"Like what?" I asked innocently.
"Like you doubt the concept of energy."
"I believe that you believe it," I said carefully, not wishing to offend her. Funny how my attitude had changed. I hadn't given a damn about offending her the first time we met.
She eyed me with a healthy dose of skepticism. "I deal with the fears and worries of my customers all day. When I'm at home, I want a clear separation so I can reset and recharge. Bringing work home means my body and mind never get the message that it's time to rest."
Though I probably wouldn't use the word energy, what she said made sense.
"So my office is at the store," Tallulah continued. "Where I do paperwork and inventory and all the tasks required to run my business. When my husband moved away, the nights I had to work late, Blossom would do her homework in the office with me or at the counter out front. Only recently have I started doing any work at home, and I don't consider it work. I make kombucha. It's really more of a hobby. I made it for myself and then started making extra to sell in the store."
"Then it took off," I surmised.
"Then it took off," she confirmed. "I could probably sell more than I do since I sell out every week, but I'm satisfied with this pace. Since I make a small batch, I can do it out of my home kitchen. If I sold more, I'd have to get a commercial kitchen, and I'm not interested in going that route. At least not at the moment."
"When you're ready to expand, let me know. I'll help you with the numbers."
"How much would your assistance cost?"
"Nothing. We're going to be family soon, so consider it a favor. Besides, I owe you since I've been having some of the best sleep of my life."
We were both quiet for a while as I added the prawns to the grill. They sizzled, joining the chorus of sound from the rest of the cooking food and the noise from the street below.
"Why did you choose to live here? It's nice, but you seem like the type who would have a big house and a three-car garage on the edge of town."
"You couldn't be more wrong. I've never wanted all that because it's not practical. I bought this place after my wife and I divorced, but I did have the big house with the three-car garage on the edge of town."
"She wanted those things, not you," Tallulah guessed.
I nodded. "Despite giving her what she wanted, Maria—my ex-wife—wasn't happy. She didn't like the budget I set for the household. She called me a tightwad." I frowned. Since when did being smart about money become a bad thing?
"Are you a tightwad?" Tallulah asked.
"I prefer the word frugal."
"There must be a reason for your behavior. You didn't wake up one morning and decide to create a budget for your household and expect your wife to stick to it."
"I've always been this way. I grew up pretty poor. My parents had six kids when they probably should've had one or none. We never had much, and then they took in two of my cousins because my aunt and uncle were unable to take care of them. Long story involving substance abuse and all it entails. Anyway, they were barely able to provide for six of us, and now there were two more mouths to feed and bodies to clothe."
"Sounds rough." Tallulah's eyes filled with sympathy.
"You have no idea. I can't say I ever went hungry, but I did grow tired of rice and beans. And you would not believe the many ways you can cook cabbage." We both had a laugh. "We never threw anything away, and my siblings and I shared clothes. Clothes handed down from folks at church or clothes my parents had purchased at Goodwill or yard sales for pennies on the dollar. They were patched and recycled between all of us.As you can imagine, we were not the popular kids in school and were teased mercilessly."
I shifted the vegetables and prawns onto a platter. "When I became an adult, I promised myself I would do things differently. I paid my way through school, working full-time while going to school full-time. I made sure I picked a major that would make me money, determined not to want for anything again. When I met Maria, deep down I knew we were incompatible, but she was so different. So full of light, and our chemistry was off the charts. I overlooked our differences and believed our relationship would work because we loved each other."
"Famous last words," Tallulah muttered.
"Yeah. Our differences became magnified after we got married, and it became clear we should've had more in-depth conversations. She wanted a big family, like the one she was a part of. At least four kids, she said."
"And how many did you want?"
"Two, but only if we could afford them. After we had Manuel, she kept talking about having more kids, and I showed her in the budget where that wasn't possible."
Tallulah gasped. "Not the budget again. Tell me you didn't whip out a budget and tell your wife you couldn't have more children."
"Did you forget what I said about how I grew up? She was not happy."
"Do you regret not having more children?"
