Page 33 of Trusting You
Mark had kicked our graphics up a notch, creating a custom Oktoberfest design incorporating the brewery logo. We had new T-shirts and beer steins for sale, and I had ordered hundreds of rubber duckies wearing lederhosen to hand out to the kids.
We were having an all-hands meeting in the back office. Or as I had recently dubbed it, “the war room.” It was kind of amazing how far I had come in six short weeks. The entire room was covered in white boards detailing every single thing that was going to happen. Each team member and volunteer had a personalized printed schedule detailing every possible situation that could arise. I was a general leading my troops, and it felt amazing.
“Trent and Kyle, you guys need to do the tablecloths and bunting tonight. There won’t be enough time tomorrow.”
Trent leaned back in his folding chair. “Copy that, boss lady. We’re on it.” I assigned jobs to the rest of the assembled crew.
The brewery would be open from ten a.m. to eleven p.m. It was ambitious, and we had several contingency plans if we ran out of beer, food, or paper goods. The fire marshal had come out this week to double-check the new upgrades and kindly reminded us not to exceed our certificate of occupancy. The weather forecast was perfect, and the new outdoor space would hopefully be filled.
I felt good. I was prepared and ready to lead my team to victory. “Okay, guys, I think that’s it.”
“Wait. I actually have one more thing to discuss,” Liam’s voice filled the room.
I gave him a look. We had completed my carefully crafted agenda. I had typed it up and emailed it to him this morning. I forgot nothing. There was no way there was some detail I had left out.
“We need to discuss wardrobe.” Liam smiled, like he had a secret.
“What do you mean? We just got the new Oktoberfest T-shirts delivered.”
Liam scratched the scruff on his chin and smiled. “I thought we could do better. So I got a surprise for you all.”
He opened the door to the meeting room and pulled in a massive clothing rack. It was filled with what appeared to be authentic German costumes. “At the real Oktoberfest in Munich, the servers wear traditional German costumes. So I thought it would only be appropriate for Binnacle staff to also be traditionally attired.”
“What the heck is that?” Kyle yelled, as Liam held up an elaborate costume.
“That, my uncultured friend, is lederhosen. You will wear this, with knee-high socks and this very jaunty hat, for the duration of the Oktoberfest celebration.”
Trent covered his mouth and tried to contain his giggles. Liam turned to him and added, “You are not getting off either, bud. I’ve got one for you. The entire front of house team will wear these costumes. The support staff, the caterers, food runners, barbacks, and dishwashers will wear the Oktoberfest T-shirts and jeans.”
I was both appalled and impressed. I had not even thought of renting costumes. But wait, if all the guys were wearing lederhosen, what was I expected to wear?
As if sensing my dread, Liam pulled out a poufy dress with a low-cut lace-up bodice and a tiny white apron. It looked less like a cultural costume and more like a sexy Halloween getup. Oh no, there was no way that thing was going to fit on my body. “This is for you, Cece. A dirndl dress. Authentic.” His smile was a mile wide. I had done this to myself. I had pushed to make this event the best ever. I had harassed everyone until each detail was perfect. I had advertised far and wide to come have an Oktoberfest experience at the brewery. Little did I know that I would end up dressed as the St. Pauli Girl. “I hope you don’t mind. I asked Nora what size to order.” He seemed sheepish, but I still wanted to punch him. And Nora. Just wait until I got my hands on her.
As everyone giggled about the costumes, Liam continued. “This is our third year hosting this event, and our first attempting something of this magnitude. I am humbled and grateful for all of your hard work and so excited to see how it all comes together. This is a family. A weird, slightly dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless. I love you guys. And you know it’s hard for me to ask for help.”
The assembled crowd laughed.
“But I have needed a lot of help lately. And all of you have stepped up and given me more support and encouragement than I deserve.”
I proudly watched as he motivated his team. I started to feel a warm, fuzzy sensation in my chest. As much as I was dreading having to squeeze my ass into that ridiculous outfit he had ordered me, I was a little bit proud of him. I didn’t even think to get authentic costumes. He really was learning and evolving his business. It was almost as if all the branding and marketing info I had been shoving down his throat for the past month was working. As I looked around the table at our ragtag team, I was overcome with emotion. Liam was right. We were a weird, slightly dysfunctional family. Every person was ready and willing to make this event a success. I thought about my old job. When had I experienced this feeling? Not ever. I could not remember one project or situation where everyone came together to chip in.
* * *
The band was incredible, playing all sorts of Oktoberfest songs, most of which involved drinking. I was running between tables with fresh pitchers while Trent bussed all the empty glasses. The deck and patio area were packed, and laughter and music filled the air. My dress was ridiculous but actually sort of comfortable. As embarrassed as I felt wearing a short skirt with my boobs hanging out, I felt festive, and it definitely added to the atmosphere and the fun. Never had I ever worn such a crazy outfit to work, so I was determined to chalk this one up to experience.
Nora being Nora insisted on doing my hair and makeup. She said I had to “go all out” and be “the hottest beer wench in history.” So my hair was braided and twisted into some elaborate German style. I have to hand it to her, not many people can tame my hair, and she did it well. It was out of my face and not misbehaving for a change. At my request she hadn’t gone too heavy on the makeup, but I was definitely rocking a smoky eye and some glossy lips. I felt good—tired, but good. At the very least, coming back to Havenport had helped me regain some of my old self-confidence. And today was evidence of what I was capable of. I knew this was just a one-day event at a small brewery in a small town, but it felt like the start of something bigger.
I couldn’t help but look at Liam with some longing. As much as I pretended not to want a relationship, deep down I did want to meet my person. I did want beautiful, magical love. It was just that after thirty-one years, I had become a pragmatist about it.
Growing up, it always appeared to my child eyes that my parents were madly in love. They held hands in the movie theater when they thought we weren’t looking and were always sneaking kisses and offering each other bites of their dinners at restaurants.
Unlike some of my friends whose parents fought all the time, mine rarely did. I remember being super grossed out when we would develop the photos from our family vacations—in those crazy days before we all had digital cameras—and there would be a random photo my dad took of my mom’s butt. At the time we pretended to be traumatized, but now, as a woman, I would kill to have my husband of fifteen years sneak a photo of my butt in a bathing suit. Looking back, I saw how well suited they were, how much love and trust and partnership went into building our family.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t want that. But first, it was statistically unlikely to happen. Especially as my older sister had met the love of her life at nineteen and had been blissfully in love for the last fifteen years. What was the likelihood that lightning would strike twice in our family? Probably not very high. So I settled. I settled for okay guys and so-so relationships and jobs that I hated. I paid my bills and went through the motions. I thought this was a good, safe, responsible plan. But I realized how much damage I did to myself. Denying what and who I wanted just chipped away at my self-esteem until there was nothing left.
I picked up two more pitchers from the bar and headed back to table eleven where my mom was seated with Burt, my aunt Joyce, and some other ladies from her various town organizations and charities. “Cecelia! You look gorgeous,” my mother exclaimed, jumping up and giving me a kiss on the cheek. “This event is fantastic. I am so proud of you.”
I blushed. You could always count on my mom to deliver the praise. “Thanks, Mom.”
