Handful by C.R. Grissom
CHAPTER SIX
Everest
Stopping by the bridal suite at the hotel this morning gave me an opportunity to see Kirsty and make sure she’s okay. While her complexion was paler than normal, she was fine. More than, if I’m honest with myself.
After our separate celebrations ended last night Faith asked me to help get Kirsty in their limo. It was easier to carry Kirsty than to keep her from tripping in her heels. Once the driver shut the door, Grams and her entourage were whisked away to the hotel.
Gavin booked a suite of rooms close to the wedding venue for Grams to have a larger, more comfortable space, to get the full pre-wedding hair and makeup deal done. The couple didn’t want to break with tradition and see each other before the wedding.
I grin thinking about what Kirsty told me last night after I’d hoisted her in my arms. “This is like riding the Ferris wheel.” Her words slightly slurred.
“You’re comparing me to a carnival ride?” I’d asked for clarification.
“Yeah, you never know whether it’ll fall off its axle or give you a thrill ride,” she’d declared, her arms wrapped around my neck tight.
“I choose option two.”
She’d given me a look that made her dimple pop. Man, I was almost a goner. The tug between us gets stronger and more insistent each time I see and spend time with her. The problem is I’m not sure if I’m the only one feeling the pull.
She’ll go back home in two days where she’ll stay until August. No sense in starting something that will experience an almost eight-month delay. No matter how intriguing it might be.
I step into the shower. Soap up, wash my hair. Rinse it all off. Three minutes later, I climb out. I’ll drive over to the hotel where I’ll meet up with the rest of the men to catch the limo to the venue.
Alan hires out limos like the rest of us use Rides. He takes his role of best man seriously. I can’t imagine the expense of it all.
I’d been to the venue earlier today to drop off the wedding supplies: favors, candles, and centerpieces. All the stuff we’d been working on this week. I helped TJ and CW pack everything from Gavin’s condo into our vehicles to deliver it all to the banquet manager.
I brush and floss my teeth, then slather shaving cream over the lower half of my face. Using a razor is the only true way to achieve a clean shave. During the week, I use an electric shaver, but not for special occasions. I keep my movements even to avoid nicking my skin and leaving bloody holes in my face.
My cell rings. I glance down at the display and see Mom’s calling. I swipe to accept the call, and press down on the icon for the speaker. I refuse to be late. “Hey, Mom.”
“Happy New Year, love.”
“Happy New Year. What time are you closing the store?” Back home in Modesto, the market has been in Mom’s family for two generations.
“I put up a sign that I’m closing at six—you know how customers always leave their shopping to the last minute—and I fully expect to lock up by seven.”
I sigh. Resigned to the fact it might be physically impossible for her to turn a late shopper away. “Don’t stay later. It’s a long day on your feet. Leave on time and you’ll have more time to relax.”
She continues like I haven’t spoken. “I put a roast in the slow cooker on low before I left for the store. Dinner and a glass of Four Winds Cellars Zinfandel will taste like heaven especially with an entire day off for the New Year.”
Mom doesn’t close the shop often. Exceptions are made for holidays. I don’t know how she does it day after day, year after year. Mostly on her own. My sixteen-year-old baby sister Marla—stuck with her plan to prove to all she wants to learn the ins and outs of being a businesswoman—had pitched in at the store since the previous summer. Her ultimate goal is to run a pot collective.
“Will Marla help out today?”
“Actually, yes. She’s coming along in her training. She’s had a few ideas on stock changes to help with aisle flow,” Mom says with pride.
Last summer, I asked Marla to promise to help Mom with the store for one solid year. If she complies, I’d put my weight behind her plan to apply to U.C. Davis. They have a Cannabis and Hemp Research Center. Biology focused, it’s going to take a lot of work, but if she follows through with her promise, I’ll back her when she tells Mom her plan.
“I’ll stop by tomorrow. Maybe we can all have lunch together?”
“That’s exactly why I called. How does twelve thirty sound to you?”
The drive takes about an hour and a half. I’ll have to be on the road by eleven. “That works. I’ve got to let you go or I’ll be late for the wedding.” I rinse my face to remove any streaks of shaving cream.
“Have fun. See you tomorrow.” Mom ends the call.
I pull the towel from around my waist and dry my face. Splash on some aftershave, and spray deodorant. Back in my bedroom, I pull on boxer briefs, and unzip the bag holding my tux.
Cuff links give me a bit of trouble, but I finally work them closed. The tie was easy. Coach Larry showed me how to tie one. Dad left before I ever wore a suit or tied my first dress tie knot.
I learned the important things from Coach Larry. In addition to everyday life skills. He taught me to lead with dignity and respect for others. He taught me what to do and how to act to earn the respect of those around me.
My phone rings. I walk back into the bathroom to answer. CW says, “We’re nearly ready here. Gavin and Alan are with the photographer. She’s getting the before shots with them before she heads over to Grams’s suite.”
“Yeah, I’ll leave in ten minutes, less if I can manage.”
“See you.” He disconnects.
I sit on the bed to put on my socks and shoes. Grab the jacket out of the bag. Slip it on. I throw a pair of joggers and a long-sleeve Gladiators T-shirt into the tux bag. Grab my shaving kit from the cabinet under the bathroom sink. And pack athletic shoes, socks and another pair of boxer briefs. Zip the bag and I’m ready to go.
Gavin arranged for a hotel suite for CW, TJ, and myself for the night. It’s generous and thoughtful of him. Grams and Gavin insisted. They didn’t want us to be on the road on a night where some people drink and drive.
Stuffing my wallet in my pocket, I head out the door.
They’ve hired a DJ for tonight. Does Kirsty dance? If so, I bet she’ll try to lead.