Chapter Eleven
I CONTACT HEATHER AGAIN, ASKING if there’s space at the Lakeside Spa for tonight.
She says that sorry, it’s really busy for a Sunday, and I am unfairly betrayed by this, even though that’s a very reasonable response, and she sounded truly apologetic.
I have only been home for two hours but have a massive case of cabin fever: I hate all my food, I hate every show that exists, I don’t want to read my book, and everything is boring.
I feel restless, and Steven is annoyed by my pacing.
Even he’s giving me a look from the couch that says something to the tune of get it together, lady.
The spa was the only thing I could think of that might get my mind off things.
I’m being weird and obsessive, and I know this.
I’m being weird about losing the award, and I’m being weird about Harrison potentially being slightly annoyed with me.
Neither of these things should command the attention I’m giving them, but my brain has locked in.
I realize that I just need someone to talk to.
I have friends for different things: Heather and I have a long text history where we complain about the trials of the industry.
We’ve even gone out for wine once, and it was nice.
But I don’t know how to bring this one forward.
Our friendship is…specific and semi-professional.
I think the main problem with moving cities and then taking an all-consuming job is that maintaining friendships has been hard these past few months, and creating new ones has not been easy, either.
My city friends were all friends of circumstance, and I’ve since realized some were friends of Sean’s that I sort of inherited for a time.
I had work friends that I’d go for lunch with.
Some friends from university came to visit over the summer, and we had a lot of fun doing a wine tour, but I maybe haven’t been the best at keeping in touch with them since then, and every day, it gets a little harder to open back up the lines of conversation.
I open Instagram, and Stephanie, of alpaca farm fame and also from my book club, is at the top of the feed, posting on her personal account about a crochet project she’s working on.
It’s a Nordic-patterned sweater, and it honestly looks incredible.
Her partner, Lorne, is in the background making faces, and beside him, there’s a monkey emoji covering little Hazel’s head to keep her face off the public internet.
It’s all very charming. Stephanie is nice, I think.
Why don’t I ever hang out with Stephanie?
I decide to text her with this winning opener:
KATE: I saw your sweater on instagram. You’re amazing! I mean, you know I’m a big fan of your scarves and that your socks are next level, but that one’s a show stopper
STEPHANIE: Thanks! I’m going to raffle this one off to raise money for the Rotary Club during the Wassail weekends. Come over and buy tickets!
KATE: Obviously, I am going to buy a zillion tickets
STEPHANIE: How’s everything going for Wassail? My mom told me about Charlie (sorry, you know the county) and said you have a fill-in cidermaker
KATE: Yeah it’s been a whole thing tbh but I think it’s working out well. Glad we found Charlie help
Here, the little bubble comes and goes with … for quite a while before landing on:
STEPHANIE: Sorry, but I have to confirm to my mom, now that I have you in a conversation. Is he actually an underwear model from Australia?
If I had a drink, I would have spit it out. I wonder who started that rumour? Helen from the library, maybe, when she was helping Harrison print off his CV. She’s a saucy old gal.
KATE: I mean, half of that is true
I’m tempted not to confirm which half though
Keep the gossip going for the ladies who lunch meetings
STEPHANIE: Fine but for my sake: if I were to say, introduce him to Hazel, would she or would she not be excited that he sounds like Bluey
KATE: Hazel would likely love him for lots of reasons
Hazel is two, which I thought, from my limited knowledge of kids, was the worst age a kid could be.
Kids in general are a new addition for me in a potential friendship, but Hazel won me over very quickly.
At our last book club meeting, hosted by Stephanie at her very cute farmhouse, Hazel toddled in to say good night to her mom.
After giving her a hug good night, she came over to me and solemnly handed me a raisin that she had found on the floor and told me, Good job.
Stephanie then explained that Hazel is in potty-training mode and gets raisins as a reward for nailing it.
Apparently, something about me said this is a lady who does not pee her pants to Hazel, and honestly, sometimes it’s just nice to hear about the things you’re doing right.
Even if it’s just using the toilet consistently.
STEPHANIE: Sounds like I’m coming to visit the cidery next weekend with Hazel. We need to get to the bottom of this
KATE: I mean we’d love to have you obviously
But also I gave Harrison the scarf i bought last time I was at your place and now he’s very interested in visiting the alpaca farm and it sounds like he might actually try and steal an alpaca so you’ll need to keep an eye on him
STEPHANIE: …why did you give him your scarf
KATE: …because he was cold
And has the facial expressions of a labrador retriever
You’ll see. Hazel will give him so many raisins. Not because he looks particularly great at using the potty tbh, he just looks like a guy who deserves some raisins. Hard to explain.
STEPHANIE: Sounds like you want to give him some raisins
KATE: I…don’t know how to answer that, on so many levels
STEPHANIE: Yeah sorry, me neither. I am so, so tired. Hazel is on a 5am wakeup kick right now. I’m going to bed now, at 8:06pm. That’s where I’m at. But we should hang out soon.
KATE: I’d love that
And I would love that, I realize. Do I feel better about work-slash-my behaviour today?
Not really. I still owe Harrison an apology, I think.
But I do feel better generally. I am back in a space where making a snack and watching the stupid drama boat show at least have some appeal.
I’m even struck with the desire to read more of the book club book so that Stephanie will be impressed.
Texting her for these past twenty minutes made me realize that I really would like to hang out with her more.
Also, with Hazel, and I need to be the kind of woman-who-knows how-to-use-a-potty role model she deserves.
ON MONDAY MORNING, AFTER A long debate with myself over work-life boundaries, I relent and open my laptop.
I had really tried not to, but after my coffee and croissant, I couldn’t help but want to know whether there had been any progress on filling our last tour bus spots for the weekend.
There were still some big gaps on Saturday morning and Sunday evening that I had hoped would be filled.
I had sent out reminders of all our seasonal offerings to all the tour operators, hoping to win over a precious spot in their itineraries.
It’s not just other cideries we’re competing with in this arena: there are close to forty wineries, and then there are also the breweries and distilleries, not to mention other fun attractions for a tour bus like Steph’s alpaca farm or the cheese factory.
All worthy stops for a tour bus, and we’re all trying to get that end-of-year business before we hibernate for a few weeks.
I know many of the tour operators, and they’re all doing their best to spread the love while making the best choices for their guests.
I just need to convince all of them that the best choice for all the guests is Sparks Cidery.
Thankfully, one has gotten back to me to fill in a Saturday morning spot with the promise of warmed apple cider and apple fritters as a nice start to the day, and another tour operator wants to know more about the soup flights (score another point for Chef Melanie).
I’m forwarding all this info to Daniel, Chef, and Wendy so that they can plan with their teams when my phone starts vibrating with a call from Aunt Jenn. I answer it, and my aunt’s voice erupts through the speaker with off-the-charts enthusiasm:
Kate! We just booked our tickets home for Christmas! We arrive for the last weekend of Wassail and are staying through New Year’s. Just wanted to make sure this doesn’t mess anything up for you?
Oh! Wow. Okay. No, of course not, I’d love to see you, I say. Do you guys need your cottage back? I can stay with my parents back in Belleville for a bit, if you need.
No, no, it’s your home now. We’re staying with your parents and then travelling around a bit, doing the rounds to see everyone, but Marty’s going to pick us up from the airport.
It’s all sorted. Marty is my dad, Aunt Jenn’s younger brother.
I don’t even bother to ask what they’re thinking with all of this: she and my dad don’t have much in common, and I wonder what those few weeks will be like for them.
They’re sort of like me and Aaron in that they grew up on good enough terms but not very close, wrapped up in their respective worlds.
Except in this case, Aunt Jenn was a rebellious partier, and my dad was only ever interested in his hockey career.
He was pretty good, I guess, but my grandparents couldn’t or wouldn’t make the sacrifices necessary to get him very far.
I think that’s why he and my mom were so adamant about being all in on Aaron’s career, which, to be fair, obviously paid off.
Anyway, Dad eventually became an elementary school PE teacher and then married my mom, who is a physiotherapist. While they’ve always been friendly with my aunts, they’ve never struck me as being on spending three straight weeks together terms.
That sounds…nice, I say. But really, let me know if you change your mind.
We heard that Charlie’s new assistant is a hit, she says. Great find on that front.
Yeah, it’s really working out, I think! I never thought we’d be able to find someone that Charlie would like to work with so much, but they hit it off right away, and it’s been good for Charlie to rest more while he recovers.
That’s part of why I was calling. I mean, I also wanted to see how you’re doing! I want to hear everything about what’s going on with you—it’s been a while since we talked. But I wanted to ask: do you see this new cider maker—Harry?—staying on long term, do you think?
Oof. How to answer that one. Oh, I’d love that because I have a schoolgirl crush on him and like to look at his face, but also, it’d be perpetual torture because it’s a bad idea to date your coworkers and because, deep down, I know that I keep self-sabotaging the whole thing.
I’m…open to it, I say instead. I just don’t know Harrison’s long-term plans, to tell you the truth. We caught him in between jobs, and he was just visiting the County. I honestly don’t know what he’d say if we offered him a full-time role, no matter how much he likes working with Charlie.
Well, that’s just it. We were chatting with Charlie yesterday, and it sounds like he might finally be considering retirement. Nothing firm yet! she adds quickly. Don’t panic! Kate, I can literally hear you panicking.
I am, indeed, panicking. I know Charlie has to retire eventually—hell, I want him to…just maybe not right now. I take a breath.
It’s something to think about, for sure, I say.
I think this accident has him thinking about things. You know Charlie—he’ll give you all the time you need. I just think it might be wise to start thinking about next steps.
The irony of all of this is that if Harrison weren’t all wrapped up in the business side of things, Aunt Jenn is the exact person I would want to talk to about this.
I’d love nothing more than to tell her everything.
But I don’t need her worrying about me going around wanting to make out with the employees I hire—ones that apparently, suddenly have long-term prospects.
Absolutely. Will do, I say. I can’t wait to see you guys, I add, and it’s the truth. I’ve got to run, but let’s chat again soon. Miss you.
Miss you, too, Katy-cat. Muah.
I don’t have to run, but I felt dangerously close to spilling everything, and I didn’t need Aunt Jenn flying on the next red-eye over to do damage control. Instead, I pack a gym bag with a swimsuit and towel and head to the rec centre. This nervous energy has got to go somewhere.