Page 13 of Wassailing We Will Go
Alright, alright, point taken. I stretch my arms out like I’m getting ready for a workout. I am, and have always been, a bit of an introvert. My Aunt Jenn is, too, and says that we have indoor cat auras. But I learned quickly that the best way to make money was from tips at the tasting bar, and the better the performance, the better the tips. Some people are born for it: Aunt Lauren always had people dying of laughter as she poured them drinks. Daniel can similarly keep a group of dozens of people at the edge of their seats, laughing and having a great time. Wendy can make the sugar content of cider sound absolutely riveting, and Charlie has a salt-of-the-earth charm that people really respond to. Each of them has an authentic presence when they’re speaking to customers that pulls them in.
None of this comes naturally to me, so I have to momentarily inhabit a completely different Kate: one who is effusive and people-pleasing. A version of myself that is extroverted and likes talking about the weather and complimenting people’s giant hats that you can tell they’ve bought specifically as part of their wine-tour outfit.
So, I summon that Kate. What brings you to Spark Cidery today? I ask brightly, my tone of voice noticeably uplifted. Ah, there she is.
Harrison crosses one leg over the other in an exaggerated manner and continues his ridiculous impression: Sometimes, you just need to get out of the city, you know? And I saw a brochure for this place in our inn and thought it looked so cute!
Which inn? I ask while opening a bottle. We have so many beautiful ones here in the County.
The uh, green one? he says. I don’t know any of the names of the inns here yet, he stage-whispers.
Ah, yes, I know the owner. They’re so nice! I say. Have you had a chance to look at our tasting menu? Do any jump out at you?
Cranberry cider sounds unique! he says.
It’s very nice—on the drier side, though. I grab a bottle from the fridge. It’s really nice with turkey and other poultry, as well as….as well as— I stop for a moment as I struggle with the bottle opener. I didn’t notice that the top of this bottle is slightly dented, and it’s being an incredible pain in the ass to pry open. I pull harder.
Do you want me to—
Harrison’s offer of assistance is rudely cut off by a small metal tab to the face, as the bottle cap pops off dramatically, bounces off the table, and hits him square in the right eye.
Oh my God, are you alright? I ask, running from behind the bar to his seat. He has his hand over his eye and is wincing in pain.
I’m fine, I’m fine, no worries, he says, but it does not console me one bit as Harrison seems the type to say that, even if he had fully lost an eyeball. I have several worries.
Can I see? I ask, and he pulls his hand down. I lean in to look more closely and am immensely relieved to see that I have not blinded my new employee. I tilt his head toward the light to see better, and thankfully, everything looks alright. His eyes are watering, sure, and the right one is a little puffy and red, but I don’t foresee any lasting damage.
It looks alright. Your eyes are really green when you cry, I observe for some freaking reason. At that moment I notice that, as I stand over him while he sits on the high-top stool, our faces are now only centimetres apart.
Alright, firstly, I’m not crying, and secondly, maybe I wouldn’t have hauntingly green eyes if someone hadn’t just tried to off me with a bottle cap, he says lightly, at first with a very theatrical frown, but then he quickly comes to the same realization that I do: that my hand is still touching his face and that we’re physically closer than we’ve ever been, even more so than in the hot tub.
I’ll get you some ice, maybe, I say quietly. My hand is still on his chin, and our faces are very, very close. His chin’s a little scratchy, like he maybe hasn’t shaved since his spa visit, and I kind of like the rugged look of it. He has some freckles across his nose that you don’t really see until you’re this close, and I decide that I like those, too. I’m finding myself questioning how I ever declined any invitation to do anything with this man and lean in just a bit closer—
Until I hear a door open, and we leap apart.
Mercifully, the gift shop and the tasting room form an L shape, so guests have to walk by several rows of clothing, pottery, crafts, and other souvenirs before the tasting room comes into view. This setup ensures that when Charlie reappears, I’m standing a full three feet away from Harrison, leaning against the tasting bar in an exaggeratedly casual pose that I have never before struck in my life. Harrison is examining the tasting menu with a ferocity that suggests that the menu contains the final clue to solving a murder.
Forgot my damned work keys, grumbles Charlie, and Harrison and I both look over to him as if we’ve only just noticed his presence. We greet him overenthusiastically and at the same time:
Hey, Charlie! Been a minute, what’s up?
Charlie! Hey! How’s it going? We’re just looking at the tasting menu here. Yeah.
I have to imagine that the impression of all of this, to Charlie, is deeply weird. Thankfully, he just grabs his keys from the end of the bar and turns back around.
Bye for now, he says as he rolls back away.
Harrison and I are alone again, but the moment has vanished. He turns back to me, right eye still a little squinty. I go into the ice machine, scoop some cubes into a clean bar towel, and hand it over the counter.
Thanks, he says and puts it over his eyes. But you know, I still don’t buy it.
Buy what? I ask.
That whole performance, he says, nodding toward the empty bar. It was a fine show and all, very…exuberant. But I like yesterday’s version better. When you were talking about your aunt’s crap pizza and the care that’s been put into this place, that’s when you sounded real.
Well, sadly, that’s not the version people usually get, I say. It’s hard to get into all that when there’s a line out the door. Not that that’s been the case lately, but— I stop myself in my tracks, realizing what I’ve just said.
Has it been slower lately? asks Harrison. Of course he picked up on that.
