Chapter 6 #3
The stress of that bubbles something acidic in my stomach and I try not to let myself focus on the unknown.
All the studying I’ve been doing for months has prepared me as best I think anything could, the funds from the grant are a cushion for these first two years of business, and the rest…
I just need to take a deep breath and pray the powers that be aren’t waiting to see me fall on my ass.
“You know I think you’re amazing, right?” Gracie’s sweet voice interrupts the runaway mental breakdown train that just left the station.
I lean my head over to rest against the side of hers. “That’s because I’m just your mirror, babe. You’re the most amazing bitch I know.”
Do you know what it takes to make and keep a close friend for twenty-plus years? This girl is as real as they come.
A soft smile lights up her face as we start walking back to the table. “It’s kind of incredible how you’re fulfilling the dream your dad left behind.”
That bubbling in my stomach is pulled tight by the knots that form at the comparison. The way she just voiced it, easily, like the words aren’t lighting a fuse that will cause my sister to absolutely detonate if she catches wind.
“Ew!” Rory hollers, like clockwork. Sure, she’s been talking to Grady Jr. and his girl for a half an hour, but that she hears. “Don’t compare my sister to him.”
My stomach nearly tears itself in two from the tension in my gut as Rory’s face screws up in disgust. “In fact, can we just never mention him again.”
Here we go.
“Who, your father?” Gracie asks, like she doesn’t know the answer. And bless her, because as sweet as she is, she’s nowhere near as sharp as Rory. If she wasn’t a few drinks in, she probably would’ve thought not to bring him up, but she was just thinking aloud, not trying to offend anyone.
Rory’s mouth pulls tight in a grimace I’m surprised her Botox lets her make. “Gross, stop saying that.”
Gracie giggles, like my sister is joking. If she keeps going, she’s going to learn I haven’t been exaggerating to her all those times I’ve vented to her about how unbearable Rory can be when she gets worked up.
I place a hand on Gracie’s arm to try to stop her, but it’s too late.
“Aw, honey, I’m just saying I think it’s sweet. The way Lexi is carrying on the family legacy. Doing the Weiss name proud.”
There’s no going back now. Not a single bomb squad agent on the entire federal roster would be able to defuse Rory at this point.
Hand shaking, I pull my phone out of my pocket for an excuse to look at something that isn’t her as she goes off about our dad in the periphery of my awareness.
The urge to jump right back down her throat isn’t as overpowering as it would normally be. Is this self-restraint? Some sort of personal growth journey I’m on? Or is it sisterly guilt?
Swiping away the missed calls and texts from this morning I don’t want my sister to see, my hand trembles even more, and I blame it on being starving.
Where’s the food anyway?
Rory goes off while poor Gracie watches on, not sure how to put the pin back in that particular grenade.
That’s the thing about my sister. She’s going to do what she wants to do, and no one will be able to talk her out of it when her mind is made up.
She’s convinced our dad is the devil, has been since the day our family split up. It’s not like she’s talked to him in the last fifteen years to even hear out his side of the story. She doesn’t even know the guy anymore, won’t even give him the chance.
A bit fucking hypocritical to hate him so much for running out on us, when she did the same thing. But starting in on that little issue between us would lead to a knockdown fight that neither of us are ready for, and we have plenty of other things to focus on.
Her commission.
My restaurant.
Literally anything else right now.
“The kids are right there,” I say, pointing at Gracie and Ronnie’s rugrats. Rory’s own daughter bounces in a baby swing, playing with her grandpa next to the picnic style tables. “Can you just?”
“Fine.” Rory presses her lips together, but the damage has been done. She’ll be worked up about this for a while yet.
Lucky for us, Wyatt and Ronnie finally start to make their way back to the group, both covered in tufts of grass and dirt.
I think Ronnie even has some around the corners of his mouth, where it looks like it’s mostly on Wyatt’s elbows and knees.
Like maybe he was holding someone down on the ground while someone else ate some of it.
I check my email, trying to get my mind off of her tirade, and my mood isn’t improved by the email that just came in, staring me in the face.
While I’ve taken the day off, Wilder apparently hasn’t.
Though, I guess if we have to share the upstairs office for the administrative parts of our jobs, I’d rather he use it when I weren’t around to be bothered by his presence.
He’s sent an email nudging the revised menu I’ve refused to meet with him about.
Enhanced menu selections he called it.
Snobby, I’d call it.
The email all but throws our original menu under the bus, picking it apart and finding things to hate about it. Turning it into something that feels a little too unfamiliar for me.
He keeps saying we need to make a decision this weekend so we can lock down suppliers, get our inventory and order sheets prepped, and print the final menus.
I’ve asked Google how to tell him to fuck off in a professional tone six times already, maybe it’s time I say it straight to his face. If he’s not taking corporate speak for an answer, I’ll nip his new menu in the booty real quick.
Thumbs flying furiously, I try to make it clear to him.
To: Wilder Amante
From: Heights Bites Management
Re: Suggested Menu
Dear Wilder,
After reviewing the changes you recommended, management’s decision is that Heights Bites is not some snooty New York City eatery. We are a small-town diner, with traditional staples that are appreciated by the townspeople as they are.
Management doesn’t want to disappoint them after they’ve waited so long for the restaurant to be open once again.
We will stick with the original menu.
Feel free to finalize the inventory and order sheets off of what Samuel has already given you.
Have a day,
Heights Bites Management
Rory must be intrigued by whatever my face is doing, because she butts in. Leaning over, long, sleek brown hair swaying with her, she sticks her face over my shoulder to see my phone screen.
“Working on your day off, Lex?” The flames seem to be gone from her voice, so that’s something. Maybe it’s safe to come back to the conversation.
I huff out a breath of annoyance through my nose and slam my phone facedown on the end of the bench where I won’t see it. I’m not letting this jerk ruin the rest of the summer kick-off party.
“Wilder is up my ass about finalizing the menu,” I grumble, taking a seat on the planked, wooden benches at the picnic table.
Amelia’s eyes find mine, wide in interest, and Weston watches on. But Rory is the one who surprises me, with how she drops to her knees on the bench across from me, fingers interlaced, hands beneath her chin.
“Please, Lexi, please, please, please, if you love me at all, please put some good salads on the menu.”
“We have salads,” I scoff.
“Good salads, I said.”
My eyes roll of their own accord before narrowing on her.
“It’s a salad, Aurora.” I use the name she insisted we call her when she first came back from New York just because it feels annoying and what are big sisters for?
“They’re all some leaves on a plate. We don’t even have any herbivores in the Heights, except for Mrs. Dixon and that’s only because she doesn’t have her teeth anymore. It’s not by choice.”
“I eat salads, you wench. And I bet if you offered something beyond leftover lettuce with watery tomatoes on it, other people would too.”
Genuinely baffled, I look between everyone at the table. Weston shrugs, Amelia tilts her head like it’s not a bad idea, and Gracie nods seriously, eager to be on Rory’s good side after unintentionally setting her off.
“Talk it over with Wilder,” she begs. “Tell him it’s a special request from me. I’m sure he’ll have ideas!”
Ideas, the man isn’t short on.
Shutting the fuck up, he is.
Grumbling, I roll my eyes and help myself to some food as the overgrown man-children also known as my sister’s and best friend’s husbands finally rejoin the table.
“Come on, Lex. How much have I helped you on this whole thing?”
“What whole thing?” Wyatt asks, less grumpy already just from being next to his wife again.
“The restaurant. I’m begging my sister to repay me by putting some decent salads on the menu. I’ll probably be eating there for lunch every day, and I need options for when it isn’t a cheat day. It can’t all be fried food and sandwiches.”
“You don’t have to only eat salads,” Wyatt tells her.
I jump on a little too quickly, before I get his meaning. “Yeah, we have plenty of options.”
Ignoring me, Wyatt nuzzles into her, but I can still—unfortunately—make out what he says. “I don’t mind when you get a little extra for me to hold onto.”
And that’s my cue.
Who needs a gag reflex when you have a front-seat ticket to PDA like theirs?
I’ll say it again, I’m surrounded by chronic over-sharers and PDA enthusiasts. It’s disgusting.
But after an afternoon at the table together, laughing, poking fun at one another, and enjoying the ringing in of summer, I start to see why life’s been better since my sister’s been back. And Weston and Amelia, for that matter.
We might have some issues simmering beneath the surface, but I can’t say things aren’t more fun when we’re all together.
I’m finally feeling good enough, I forget about my plan to ignore my phone all evening, and my happy mood turns to confusion quickly when I pick it up and feel it vibrating nonstop.
When I see the screen, my good mood vanishes entirely, cheeks flushing hot in the worst way when I see dozens upon dozens of notifications coming in from the café’s Facebook account.
What—and I mean this in the fullest sense of the word—in the fuck did Wilder do?