Page 28 of Wassailing We Will Go
Of course they are. I’ll be busy, but thanks, I say. In truth, I don’t mind going to hockey games as much as I did when I was a kid. I’ve gone to a few of Aaron’s games over the years, and the whole situation has improved tremendously now that I’m on the right side of the legal drinking age. The fact that he’s playing in huge stadiums instead of shitty community rinks also helps.
Maybe next weekend, she offers, and we hug again before I leave to drive back home.
It’s only once I’m back inside my little cottage that I check my phone for the first time in a little while and see that I have quite a few texts:
AARON: Mom told me to ask you if you wanted to see the game on sunday?
Apparently, my mom thought a personal invite would change my mind about driving to Buffalo instead of working at my job. I thank my brother but reiterate that I will be very busy on Sunday.
DANIEL: Have you seen instagram?
It’s not great
Even chef is mad and she’s happy and unbothered like 97% of the time. I’m scared tbh
All of this leads into a link, which I click. It brings me to a reel posted by bitter&sweet, showcasing their new…soup shots. They posted it yesterday. We had planned to post our preview this afternoon, trying to build excitement before the festival officially kicks off tomorrow. We had, however, settled on soup flight, to Daniel’s satisfaction.
KATE: Can you post ours online asap so it looks less like we’re copying them? And in the post, mention that Chef has been working on this for weeks. And good call on the name, I guess.
Their idea is a bit different from ours, admittedly. They don’t have a full restaurant like we do, so they’re serving soups out of Crock-Pots into little compostable cups that their guests can try at the tasting bar. But it’s still too close for comfort. Thank God Daniel convinced us on the name switch, at least.
The next problem is what this whole situation represents. Up until now, I can admit that maybe my problems with bitter&sweet were a bit…one-sided, as Harrison has tried to point out. While I don’t think Harrison is out there feeding secrets to b&s like some sort of Cold War spy, he is a guy who likes to yap. And just maybe, perfect Britt and Ryan are not above some light plagiarism of creative ideas.
I had been avoiding it all this time, but it’s time to text Harrison, and it’s now going to be a new and completely different awkward conversation than the other one I had planned.
KATE: Hey are you free? I need to talk to you about something
HARRISON: Sure, what’s up?
KATE: Are you up for a coffee?
HARRISON: Sure. Cafe on main st in an hour?
I thumbs-up his last message and go to get changed out of my Denny’s outfit and into something a little more suitable for being out in public. As much as I wish that this conversation could have been through text or even a phone call, the conversation that is about to happen is going to be uncomfy, and I want to be able to read him. For better or worse, Harrison wears all his thoughts right on his face, and I’ll be able to tell right away if Britt and Ryan did this on purpose or not. I realize that it’s a shitty position to put him in again, but I can’t help but wonder if he might even be partially to blame.
I hate all of this.
I go into my kitchen and take several ibuprofens because between brunch with my mom and now this series of texts, I feel like I’ve spent the morning with my shoulders at my ears. Everything just aches, and I suspect that none of this is supposed to be this bad when you’re only in your late twenties. I desperately need to find an RMT. Maybe when Wassail is over, I’ll go to a clinic. Maybe for Christmas, I’ll hire someone to follow me around 24/7 and tell me to unclench my jaw at regular intervals.
After getting into jeans and a sweater that are much more appropriate for being out in the world and then using a sticky roller to remove all the silver cat hairs from it, I head to the little independent coffee shop on the main street of Picton and wait for Harrison. The cafe is a little busier than I would have imagined for a Tuesday afternoon in November, but it’s also just started snowing out, and from the street, the cafe looks cozy and inviting, just beckoning you in for a chai latte and chocolate croissant.
This particular occasion is for business, though, and I feel like a chocolate croissant is too frivolous. I order us both the same coffees we had two weeks ago at the cidery bar, and they’re both ready by the time Harrison shows up.
Oh, cheers, he says, seeing his cappuccino waiting for him. He grabs a seat. This is all very formal. Is this about the sauna? I’ve been meaning to text, but…I don’t know, you sort of seemed like you needed space after you quite literally fled.
The sauna was ill-advised, I say and take a sip of my latte. Speaking of ill-advised, it’s like my fifth coffee of the day if you include the ones I had at brunch. Why I’ve been so tense is a true mystery. But this is about bitter&sweet. Have you seen their Instagram?
Not recently, he says, then sips his own coffee. He’s a bit guarded now, his shoulders tight. I was at the gym again most of this morning. Why?
I bring up the Instagram post on my phone and hand it to him.
Oh. That’s…strange, he admits.
A little close for comfort? I say.
I mean, great minds think alike. There’ve been a lot of things like this online lately. It could have been a coincidence, he says, giving me back my phone.
Did you mention Chef’s menu to Britt and Ryan? I ask. I’m not mad at you for it. It’s normal that you would chat about work with the people you live with, I say. But if you did, it sort of confirms that they’re not above lifting our ideas.
