I stare at the balance for a long time. I’ve been living payday-to-payday for fifteen years, always a little short, always hoping nothing big goes wrong, always making do – and now I have extra. I have a cushion, in case Merrie can’t pay me this week, in case Una needs help with a bill, in case the car gives it up, in case something goes sideways.
I didn’t realize how much stress I had about money, not until it slides right out of me and leaves me weak in the knees.
I own the trailer. I have a job. I have our small savings, too, and now I have a little bit extra, just in case.
If I play my cards right, I’ll have a friend I can call, too.
I send Mike a text, not trusting my voice. I thank him for the payment and tell him it’s cleared. I get a thumbs-up in reply and barely stop myself from sending a heart in reply to that.
Then Merrie gives a shout and I realize it’s five. I get up to unlock the door.
For the first time since we opened, there’s no one waiting.
There’s only one reservation for the evening and in the end, I seat three tables. There’s a storm brewing and rain begins to fall steadily by seven, landing on the sidewalk in big heavy drops. Maybe the weather is keeping people home.
“Enough!” Merrie says at seven-thirty when the last patrons leave. “Lock it up, Sylvia. Let’s close early. We’ve earned it.”
Colin is already loading the dishwasher as Merrie peers in the fridge. “Four steaks left. What do you say to steak frites, Colin?”
“Yes, please, ma’am.”
She looks at me. “Sounds good,” I say.
“Take two home,” she says, tossing steaks onto the grill. “The gratin will travel better than the frites and maybe Unawill like it. I made her another batch of crème brûlée this morning, too.”
As a result, I’m home before eight and unexpectedly. Una is still up but she only wants the pudding, which doesn’t surprise me. She’s heading to bed. I stand in the trailer, looking at two take-out boxes on my table and listening to the rain drumming on the roof.
I know exactly who I want to call.
So, I do.
26
MIKE
I’m trying to give Sylvia some space this week, though it’s tough to keep my distance. I want all the things. Everything. And I want it now. But I know she’s not on the same page, not yet, and I don’t want to spook her.
I’ve never found it so hard to be patient in my life. I try to think about the look of wonder on her face when she came home on Sunday and the tears in her eyes when she thanked me. That has to be enough right now.
Was she surprised at Daphne’s? She was quiet and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Her text on Thursday and her evident pleasure makes me smile.
Things are on track at work. Dad is playing a lot of golf, which suits me just fine, and Lisa stops by daily to share feedback from her very happy client. The new hybrid is bearing beyond expectation, which is all good. No more illness and we are rolling through our biggest month of the year. There’s nothing to plan and little to solve at this point. There’s just a lot of tomatoes.
That gives me time to think about what I’d change if Ireally was in charge. I’d be planning for the next year’s exclusive crop, about starting our own plants, about becoming a year-round operation and creating more full-time jobs. I wonder about doing our own hybridization so that no one else will be able to sow the same seeds. I try to assess all the reasons why Dad is against what seems natural and intuitive to me. Thinking about new cultivars makes me remember how much I enjoyed research, though there’s no bandwidth for that in my current situation.
I’m just going to call it a day when my phone buzzes on Thursday night. To my satisfaction, it’s Sylvia. A text and a call both in one day. That has to be progress.
“Have you eaten yet?” she asks.
“No. I’m just leaving work now.”
“Then come for dinner. Merrie has sent me home with steak frites. Well, not frites. Gratin and grilled asparagus.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“It smells great.” She clears her throat. “Come see the trailer and celebrate with me.”
It’s an offer I can’t refuse.
