Grey disappearsfor most of the rest of the week, which is a good thing. The intensity in his expression when he was poking for information about Addison and making itveryclear that he remembers every word I told him in Hawaii has me off-balance. And the two-gallon jar brewing a batch of kombucha on the desk is an ever-present reminder that he’s changing things.
Zen says he’s off doing responsible business owner things. The managers from the other two locations seem to think I want to know everything he’s doing, so I’m getting regular communication from both that confirms Zen’s story.
In Elk Knee, it’s simple. The crew had already quit and found new jobs, and the manager is doing the barest obligatory duties to help get the building for sale while working his new job too.
In Tiara Falls though, apparently Grey’s been working to help the soon-to-be-displaced crew there all find new jobs, and he’s providing severance packages for them until they do.
That’s a little above and beyond if you ask me.
Which you didn’t.
And it makes me like-dislike him a little more.
He doesso manygood things, but here?
Whydoes he have to changemybuilding?
I can help him find another building in town if he wants to run a kombucha brewery. But the one time I casually mentioned it to Zen, they snorted, mutteredgood luck with that, and climbed up on a stepstool to tinker around the piles of things on top of the fridge andtake inventory of all of this powdered cheese.
“What happened with Grey and Chandler?” I finally ask Zen just before my shift is over on Thursday.
They’re warming up by the day, but I get the blank-faced,you don’t get that answer from melook. “Who says something happened?”
“My gut.”
“Same gut that led to your friend’s wedding disaster?”
“Low blow, Zen. Low blow.”
They shrug and go about their business.
I spend the rest of the day texting with Laney about how much more time Emma needs to herself before I get to check in on her. I tried sending Emma a text directly, but I couldn’t make myself type the words and hit send.
If I don’t message her, if I pretend she’s still on her runaway-moon and that I’m giving her space, if I tell myself she’ll ping me when she’s ready to talk, I can almost convince myself that this new normal will be okay.
Jitter and I visit Mom at the salon, and she hugs me and tells me everything will work out.
We go visit Grandpa and he shakes his head and says change is the only inevitable thing in life.
So I spend Thursday night with all three of the triplets at Silver Horn, getting just tipsy enough that one of them drives me home.
And Friday morning, I wake up hungover and antsy and still processing the new gossip I got from the triplets before the martinis took over.
Worse?
It’s only like 4 in the morning.
But I want coffee. And todo something.
Keeping myself in the kitchen and away from people all week at work has been seriously draining.I miss the gossip. I miss the community. I miss feeling like I’m in the middle of everything.
But I don’t trust myself to not misuse information, and Iwasrudely blunt to Addison the other day.
This is not me at my best.
Ideserveto feel like shit this morning.
My car is still downtown, so I pour myself an extra-large tumbler of black coffee, bundle up, and head out with Jitter to walk to work with flurries swirling all around us.
