“This is lovely,” Dad says. His smile falters, taking inventory of the place setting. “Will your husbands be joining us?”
The women exchange glances. It’s clear from their collective expressions they know what Dad is thinking.
“Not that I know of,” Annabel says, placing her hands on her hips.
“I hope that’s not a problem.” Dr.Blaire folds her arms across her chest.
“Sorry, Charlie. It’s just us,” Jean says.
Instead of reading the room, Dad thinks it’s a good idea to correct Jean. “My name is Dale,” he says, putting a hand to his chest.
Dad is one more comment away from offending everyone in the room, including me, so I take it upon myself to spell it out for him. “It’s just an expression, Dad,” I explain in a kind but serious tone. “Jean and her husband tended the chicken farm together. When he died ten years ago, Jean took over everything, even his beloved garden. She discovered she had a knack for it, and now, instead of one business, she runs two.”
“It makes me feel closer to Gerry. He loved his ranunculi,” Jean says with a wistful look in her eye.
I smile at Jean kindly before glancing over to Annabel. “The Hartfords harvest honey, but only in the summer, after the flowers bloom and the bees are done pollinating. Which is perfect for Annabel, because she works at the school. During the school year, the beehive is used as an educational resource in the insect unit of the science curriculum. Callie said you’re a first-grade teacher?” I look to Annabel for confirmation.
Annabel nods, smiling proudly. “The kids call me Mrs.Hart for short.” She points to a heart-shaped enamel pin below the collar of her shirt.
“How sweet,” I say, then turn to Dr.Blaire. “Not only do Dr.Blaire’s cows provide the dairy for the town, but she is the one who is working with the city council to raise funds for the town beautification initiative,” I say.
“It helps to be married to the mayor.” Dr.Blaire cocks her head with a cheeky smile.
“You see, Dad?Theirproducts are the ones we’re sampling today. And if we want to partner with them on some potential collaborations, then we’re talking to the right people,” I assure him.
“Oh, of course.” Dad bows apologetically. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, but in my experience with business, it’s usually men who attend the meetings.”
“What kind of business did you do?” Jean asks.
“I’m a retail enterpriser,” he says proudly. Then, a second later, his lips curve downward. “Or I was. I guess you could say I’m retired now.”
“Semiretired,” I say. “He’s venturing into a different market now. Produce.” I gesture to the spread on the table.
Dad’s smile returns. Not all the way to what it was before. But close.
“On that note, let’s dig in.” Annabel motions for us to sit while Jean grabs us a bowl each.
Before I have a chance to pick up a spoon, I feel something reach for me under the table. It’s Dad. He squeezes my hand. For a split second, I wonder if he’s confused. Because Dad isn’t like that, not with me. Then he smiles, letting me know that he’s grateful I’m here. I have to blink back the tears that come almost at once. It’s thefirst time my dad has included me in his business affairs, let alone acknowledged me for my accomplishments. The taste of what I’ve been craving from Dad all these years is overwhelming. But if I want Dad to be proud of me by the end of this meeting, I have to be able to get through it. So I pull myself together.
We start filling our plates, drizzling honey over the yogurt and enjoying it with a side of Jean’s hard-boiled eggs. Although it’s a simple meal, Dad and I agree that it’s surprisingly satisfying.
“When the ingredients are as fresh as these, you don’t need to add this or change that to enhance it. It tastes best in its natural form,” I say when the table is being cleared.
“You know what the secret is?” Jean asks, and leans in. “It’s us.” She turns to each side of her and smiles at Dr.Blaire and Annabel.
“It’s true,” Dr.Blaire says. “These cows are like family. They live a great life, the way I care for them. And research shows that cows that are less stressed produce milk with higher fatty acids and vitamins, which makes it tastier and healthier.”
Jean and Annabel nod, agreeing with Dr.Blaire. And I’m surprised to find that Dad does too.
“I think I understand what you mean,” he says. “It was like that when I grew up on a farm. Our family was known to produce the sweetest cabbage, and we credited it all to the care we put into cultivating it.”
“You worked on a farm?” Dr.Blaire’s eyes widen with interest.
“So you know what it’s like to live like us,” Annabel says.
“It’s not quite the same. The conditions are much more agreeable here. You can grow pretty much anything. But back where our farm was, the land was so rocky, and the climate was harsh. We struggled to grow anything. So when we discovered cabbage thrived in those conditions, we treated it like a precious, rare jewel.”
“I can see why it tasted so sweet, then.” Jean smiles at Dad kindly.
