Page 9 of Wassailing We Will Go
His smile doesn’t falter, exactly, but it goes from that of someone who has just won the lottery to a subtler, softer version. A sadder one.
I spent all my school breaks there, he says. I was an exceptionally hyper kid.
I have no trouble believing this but keep that to myself.
My older sister is quite a bit older than me and never caused my folks much trouble, and I think I was a bit of a surprise both in terms of my existence and also in my energy levels. They’re all great, he adds. Nice people, on the whole. But I think they…didn’t quite know what to do with me when I came along, so Granddad took me out to the country whenever he could. Said the fresh air was good for me.
As he talks, he goes through all the steps to make another coffee, but much more slowly this time.
It was just a hobby cidery, not a big one like this or even like Britt and Ryan’s place. He bought it when Gram died to keep himself busy, and I loved it. He let me do real jobs for him. Honestly, probably slightly illegal ones when you consider child labour laws. But as a kid, I felt like he was the first one to treat me like someone who could, you know, do things, rather than just sort of…be around, bothering everyone. He finishes making his coffee and leans on the bar from the other side so that we nearly meet in the middle. I guess none of this is really on my CV, he says with a sheepish smile. This is bonus content.
I like the off-script version better, I say. For what it’s worth, I think my aunts would have loved you as well. Both little hyper Harrison and the grown-up version. I was around six when they opened this place, and I loved coming here, too.
Were you a wild kiddo as well? he says, looking up from his cup.
Nah, not really. I was a shy kid. I’m from Belleville, the nearest city, but my Aunt Jenn brought me out here to try and get me to play with the County kids nearby. My younger brother Aaron and I are close in age, but he was always busy with hockey. He was really good. And, I mean, not just really good like how most Canadian kids growing up are ‘really good.’ I mean…really good. So, my parents travelled a lot for hockey tournaments and a thousand other hockey-related activities. I hated it, all of it, so I spent all the hockey tournament weekends here instead, which was better for everyone.
Where are your aunts now? I bet I’d like them, too.
They moved to Greece at the beginning of the year. Aunt Jenn is my dad’s older sister; Aunt Lauren is her wife. I don’t remember a time when it was ever just Aunt Jenn, though. They’re always kind of a package deal in my mind. Anyway, they’d devoted the last twenty-two years of their life to this place and just needed a break. They’d always wanted to do this; they talked about it constantly. Last fall, Aunt Lauren had a mild health scare—she’s completely fine, but it was enough to get them to go for it. And then…they brought me in. But that’s a whole other story.
Well, I’m intrigued, says Harrison, putting down his cup. He had made himself a cappuccino, and it’s nearly finished. My latte is long gone. Do you want another? he asks, nodding to my empty cup.
Better not. It’s getting later in the day, I say. Did anyone give you a proper tour when you arrived, or did Charlie just steal you right away?
That nice bloke, Daniel, offered me a tour when I arrived, he says.
I bet he did.
But then Charlie came along, and I introduced myself. He immediately started questioning me. You’d think I was under investigation for murder, the way he started, but we sorted it out pretty quickly.
I saw that. I smile. You made quick work of him. Well, let’s go for a walk, then. We’ll go to the office, grab your CV, and then—
Don’t leave yet!
Daniel bursts out of the nearby kitchen, followed by our chef, Melanie. We have something for you guys to try! Daniel adds. Chef winks at me, and now I’m both curious and suspicious of what they have planned.
Chef’s usually not in on Mondays, either, but we’re in the last stretch of planning before the holiday menu launches next week, and they’ve been putting the finishing touches on some of the dishes. Chef Mel is a tall Black woman in her mid-twenties who my aunts managed to lure away from a nice restaurant in Kingston over two years ago with the promise of her own kitchen at our restaurant. She’s been an amazing find ever since, winning awards all over the place and making the restaurant a must-visit on its own merit for serious foodies and passing tourists alike.
She seems happy here, but it’s a constant worry at the back of mind: there are a lot of spectacular restaurants in the County that would hire her on the spot, and slow days like yesterday have a way of increasing my anxiety about this.
You guys are not even ready for this, she announces. Have a seat!
Daniel motions to a nearby table set for four, and Harrison takes the seat next to mine. Soon, Daniel reappears with a bottle of sparkling water.
This is…unexpected, I say as Daniel fills up my glass. What’s the occasion?
Chef made up a little something extra, and we wanted to run it by you. Figured we’d do it properly, he says. Especially with a special guest.
Chef re-emerges from the kitchen, now holding aloft a tray of tiny bowls.
Soup shooters! she exclaims. With a tiny piece of bread to accompany each one. The cornbread goes with the vegan chili, the soda bread goes with the wild mushroom, and the cranberry roll goes with the brie squash.
I like ‘soup flight’ better, for the record, says Daniel, rolling his eyes at Chef as she places them on the table.
Soup shooters are fun, says Harrison, who looks thrilled with the entire development.
Thank you! says Chef. Daniel is allergic to fun.
