Page 60 of Pour Decisions
I lean back in my seat, my stomach unsettled. It’s not from the candy I’ve eaten on an empty stomach either. I want to go home early and blow off some of this stuff for work. ForHalloweenof all things.
Frank’s story about how he got started with June pops up in my head once again, and I push it back down. Wanting to spend time with Katrina isn’t a sign that I want to jump ship. I’m just stressed. At least I have tools to relax after work, thanks to Katrina.
Instead of giving Kat an answer yet, I dive into my work. Bubba wanders in and out of my office throughout the day, but doesn’t linger. Probably because people are loving up on him.Whatever look is on my face keeps most people out of my office until my uncle Jim shows up.
“Did you look over the sales reports from that liquor store chain?” he asks without saying hello. “The one owned by that father and son?”
I raise an eyebrow. His fixation on numbers is good—I wouldn’t want someone who didn’t care about them as a financial officer—but why is he so hellbent on me weighing in on it all? I’ve completely put that liquor store chain out of my mind since the dinner where I met them. I hardly remember their names.
“Not a priority at the moment.”
My uncle looks taken aback. “The budget for the upgrades to the distillery weren’t a priority, and now this? What’s the deal, JD?”
The deal is that I think beating down the same old paths isn’t the best use of my time right now when I have a thousand other things to do.
Instead, I say, “Nothing is wrong. I’ll get to it.”
“You’ll…get to it.”
“Yes.” I stare him down and he stares back. “Is that a problem?”
“Just let me know when you get to it.” He shoots me one more look over his shoulder and leaves.
Thank god Bubba walks in moments later, tail wagging and tongue out. He’s still in costume, his hat wonky on his head. I smooth my hand down his back and pat his side to calm me down. I throw the stupid report onto my to-do list and get back to work.
I check my email a half hour later and there’s a message from my dad, my uncle cc’d.
Checking in on these numbersis all Dad’s email said.
I stare blankly at the email, processing the fact that my uncle went and tattled to my fucking father about this stupid issue. If it can even be called that. It has the same energy as one of my brothers going to our mom to tell her that I was mean to him when we were kids. Except now it pisses me off.
Fuck this. I’m going home early today.
I don’t remember the last time I’ve gone home early just because. Maybe I never have, but there’s a first for everything.
I pack up my bag and find Bubba in the middle of the busiest hallway, still in his costume. He whines a little when I call him to leave, but he follows me anyway. I pick up a pizza on the way and slip him half a breadstick. Kat is home already, and I find her on the couch, dumping candy into a big bowl.
“Hey.” I lean down and kiss her, letting my lips linger on hers. Yes, coming home was the right decision. Just a simple kiss and the weight’s lifted off my chest.
“You’re home early!” She beams up at me. “No costume?”
She’s wearing cat ears and drew whiskers on her face, paired with her black high-waisted leggings and a black crop top.
“Nope. ” I scan her face and notice the shopping bag near her. “But I have the feeling you got one for me?”
“Just while we hand out candy, if you do that around here. It’s nothing elaborate.” She digs through the bag and pulls out a headband with brown dog ears attached. “You’re a dog, and Bubba is dressing up as a human. Or at least I kind of wanted him to, but now that I’m seeing his cowboy costume, I’m not sure. Business suit? What do you think, Bubba?”
Bubba wags his tail in response, which could mean anything, so we decide to keep him in his cowboy outfit. I change into sweats and a brown t-shirt, then sit down so she can put the dog ears on me. I feel fucking ridiculous, but her grin makes the feeling worth it.
We go onto my front porch with a big bowl of candy right as a few trick or treaters and their parents show up. Of course, they lose their minds over Bubba, who’s gentle with the kids.
To my surprise, the flow of trick or treaters is steady, with families dropping in every few minutes until the sun fully sets.
“Is the turn out usually like this?” she asks as we go inside.
“I don’t know.” I flick off the porch light and lock the door. “I never sit out there. I usually leave a bowl on the front porch and grab it in the morning. So people are either politely only taking one piece or someone’s been dumping the whole container into their bag every year. Now I wish we had a little more candy to eat.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” She whips out another bag and dumps it into the bowl, plopping it on the coffee table. “Guess we’ll have to eat the rest of it and feel like hot garbage tomorrow.”
