Chapter 24 Gwen - Can’t be hateful, gotta be grateful
My body is humming with so much energy I don’t even know what to do with it.
The dinner table is set, and decorated perfectly, I might add.
The appetizers I was in charge of are lined along the counter to start us all off.
The charcuterie board I made that’s big enough to probably feed two or three parties worth of people has cheese shaped like pumpkins and salami roses, everyone’s favorite.
I scattered fake fall leaves along the three tables I pushed together to fit everyone in proper fashion.
There’s a burnt orange linen napkin folded into a boat (because it’s the only shape I had time to watch a tutorial on the other night) placed on top of each plate.
And the deep crimson tablecloth has tiny turkeys along the border, because I knew Penelope would lose her shit for something cute and silly like that.
Speaking of Penelope, her place setting is extra special.
While everyone else also has little name cards I made for them, hers includes a bundle of double sided crayons and holiday themed coloring pages and mazes.
I have her sitting right in between me and Miller.
No “kids table” bullshit. We’re all one big family today, the way it should be.
This is the calm before the storm, when I stand by myself in silence in the middle of what I’ve created and quadruple check that it’s ready to rock and roll.
I love hosting. I love that every little detail comes together at the last second after being scattered to the wind to the point where you think there’s no possible way it’ll all work.
It’s special to see it actually happen after spending countless hours worried it’ll be too over the top or worse, already done and boring, that the effort and energy will all be for nothing.
But then you take a moment to feel the magic settling.
You know at any second, the doors will open, and you’ll be greeting familiar faces, giving them the chance to experience something worthwhile.
This is the feeling that keeps me coming back to unlock the doors and open Red’s, even on the days when I feel like I made too many mistakes somewhere along the way, an error or two that led me to owning and operating a business that I don’t feel my soul beating through as much anymore.
I bite my bottom lip, nervous at the thought of letting that kind of dark secret out. I don’t even want to begin to think what people would say if they knew I cared less and less about being everyone’s favorite cafe owner each passing day.
Yeah, let’s forget about that right now. Lipstick. I forgot lipstick. I find my purse in my back office and stand in front of the full length mirror I have attached to the back of the door.
Our lord and savior Miss Swift, only uses Pat Mcgrath, therefore, big same.
I line my lips and fill in the rest with Elson 4 and rub them together until it looks just right.
I also channeled my inner Waldorf for outfit inspiration today, and I feel Queen B level confident.
It is Thanksgiving, after all. It’s the most sacred holiday in the world of Upper East Siders, which I am not, but damn it, I can pretend.
After breakfast at the riverside, I split off from everyone to prepare myself and the cafe.
I do my due diligence as a daughter and video called my parents to wish them a Happy Thanksgiving at sea.
I blow out my hair and pin half of it back, securing it with a bow.
My favorite cream sweater that falls perfectly off one shoulder slouches and sits right on top of the corduroy tan mini skirt I paired it with.
Suede booties that match the skirt hit my ankles.
Tying everything together are my dangly autumn leaf earrings, a gift from Daisy on my eighteenth birthday.
I hear a key enter the—repaired thanks to Miller and John— lock from the other side of the back door and a tiny voice talking a mile a minute along with it. I smile to myself as I pick up the end of the conversation.
“...But why do they have two different names? They’re the same thing! Circles and sweets! It makes no sense, Daddy!”
“Penelope, honey, my little love,” Miller says with a voice that tells me this isn’t the first time this topic has come up. I lean against the doorway to my office and watch them both walk in. “Some things don’t make sense. There are pies, and there are cakes. Today we’re having pie.”
“Dumb,” Penelope mumbles. Her entire demeanor changes when she spots me. “Gwen!” she shrieks, diving into my arms.
“Hey cutie girl, what’s the drama with pie?” I ask with a laugh and a look at Miller silently telling him to not correct her with that silly, formal Miss at the beginning. I like being her Gwen. His Gwen. Their Gwen. Just Gwen.
She pulls away from me with a very serious look on her face that forces me to match mine to hers. “I think pie and cake are the same thing. Daddy says I’m wrong.”
“Well…” I pause, thinking of how to word this without making things worse. It’s important to fuel children’s curiosities and questions, and the second you put up a roadblock, intentional or not, shit goes south. “You’re not wrong. You just…need new information!” I tell Penelope excitedly.
Miller’s face is one of pained confusion. Penelope has her head tilted to almost a right angle.
“Listen, I order goodies and sweets for the cafe all the time, right?” I wait for P’s acknowledgement to continue. “Okay, cool. So, the place I order everything from has everything set up into little sections. Bagels, muffins, croissants, pies, cakes…make sense?”
P nods again, and I keep going, hoping I’m helping and not hurting. “Funny enough, I had a similar question to yours. I thought what makes a pie a pie and what makes a cake a cake? And guess what I found out?”
Penelope looks to the floor and shuffles her little pink flats. “I dunno.”
“All a pie needs to be a ‘pie’ instead of a ‘cake’ is a pastry crust with a filling. Could be sweet like the apple pie over in your daddy’s hands there, or it could be savory, like a chicken pot pie.”
“But what about cake?” she asks exasperatedly.
“Cake is like pie’s party sister. It’s sweet, always. It can be any flavor, so long as it’s sugary goodness.”
Penelope mulls over my explanation, and Miller watches on nervously.
“That…that makes so much sense! Thanks, Gwen!” P’s arms wrap around my neck again with a strong hug, but before I know it, she releases me and dashes off into the cafe.
“How did you just do that?” Miller asks, placing the box of pie on the counter, shaking his head, and walking the few steps towards me. “How did you break that down so easily for her?” He doesn’t wait for my answer, instead pulling me into him to kiss me.
When we part, I pick our conversation right back up. “Learning every little thing about life is hard. Us adults forget how heavy it felt because we’re so far past those early days. Sometimes we just gotta back it up and slow it down for them.”
I won’t lie, knowing I just absolutely fucking crushed that is puffing up my ego.
Miller takes a step back, holding my hand up so I twirl around his finger. He’s looking at me like I’m a pie or a cake. “You look gorgeous, by the way. Stunning, beautiful, all of the adjectives.” He pulls me back into him, and I rest my hands on his chest.
The flustered, sincere compliments inflate me even more.
“You’re not looking too bad yourself, Mr. Caswell.” I smooth out the collar of his maroon button up. It has small cream colored foxes all over it, paired with slim fit khakis and low top shoes. His mess of curls is classic Miller.
“Oof, you wanna say that again?” he whispers in my ear.
“Fishing for compliments?” I whisper back.
“No, I just really like hearing you say my name.”
I peck his freshly blushed cheek before taking his hand to walk out front together. “Am I allowed to say I missed you, Miller Caswell? Is that stage five clinger weird?”
“Nope.” Miller’s fingers intertwine with mine. “I mean, maybe it is. But I’m clinging right back. Missed you too. When’s everyone else showing up? Are we the first ones here?”
“You live upstairs. Are you really surprised? They’ll be here soon. I just finished all of the set up. Now all that’s left to do is feast.”
Just as I finish my sentence, I see Margot and Sawyer walking past the front windows, hand in hand. Guests are arriving, and it’s showtime.
“I can’t possibly eat another bite!” I drop my fork and dramatically push my plate away.
“Tell me you didn’t forget to leave room for dessert. I brought pie!” Miller says on my right in mock shock.
I make quick work of scooping my fork back up. “Change of plans. It’s pie o’clock.”
This couldn’t be going any better. The food has been fantastic, drinks are flowing, and the company is some of the best I’ve ever had.
I’ll admit, even though I wasn’t surprised my parents bailed on the holidays again, I was still hurting.
It’s normal to crave a sense of family around a time like this, and Mom and Dad aren’t the best at filling that void.
It’s not their fault.
Okay, it is a little bit, but I’m trying not to think about it.
Instead, I look around the table at these beautiful people like I have all night.
Beth had us go around and each say what we were thankful for before diving into our overflowing plates.
It was so touching to hear how each of us helped one another in some way over the course of this last year that led to gratefulness being expressed right here, right now.
Maybe it’s the red wine making me extra emotional. I’m more than certain it's not though.
I’m the most content cat. All I need to make things perfect is Miller’s lap to curl up on with a cozy blanket wrapped around us and a movie to laugh along to. It’s a very specific daydream I could get lost in right now as the conversations of the people I love most chatter around me.