Page 17 of Of Poison & Pumpkins
My stomach yells at me again. I head towards the baking aisle. It wouldn’t be too terrible to swipe fresh pumpkin bread for breakfast. Zanther stands in that aisle, taking out individually wrapped pastries from his crate and displaying them on the counter.
“Took you long enough.” He clicks his tongue and pretends to be upset. “Were you busy jacking off to her?”
“Shut up,” I say, while snatching my favorite pumpkin muffin and ramming it into my mouth. “I didn’t see what spell you picked last night.”
“The ability to outwit you in any challenge.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” I stare at him, eyes narrowed.
He shrugs and before I can determine if he’s serious, his dad rounds the bend.
“Oh, good, our pumpkin prince has awoken from his slumber,” Kurt says in a voice deeper than a well.
I turn to shake my stepdad’s hand. His grip could break my spine in two if given the chance. His bushy eyebrows rise into an angle more crooked than my parked car.
Kurt is the reason Zanther and I are such different sizes. We’ve had a blast teasing him about having to order custom sports jerseys from the tall and wide men’s store. I can’t remember the last time Kurt was seen without sports attire—from NHL, NFL, NBA, MLB, and everything in between. I swear he owns at least a thousand jerseys. Recently, Mom customized a closet for him to display them all.
“You two up to no good already?” Kurt teases with a broad smile that could brighten all of Antarctica in the darkest hours. “By the way, we both signed up for extra shifts until Halloween, right, Zanther?”
My caveman of a brother grunts, his gaze continuously darting to and from the front door.
“I chose a spell for the register to check out customers on its own this month, so we won’t need to worry about staying behind the counter.” Kurt gestures to the pumpkins every which way and nods with pride. “You’ll definitely win the competition, son.”
Son. If only the man who gave me his genes would call me the same. I should be grateful for having a supportive role model like Kurt for most of my life, but it’s not enough.
Does Rynn remember when I bore my soul to her at graduation? I let her know my deepest secret back then, that I’d do anything to be a son that Dad is proud of. I’m well aware of how broken that sounds, but no amount of therapy has changed my mind.
I blow out a deep, weighted breath. I never told any of my girlfriends this fundamental truth, that trying to impress Dad drives all my choices. Only Rynn. Honestly, a part of me hopes she forgot, considering how shattered I sounded. My own father hadn’t even shown up for my high school graduation that day. If it weren’t for impressing Dad, I’d never try to beat her shop in a competition.
The pumpkin bell dings above the door as it swings open. One person enters, the definition of timid written across their forehead and rocking a shape curvier than an umbrella. They curl in on themselves while slowly perusing the options. To my side, Zanther drops a bunch of items on the ground, then clears his throat, stumbling away without picking them up.
Kurt puts a hand over the back of my neck. “I’m afraid that Zee is lost to us. He’s a complete gonner,” he says, nodding to the shy customer.
I follow his gaze to the petite newcomer, who blushes when Zanther points something out and crouches to whisper something in their ear. They blush and cover their mouth with one hand.
Interesting.
“Do you mind if I make suggestions to help Pumpkins?” Kurt asks.
With a degree in marketing, I don’t need his help, but nod my assent. It never hurts to agree if it makes someone happy. “Sure! The more minds we combine, the better off we’ll be. Send me an email and I’ll look tonight.”
“Oh, I can list them off now. We should add beauty products, ya know, pumpkin scented perfume, lotion, chapstick, and shaving cream, all of it.”
“I’ll look into who could stock that.”
“And the umbrellas could be made of actual pumpkin skin, then after they get wet, they’re edible.”
I bite my lip and nod. “Keep those ideas coming. I’m gonna get to work.”
The hours whiz by with tasks to complete. I’ll need to hire more staff soon instead of relying on my family. After completing a checklist verging on a thousand items, I approach a young couple, each holding a pair of sandals plastered in pumpkins. The closer I get, the more obvious their snickers and whispers become.
“This is ugly.”
I stop in my tracks and hold my breath.
The second one laughs and adds, “Take a picture of this one, too. Yeah, make sure you tag this store for our shitty review.”
“I can’t believe a place like this exists. I mean, come on, who buys this crap?”
