Out for the Holidays and Out for Gold (Out in College 8.5)

I chuckled. “So…you said you might have a manager in mind for me?”

He slipped the scarf halfway inside his pocket and nodded. “I do indeed! You remember my friend Braden, right?”

“Of course—I invited him and Elliot this morning. I think they’re running an all-day volleyball clinic.”

“Oh, right. Well, Elliot’s ex, Drew, is a restaurant guy. He’s done it all…busboy, waiter, bartender. He just started grad school, and I think this could be one of those situations where a couple of beginners could help each other out. You mentioned that you only want a part-time manager…”

“Yes. Initially, anyway. But I don’t think I should hire anyone’s ex. Sounds like trouble.”

“Normally, I’d agree. But Elliot and Drew are on good terms. Here’s what I’ll do…” Phoenix pulled his cell from his pocket and dislodged his scarf. I picked it up and tried to hand it over, but he was busy tapping on his screen. “I’m forwarding everyone’s contact info. Braden’s, Elliot’s, and Drew’s. You can talk to them and feel out the situation. I know he’s qualified, but you have to feel comfortable with all your new hires…especially a manager.”

“Thank you,” I yelled over the music and an uproar of laughter.

“No problem. I—oh my God! Why am I yelling? I’m obviously a cocktail or three behind,” Phoenix huffed, glancing toward the action.

I motioned for him to get going, chuckling when he leaped over a pile of dust and dirt, then danced his way to the makeshift bar. I tipped back the last of my cocktail and turned to join him just as the door opened.

“Derek?”

Oh.

Fuck.

“Mom. Hi.” I gave her a sheepish half smile and tried not to fidget like a kid as she cast a critical look around.

“We had an appointment at noon. Did you forget I was coming by?”

“We said Sunday.”

We’d definitely said Sunday. There was no way I’d plan a friend demo party the same day my mother wanted a tour.

Some parents could hang out with their twentysomething-year-old kids and their friends without requiring a special event. Not my mom. She kept a strict calendar, and she didn’t appreciate deviation. If a party was going to happen, she wanted advance notice and a proper invitation so she could gracefully bow out if it didn’t sound like her kind of thing. I couldn’t fault her logic. No doubt I’d inherited my mom’s type-A tendencies…just like I’d inherited her dark-blonde hair, blue eyes, and golden skin.

“I have a tennis match tomorrow. I certainly wouldn’t have double-booked myself.” She craned her neck for a better look at the torn-up café…or shenanigans in the background, and frowned. “This is a mess.”

I fidgeted with the rainbow flag in my hand and gave a half laugh. “Yeah, I know. But it’s going to be great. Let me grab the plans. I can walk you through them and uh…do you want some champagne?”

My mom’s incredulous expression was tinged with irritation. Okay, nope…she was straight-up annoyed.

“I can’t hear myself think in here.” She cocked her head and frowned. “Is Gabe dancing with a girl? Did you break up? I thought he was a part owner. If you two are on the outs, this is not the time to—”

“Geez, Mom! No. Gabe and I aren’t breaking up.” Ugh. Just the thought made me queasy. “He’s dancing with his teammate’s girlfriend. Her name is—”

She held up a manicured hand like a stop sign and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. This is obviously not a good time, and you are obviously ill-prepared. Call me later, Derek.”

“Mom, wait!” I threw my red cup in the trash next to the door and hurried after her, grabbing the strap on her purse before she stormed down the sidewalk. “I’m sorry. We must have had a miscommunication. Let’s try again next weekend. I don’t know what state the store will be in. The contractor indicated this will take six to eight weeks.”

Mom crossed her arms and fixed me with a sharp look. “And then what?”

“We’ll open in December.” When she didn’t reply right away, I started babbling. Not a good look on me. Especially after a couple of mimosas. I tended to get kind of animated with liquid courage. My hands moved so fast, you’d think I was the grand marshal on a Pride float. I waved that flag like my life fucking depended on it, and I couldn’t seem to stop. “We’ll have a holiday party, then a soft launch before we open full-scale on January first and—”

“So you’re planning another party.”

I barreled on unthinking. “Definitely. 2nd Street is pretty festive during the holidays, so it’ll be a good time to draw interest.”

“I see.” She enunciated the two words with cutting precision until they took on a life of their own.

“You seem…angry. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” she repeated, clearly exasperated. “I’m worried sick about you. That’s what’s wrong. You’ve spent critical post-college years on a culinary adventure culminating in a café you appear to not take seriously. You’re opening a business, Derek. Throwing parties isn’t going to get the job done. Where is your business plan? Your action items? Your five-year vision? I’d hoped to have a mature conversation with my adult son about his future today, but instead he’s drinking champagne, waving a gay flag, and hosting a raven!”