Page 14 of Wassailing We Will Go
The shoulder season—you know what it’s like. This weekend will likely be a little on the quieter side, too, but it’ll all pick up once the Wassail weekends start.
That’s all Britt and Ryan talk about, too, he says. Guess it’s a big deal round here?
I desperately wish he hadn’t brought them up, but I press on. It is for the cideries and wineries, anyway. Farewell to another year, hello to a new batch of cider and a new tourist season in the spring. Also, the County has a lot of cute Christmas events, so it makes sense for us to all try and piggyback off of it as much as possible.
We had Wassail events in the UK, too, but it was a little different. Usually, it was just an excuse to drink and sing, but one of the cideries I worked at took it very seriously. We were out there with bits of toast, warding off bad spirits and singing to the tree spirits for another good year.
So, did it work? I ask. Because I am open to all of that, if you think it worked. Toast away. Daniel actually has an amazing singing voice. We could totally do it as long as the apple tree spirits like Kylie Minogue.
I mean, they do if they have taste, says Harrison through a giant yawn.
You should head home, I say. I’m here making you work overtime on your first day.
Consider me off the clock. I don’t mind, as ‘home’ is currently my friend’s basement IKEA pullout couch, he says. Plus, their dog isn’t fond of me.
Milo doesn’t like you? I ask, surprised.
Have you met him? asks Harrison. Oops. Nope, I just regularly scroll through @milothebluheela on Instagram when I’m feeling in the mood for some self-flagellation and want to remind myself that the cidery-next-door’s dog has more followers than I do. I keep all of this to myself.
Oh, I’ve just seen a picture online. He looks really cute.
He is! But he keeps eyeing me suspiciously from the next room. I suspect he thinks I’m trying to steal his people from him, and he keeps taking all my socks and bringing them outside. I think it’s a message.
It kind of sounds like it, to be honest, I say. I am secretly thrilled to hear that Milo is maybe less perfect than his social media suggests. My cat would never—he would just suffocate you in your sleep with his enormous heft. He favours a direct approach.
I will keep that in mind if I ever sleep on your basement IKEA couch, says Harrison. This, naturally, leads me to thinking of Harrison sleeping on my couch, and I have to force-quit my whole brain to get it back on track.
Did you still want to go for that tour? I ask. It’s chilly out, though. You’ll have to track down your duvet-slash-coat.
Actually, I just got these from some sort of online army surplus store yesterday, he says, holding his arms aloft to better showcase the long-sleeved shirt he’s wearing. I remembered you mentioning thermal underwear, and then I actually looked into it. The online shop was kind of sketchy, to be honest, but I got, like, twelve pairs for thirty bucks, so. I hadn’t noticed, but his new fitted shirt is, in fact, the top half of what appears to be a thermal underwear set. I’ve been toasty warm for the first time in days.
I am deeply suspicious of your online thermal underwear supplier, I say. Let me look at the tag to see where it’s made.
He sits down on a stool, and I pull out the label of his shirt. It doesn’t list the material, the country of origin, or have laundry care instructions; it just says thermel wear. More troubling is that the small patch of skin that I’ve just glimpsed is visibly a deep, itchy-looking red. Harrison, I don’t think you’ve been warm for the right reasons.
Hm? he says, turning around.
I have reason to believe you are having a severe skin reaction to whatever in God’s name this shirt is made from. You should go home and shower, like, right now and pray to God that Britt and Ryan have maybe a gallon of hydrocortisone.
His expression is horrified. I am…also wearing the pants underneath my jeans.
I am now also equally horrified.
Harrison rushes out of there, peeling out of the parking lot in his rush to get home and out of his horrible clothing.
I expense out a bottle of ginger spiced cider and head home.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LATER, I WISH THAT I had thought to grab Harrison’s number from his CV so that I could ask how things were going regarding his…situation. As it is, I have no way of contacting him, and I’ll have to wait until tomorrow during business hours to message him. Which is probably for the best anyway. Certainly, more appropriate.
As a result, I spend several hours watching way too many episodes of a terrible show about horrible people being overly dramatic while working on cruise ships. I need to be distracted from my new employee on several fronts: how close we got earlier to a kiss (at! work!), as well as from his full-body rash and the anxiety-induced stomach ache the entire situation is causing me to have. I am currently pretending that the ginger spiced cider I brought home has health benefits beyond getting me slightly drunk.
I’m about to start my eighth (ninth?) episode and finish eating the takeout ramen that I picked up on my way home, when my phone dings repeatedly as I get several texts in quick succession:
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Hey it’s Harrison I got your number from Charlie
So i ended up going to the picton ER
