Grayson’s body I’d like to lick. No, Suzie! No! Licking friends is bad!
“Good,” Mom squeals and claps. “I think Match.com is the best option. The Tinder app seems a bit raunchy.”
Wait! What? Match.com and Tinder? “Um, Mom, I’m not signing up for a dating app.”
She huffs. “You agreed to not less than two minutes ago.”
Crap. I did, didn’t I? I blame Grayson and his lickable body. Damn him.
I backpedal. “I said I’d think about it.”
“Fine. I’ll send you some links. Love you.”
I wait for the click of her hanging up before I sigh. She’s getting relentless. I fear she may break her no trips up north during winter rule to come badger me some more. No thanks.
I take a deep breath and clear my mind of all thoughts of partners and grandchildren. No negative thoughts in the brew shack. I unlock the locks. Yes, multiple locks. Do you know how much brewing equipment costs? And then there’s all the beer I’m storing. Although, there isn’t too much beer stocked now. Pops wasn’t kidding when he said the patrons of McGraw’s enjoyed my Holiday Brew. I’m plum out.
Today I want to try a new recipe for a Session IPA. A Session IPA is more hoppy and has less body than my regular beers, but I think it’ll be a great beer for the spring. We may be deep in a cold-ass Wisconsin winter right now, but spring will come – eventually.
Before I can start brewing, I need to make sure my equipment is clean and sanitized. Hailey thinks I’m an obsessive-compulsive cleaner. I’m not. Seriously, I’m not. But I have experienced an entire batch of ruined beer due to my equipment not being sparkling clean. And ruined beer is putting it nicely. I thought I was going to have rush Hailey to the ER when she started projectile vomiting after drinking one of the contaminated beers. Not an experience I’m anxious to repeat. And I don’t think Hailey is either.
I switch on my brewing soundtrack – because all brewers should have a brewing soundtrack – and start cleaning. Thirty minutes later, my stainless-steel equipment is shining and the phone conversation with my mom is completely forgotten.
“Time to steep the grains!” Yes, I’m shouting out loud to myself. What? I really enjoy brewing beer.
I fill up my brew kettle with the exact amount of water. And it does have to be exact. Trust me on this. The first rule in brewing beer is there are tons of rules, and the second rule in brewing beer is to measure, measure, measure!
I set my timer for twenty minutes and open a book on the Kindle app on my phone. It’s not one of those sex books Phoebe thinks we don’t know she reads. Okay, I read them, too. The girl is on to something with those erotica books. They are addicting! They’re also distracting. Rule number three of brewing – no distractions!
Instead of getting all hot and bothered by my next book boyfriend, I’m reading an autobiography about some sister brewers in Amsterdam who are wildly successful now. Not that I’m trying to make my hobby into a business. Sure, it would be fun to call myself a professional brewer, but I’m realistic. It’s not going to happen.
Once the grains are steeped, it’s time to bring the kettle to a boil. I put my phone away. Boiling the wort requires my full attention.
When my phone beeps with an incoming message, I’m tempted to ignore it. But when it beeps for a second time, I can’t stop myself from looking.
How does a squid go into battle?
Well-armed.
I laugh despite myself. I thought Barney had the market on corny jokes cornered. Looks like Grayson is also a member of the corny joke brigade.
I respond with a gif of a cat eating a piece of corn.
How are you doing, munchkin?