Chapter Nine
I SPEND THE REST OF the night drinking water and eating french fries, and by closing time, I am back to being sober.
When I go over to our POS system and check what our night looked like, for a moment, I think there’s been an error.
Our gross is twice that of a normal off-season Thursday and more like that of a sunny day in July, and suddenly, I have a newfound passion for karaoke.
Not performing it, of course—I’d rather walk directly into the currently frigid Lake Ontario than do that again—but I can definitely tap into a love for other people’s musical self-expression if our numbers stay like that.
Our staff have gone home, and only Daniel and Harrison remain.
Daniel is doing a final close on everything for the night, including paying his cousin some cash under the table, something I will have difficulty explaining to our accountant later.
Harrison has asked him for a ride home as he got slightly tipsier in his MCing duties than he had originally planned, and honestly, fair enough.
He hadn’t known what kind of night he was stepping into, and one has to respect responsible drinking and driving choices.
The real question is, do we even keep open mic nights or convert fully to this new way of life after this? I ask the table. Daniel and Harrison are both drinking ginger ales and look absolutely spent but chipper.
Dan and I were just saying that, says Harrison. I overheard Harrison call Daniel Dan about a dozen times over the course of the night, something I know Daniel hates, but he has yet to correct him. What if we moved open mic night to Wednesdays?
Hm, might be oversaturating it, but we can try. If it slows down, maybe we alternate weeks? says Daniel.
Yeah, good call, Dan, I say, which earns me an absolutely scathing glare from Daniel.
Alright, tomorrow’s Friday. Hopefully another big day, I say and get caught in a yawn. See you guys tomorrow. Thanks again for tonight, Harrison. Great MCing.
He holds his ginger ale up in acknowledgment. Anytime. It was fun. I’m also amazing at weddings, for the record. And once, I—
Hey. So, uh— We all turn to see that Rodney has reappeared, looking sheepish. My car is out of gas, he says. Can you give me a ride home, Daniel?
Daniel looks crestfallen. Ugh, Rodney, you live in Belleville, he groans. Belleville is actually not that far, maybe about thirty minutes. Honestly, everything in the County is about thirty minutes.
I can drive you home, I say to Harrison.
The thought entices me for a few reasons: one, I have thought about my last drive home with Harrison more than I care to admit and the possibilities that were there if I had done anything differently.
Second, I have a very nosy desire to see what the owners of bitter he can text me to talk about this. I’m not scary.
Oh, he is one hundred percent scared of you, says Harrison.
What, why?
I guess you guys met at a winery show a few months back?
And after you introduced yourself and got to chatting, you got right into business lingo, and he was apparently very intimidated.
I mean, Ryan went to school for interior design.
But I guess all of this is the exact opposite of what you just told me to do, he says.
Cider business stays with you, friend stuff stays with them. Gotcha. He gives me a thumbs-up.
I’m sorry, I say. They seem nice and like good friends. I just need to do what’s best for the cidery.
I get that, he says. And they are good friends.
When Emma broke up with me a few weeks ago, Ryan invited me to come here as soon as the season over there was over.
I loved BC, but I needed to get out of there.
I mean, Emma was the bartender at my favourite pub, so I didn’t even have that going for me after the breakup.
Coming out here, especially for Christmas, for a lifesaver, honestly.
I’m sorry. That is shitty, I agree. I went through a breakup this year, too, but it was months ago now, and honestly, it was probably for the best. Yours sounds worse.
Not a competition, he says with a shrug. But for the record, if it was, I’d totally win. She started dating her boss.
I gasp audibly, both out of concern for Harrison and because, honestly, this level of drama is on par with the yacht reality TV show.
Also, sorry, that was the turn. I’m still a little buzzed and forgot I was supposed to be giving you directions, he adds, rubbing his temple.
I slow and do a three-point turn, except it’s actually like a nine-point turn because it’s dark, and I’m nervous about ending up in a ditch.
When the car’s turned all the way around, I pull over to the shoulder and idle for a moment.
I know it’s bad for the environment, but I need a moment here to process all this without having to worry about driving into a deer.
I’m…sorry. I’m glad you came here, though. And…I’m grateful to Ryan and Britt for bringing you here. Let me think about the party thing some more, okay? I sigh.