Chapter 28 #2
Now, I was surprised at how my friend had just likened what I had with Xander to what he had with the love of his life. Particularly because, just a couple of weeks ago, he’d been suspicious as hell. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just said, “Go, Phillies.”
Drew nodded as if that were the appropriate response. “Go, Phils.”
The front door opened again. I expected it to be Rita, but it was Joey D with the mail.
Both dogs went apeshit, and Garth struggled to restrain them.
“Excuse me,” said Drew. “I think Garth may need some help.”
As my BFF abandoned me, Joey surveyed the room. “Greetings, my dudes and dudettes,” he said. Then, he spotted me and sauntered over. “Never fear,” he said. “Joey D is here.”
Since it was a few degrees above freezing today, Joey wasn’t wearing a jacket.
He wasn’t even wearing long sleeves. Along with his uniform shorts, he wore a short-sleeved uniform shirt.
A gold chain glinted beneath the open collar, and the sleeves strained around his over-pumped biceps.
I hoped his excessively elevated body temperature was the byproduct of his regular trips to the gym—and not the result of any questionable supplements he might be taking to enhance his workouts.
“Hannah!” he exclaimed once he’d made his way over to me. “I got some letters for you today, and they are G-O-R-G-O-U-S.”
“Hey, Joey,” I said. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d spelled gorgeous wrong.
“So,” he said, looking around. “You got a party going on?”
“No,” I said. “We’re just getting ready to start our block association meeting.”
“Oh!” he said. His eyes brightened, and he grinned. “So, I can stay this time?”
I looked at his mail satchel, which was full. “Don’t you have to work?”
He followed my gaze and stared at the pouch, brimming with mail. He seemed torn. “Well…”
“Joey,” I said. “You know what they say.”
His eyes came back to me. “What do they say?”
“Neither snow nor rain,” I said. “Nor neighborhood gatherings…”
He pressed his lips together, thinking.
“Is that how the rest of that saying goes?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Could be.”
He thought some more. Then he shook his head, and not a hair moved. “I’m sorry, Hannah,” he said with a sigh. “Joey D is on the clock.”
I smiled. “I understand,” I said. “Maybe next time.”
He nodded and turned to go.
“Uh, Joey?” I called after him.
He turned.
“My mail?”
* * *
When the door opened again, it was Rita.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said. “Did I miss anything?” She sniffed. “Besides the mail?”
I peered up slowly from the official-looking letter I’d been reading while we waited for her.
“Yeah,” I said. I held up the letter. “Um…new business, everybody.”
* * *
As it turned out, Joey D had just delivered big news.
Bad news. In the form of a notice about a public hearing in a few weeks to discuss plans to build a new stadium here at the Jersey Shore.
The proposed location for the stadium was a little over two acres of prime land.
Land that included our little block of Atlantic Avenue.
“Let me see that,” said Garth, plucking the document out of my grasp. “GMK Partners, LLC,” he read, skimming the dense paragraphs of legalese. “Babe,” he said to Drew, “is that where that real estate developer was from? The one who came into the bakery the other day?”
“Yeah,” said Drew. “He was touring the neighborhood with a couple of City Council members,” he explained to the group. “What do you think it means for us?” he asked his husband.
“It means we’re all fucked,” said Rita.
“Not necessarily,” said Garth. He was suddenly looking and sounding less like a Jersey Shore bakery owner and more like a New York City attorney. “They can’t just take our property. We’d have to sell.”
“Can they force us to sell?” asked Miles.
“That’s what the hearing is about,” said Garth, still scanning the legal gobbledygook. “GMK Partners is going to argue that their stadium project would be of such great benefit to the local economy that they should be allowed to force us all out. Through a form of eminent domain.”
“Should I say it again?” asked Rita, dropping angrily into one of the lobby’s overstuffed chairs and folding her arms.
“Bastards,” said Paulette.
I looked around the room at my friends, one more miserable than the next.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. And when that didn’t get any response, “No,” I repeated, louder. “Fuck, no.”
That got their attention. Drew put an arm around my shoulders and hugged me to his side. “Denial is always the first stage of grief,” he said.
“Maybe,” I said, wriggling out of my BFF’s embrace. “But maybe not.” I stepped into the center of the room and peered around at the dejected company of local merchants. “News flash: You all aren’t dead yet.”
“But we’re just small business owners,” said Angie. “How can we compete with what a big new stadium would offer?”
“With your family’s sauce recipe,” I said immediately. Because, duh. “For my money, you can’t get a better meatball sub anywhere at the Jersey Shore. Maybe not anywhere, period. That should count for something.”
Miles gave a small smile and patted his wife’s shoulder while the others nodded their agreement.
“And what about those Cronuts from Kneadful Things?” I said, getting on a roll.
“Brilliant, if you ask me,” said Wills. The rest of the group was quick to echo his sentiment.
“And those wine tastings you do at Sips,” I said, talking to Wills. “Every month—for free—you share your wine and your amazing wealth of knowledge. And you never make people feel stupid, even if they want to drink moscato.”
The Atlantic Avenue Block Association expressed their wholehearted agreement.
“Hey,” said Paulette. “What’s wrong with moscato?”
“Not a thing, love,” assured Wills.
“And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with a strawberry banana power shake,” I added. “After a Boost special, I feel like I can conquer anything.”
“So, you really don’t think we’re all fucked?” asked Rita.
I turned to my friend, still slumped in the chair. “No,” I said. “Because there’s value in what you all bring to this community. Seriously, where else can you get the kind of personalized attention that you get over at Shelf Love?”
“Or at the Sunny Side Bed-and-Breakfast.”
We all looked toward the stairs, where the voice had come from. Jack Lee stood at the bottom of the staircase, his wheeled duffel bag in tow. I didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, listening. But I felt a wave of relief that he was—at long last—checking out.
“I always knew the Sunny Side was a great place to stay as a guest,” Jack said, walking into the room.
“And now, I see it’s also a great place to gather as a community.
It makes me want to buy it even more.” As everyone gawped at him, he realized what he’d just said.
“Not that it’s for sale,” he added quickly.
“I understand that. I do. But if it were mine, I would certainly fight for it.”
“So, we fight this?” asked Garth, holding up the letter. “We go to the public hearing in a few weeks, and we fight?”
“I’ll bring the power shakes,” said Paulette.
As everyone assented and rallied to the cause, I led Jack over to the front desk. But now, the relief I’d felt at his imminent departure was tinged with something else. Something…uncomfortable.
When I thought about my friends’ small businesses, it was so easy for me to see what made them special. Essential, even. But when I thought about the Sunny Side…
Unlike Jack Lee, I just drew a big fat blank.
“I hope you enjoyed your stay,” I said to him as I handed over his receipt. Maybe he thought this was personalized service, but I knew it was the same thing I parroted to all the B and B’s guests, the same thing I’d been saying for years. “Come back and see us again soon.”
I watched him go. And for the first time, I wondered if the Sunny Side Bed-and-Breakfast really was in the best hands.