Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“Honey-Mustard apple butter,” she replies.
“Remember that sandwich place we went to in Richmond last weekend? They had that grilled cheese with mustard and apricot jam? It made me wonder if a Honey-Mustard apple butter would be good on grilled cheese. We don’t have grilled cheese, but…
” She gestures to the bag of pretzels in my hand.
“Let’s do it.” Arun reaches into the bag and pulls out a pretzel. He offers it around, and we each take a piece like this is part of some sacred ceremony. We dip our pieces into the pot and hope for the best.
When the flavor hits me, I stop chewing. I share a perplexed look with Jen, whose eyes have widened.
I resume chewing, trying to pin down the flavor. It’s sweet, like jam, but there’s a savory edge that complements the sweetness, prevents it from being cloying. And the sweetness in turn tames that savory flavor, adds a complexity that makes me want to go back for more.
“How is this so good?” Arun says, reaching for another.
“The universe took pity on me,” Tessa jokes.
Arun shakes his head. “This is not the universe. It’s you being awesome.”
Her smile is shy and reluctant. “Fine,” she relents. She dips another pretzel piece into the apple butter and chews it thoughtfully. “I need to try it on grilled cheese. I think the flavors will really come through then.”
“I do want a grilled cheese sandwich, now that you’ve mentioned it,” Jen says.
Randy, reaching into the pretzel bag, stops his movements. “I could go pick up some bread and cheese right now.” There’s a question in his voice. In seconds, we all silently agree on the answer.
And so the workday devolves into an exploration of the grilled cheese sandwich.
We stand in the kitchen while butter sizzles on the stove, talking about what we love about grilled cheese, the memories we associate with it: cold rainy days, tomato soup, comfort and indulgence.
We decide there’s no better day for a warm, melty grilled cheese than today, the first day that actually feels like fall, with that crispness in the air outside that demands sweaters and scarves.
This doesn’t feel like work. These people don’t feel like my coworkers. We’ve slipped into something else, something that feels solid and real. It’s connecting me to a feeling I haven’t known since childhood. It’s something that crawls inside my heart and radiates a warm glow. I feel like I belong.
How strange and sad that I’ve gone my entire adulthood without it. How wonderful that I get to experience it now, here, surrounded by these people and grilled cheese sandwiches sizzling on the stove beside a pot of something sweet and delicious.
The Honey-Mustard apple butter makes the grilled cheese sing. It elevates it into something tantalizingly complex and mouthwatering. The creamy tang of the sharp cheddar is the perfect contrast to the bright, refreshing sweetness of the apple butter.
“You could bottle this,” Randy says, gesturing to the apple butter with the half-finished sandwich in his hand. “You’d make millions.”
“Or sell the recipe to one of those fancy judges you’re bringing in for the festival,” says Jen, who’s leaning against the counter across from him.
Tessa wears her usual reluctance whenever she’s met with sincerity, but a glimmer of excitement peeks from her eyes.
“Actually, um, one of them did say there was some kind of opportunity she wanted to talk to me about. I was telling June Davis from Bread and Butter about how I love baking but haven’t ever tried doing it professionally, and she said she was gonna send me something she thought I should apply for. ”
“You gonna go for it?” Arun asks. From his spot at the stove where he’s making a second grilled cheese sandwich for himself, he turns to gauge Tessa’s response.
“I don’t even know what it is yet.”
“Yeah, but if it’s, like, a job at her bakery or something?”
The Tessa from a few months ago would have rolled her eyes and reminded us for the thousandth time about her salad-dressing botulism incident that landed her in the Flop House.
But this Tessa scrunches up her face with the agony of believing in herself and says, “I might.” Against our cheers, she’s quick to add, “Not that she’s actually offering me a job. We’re daydreaming here.”
Arun flips his sandwich. The butter hisses when he presses it into the pan. “While we’re daydreaming? Can I say something delusional?” When we nod, he says, “I was thinking, if the festival goes well, I might…start my own event management company. Is that stupid?”
“Of course not,” Randy says with a surprised laugh. “You’d be great at it.”
“Thanks.” Arun inspects his spatula. “This festival’s been a reminder that maybe I don’t suck ass at events.”
“Beautifully put,” Jen jokes. She tilts her head, considering. “There has been a sort of hair of the dog to all this. After the Bachelorette incident with Ryser, I thought I’d never want to run social media for anyone ever again. But…it’s been fun, running the festival account.”
“You’re good at it,” Tessa says, and I join her in agreeing. Jen’s tongue-in-cheek replies to Nancy’s “Queasy Lauryn” posts have been garnering more and more likes.
Jen shrugs, looking pleased. “Maybe, after the festival, I’ll ask corporate about dusting off their old Ryser Cares account.”
Randy takes a sip from his mug of tea. “We should take on another project when the festival’s over. I think…maybe I’m good for something besides having a van and throwing Christmas parties.”
A timid satisfaction takes over Randy. In his face, I see the quiet confidence he’s taken on over the last few months, how he’s gone from making himself invisible to navigating vendor calls and negotiating contracts with an expertise I didn’t know he had.
This festival has given us all a sense of purpose beyond what I ever expected.
It’s helped us tap back into the versions of ourselves we thought we lost. Even me, I think.
I never felt like I was a screwup like my colleagues have, but I did feel more alone than I realized.
Until Marina walked into this office and gave me a reason to step out of my bubble and find connection with the people around me.
I remain lost in thought after our impromptu pre-lunch lunch comes to an end.
Tessa heads off to write up the recipe and work with Jen to design it into a recipe card for the festival.
Randy starts on the dishes. I wander to my desk, where I watch Arun cross Honey Mustard apple recipe? ?? off the whiteboard.
I sit there, sweeping the last few grilled cheese crumbs into my mouth, staring at the whiteboard that has only a few outstanding items remaining, the calendar in the corner showing the festival is just eight days away, and this beautiful group of people working away to make it happen. And I know what I have to do.
When I get home that afternoon, I log into my bank account and initiate a transfer from my savings—not just the deposit for the chair and table rentals, but everything I need to cover the festival costs.
Seeing the money I worked so hard for leave my account in a few taps of a button pains me—as does opening my FIRE spreadsheet, adding the deduction, and seeing that shiny early retirement goal move even further away.
But it feels worth it for this, to hold on to our little community for a while longer.
To help my coworkers see this project through so they can use this success to propel them into whatever next chapter they envision for themselves—whether that’s starting something new like Arun and Tessa, or staying here at Ryser Cares and finding more ways to uplift Greenstead like Jen and Randy.
To keep Greenstead’s community center going and ensure Greensteaders will always have a place to gather and connect.
To give me an excuse to hold on to that blissful feeling of belonging for as long as I possibly can.
Even if it has an expiration date.