Chapter Five #2
Mo was dumbfounded, so she turned away from the woman to hover her hand over the griddle for a third time. She didn’t know how Aspen flirted so effortlessly, but it was totally working on her. Mo racked her brain, remembering an old thing Annie used to do to test if the frying pan was ready.
“Was it water?” Mo mumbled to herself, looking around until she saw the closest sink.
With a few long strides, Mo made it to the sink and ran her hand under the water for a few seconds.
Dripping wet, she walked back to the griddle and flicked the water on top, watching as the drops sizzled and formed tiny balls of water along the surface before evaporating away. “I think that means it’s ready?”
“How do you know?”
Mo popped open the egg carton and grabbed two eggs, returning to the griddle where she cracked them on the edge before opening them next to each other on the black top. The sizzle was instant, and Mo felt pride in herself.
“Annie used to flick water on a frying pan like that. I think she said that if it formed little sizzly balls of water, that means the temperature is just right.” Mo grabbed a spatula from the magnetic holder over the oven.
“And for the eggs, if I remember correctly, she always used to tell me to be patient and wait for the edges to look perfect before I flipped ’em. ”
“So you like sunny side up?” Aspen asked, moving next to Mo to watch her cook. “Want me to put the bacon next to the eggs?”
“No, Annie doesn’t like—” Mo bit her tongue, grimacing at her slip. “Shit.”
“It’s all right.” Aspen’s voice was soft and consoling, and Mo heard her shuffling around behind her. “I fuck with just eggs and toast. Sometimes bacon can be a bit heavy.”
The smaller woman tossed the buns and toast straight onto the griddle, and the sound of the butter hitting the heat filled up the space between them.
Mo had said too much, and her anxiety was slowly ramping up as she tried to stay focused on the eggs.
But the memories of Annie were here now, and her brain was refusing to fight them even as Mo tried.
“Did Annie cover them?” Aspen asked, touching Mo’s arm. “Or flip them?”
Mo couldn’t help but jerk away, her fight-or-flight response kicking in as she felt a burning behind her eyes. Annie always flipped them. Mo remembered how she preferred to poke the eggs to make the yolk run all over the plate before using her toast to sop it up.
And God, did Annie hate bacon. The smell. The look. The taste of it on Mo’s lips.
“No worries, you can do whatever your heart desires. I am not at all picky,” Aspen said softly, but Mo continued to back away, her mind in overdrive. “Are you okay?”
“I’m not hungry,” was all Mo could choke out as she continued to back toward the door. “Honestly, I gotta go.”
And with that she turned and bolted, making her way back outside. Once her face hit the cool morning air, Mo increased her pace and was across the bridge before she even broke her stride.
* * *
Another day passed, and Mo slugged around her cabin in a deep depression.
She hadn’t eaten a real meal since the burger, instead subsisting on a few old backpacking trail bars Annie had stashed away in her pack.
The water from the sink tasted better than Palo Alto city water, so any time she felt thirsty she just dunked her head under the faucet and turned on the spigot.
Groceries were becoming a true necessity, but Mo feared running into Aspen and having to explain her quick getaway during breakfast.
So Mo waited until evening time, when she figured Aspen would be working, before venturing out in her Subaru to look for a grocery store that wasn’t plumb next to Dry Creek.
This plan was fruitless, unfortunately, as neither Mo’s GPS nor her own eyes could find anything other than the Orick Family Market.
Once that realization hit, Mo drove right up in front of the market and parked the car, hoping if she was quick that she could get in and out without being seen by anyone.
With three large strides, Mo made it inside the small market, noticing how it was more like a New York City bodega than a rural market in a food desert.
There was a small beat-up counter kitty-corner to the door and just lines and lines of vertical shelving units stocked full of food.
It definitely wasn’t the cleanest market Mo had ever seen, but it had food that wasn’t attached to Aspen.
Mo noticed Mr. Pearson, who she had seen being rather grumpy in the bar the first night, and another shorter, older man with a thick black mustache standing near the counter in conversation.
She nodded courteously in their direction before grabbing a hand basket and making her way down an aisle.
The food wasn’t cheap but it wasn’t expensive either, even though Mo knew it probably cost an arm and a leg to get it all shipped over the mountains to Orick.
Choosing stuff was rather difficult, so Mo kept grabbing simple things like bread, instant mashed potatoes, milk, butter, cheese, and frozen meals.
There wasn’t much in the way of good fresh vegetables or fruit, so Mo figured eating frozen was probably her best bet.
After grabbing a week or two’s worth of food, she made her way closer to the front counter, finally picking up on the conversation the two men were having.
“A little birdie told me that you are gonna retire at the end of the season. Is that right?” Mr. Pearson’s voice was very gruff, causing Mo to stop and act like she was looking at the meager clothing options the owner had on shelves near the front.
“I just can’t believe you would give this up.
The bar is booming. Orick is booming. My son usually works the store’s later shift, and he swears all the good business comes from people grabbing post-drinking snacks and alcohol. ”
“I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, but Orick hasn’t boomed in decades. If ever. Plus, Ginny and I ain’t ever been about the money, Owen,” the shorter man replied, his voice edged with amusement. “We are just getting too old to be slinging beer and wings to backpackers, you know?”
“I do not. I think you two are in your prime.”
“Horseshit.”
“Oh come on, Salvador, you’re being unreasonable,” Mr. Pearson implored. “We all gotta be in this together.”
“Naw. You got to know when to hold ’em and know when to fold ’em. We’re ready to live the slow life. Besides, Aspen is extremely capable of taking over the bar. She’ll do a fine job at keeping business local,” Salvador said confidently, slapping the counter for emphasis.
Mo’s attention perked up at Aspen’s name and she moved closer, still acting like she was interested in a dusty sweatshirt that had the market’s plain logo haphazardly printed on the front.
“Aspen?” Mr. Pearson asked incredulously. “Air-headed, messy Aspen Anderson?”
“Oh, come on.”
“No, you come on. She ain’t nearly clever enough to remember my beer order let alone run an entire bar. She’ll probably plaster the walls pink and make her uniform shirt a few sizes smaller,” Mr. Pearson barked. “No one wants to see that.”
“That’s extremely judgmental don’t you think?” Mo cut in loudly, the words out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
“I’m sorry?” Mr. Pearson said, his attention now on Mo.
Confidently, she strolled up and placed her basket on the counter, looking Mr. Pearson in the eyes. “I may have only met her the other night, but you are being entirely unfair.”
Salvador snickered but didn’t add anything, instead looking toward Mr. Pearson for his answer.
“She isn’t the worst person in town, but she…” Mr. Pearson fumbled, his gaze flicking between Mo and Salvador. “She is always in everybody’s business. It’s uncouth.”
“So is talking negatively about a woman’s body.”
“This lady has you there, Owen,” Salvador pointed out, grinning broadly at Mo. “You know how much I adore Aspen.”
“It still doesn’t change the fact she ain’t up to snuff,” Mr. Pearson grumbled as he scanned each of Mo’s items into the register, obviously digging his heels in deeper. “She doesn’t understand community.”
“I watched her be quite community focused when she let you leave without paying.” Mo glared at him, her wallet now in her hand, pulling out some cash to pay for her groceries.
“That wasn’t—”
“That was exactly the way to play it. Aspen showed you the kind of trust any regular should receive from a small-town business like that. Plus, she let her boss know so your tab would be placed to the side without prejudice. Seems Aspen is very capable to me.”
“Oh, I like you.” Salvador chuckled, slapping the counter again. “You from around here?”
“No, sir.”
Mr. Pearson’s lips twitched slightly as he packed her groceries into one large brown paper bag. “Seventy-two fifty.”
“Thought so,” Mo finished, handing him four twenties. “Keep the change.”
And with that, Mo grabbed her bag, nodded to Salvador, and made her way out to the rear of her Subaru.
After she deposited her groceries inside the trunk, her eyes strayed toward the front door of the bar.
The urge to go in was strong. She could almost see Aspen’s face when she told her about the market owner’s comments and how she put him in his place.
But Mo closed her trunk, deciding to go home alone instead.