I sensed her before seeing her. My Mae-dar was firing on all cylinders. Striding toward me, fresh from her weekend trip to Kitchi Falls, Mae wore a pair of jeans and an O’Malley’s tee. She smelled as fresh as she looked.
“Reporting for duty,” she said, saluting me and heading behind the bar. “You can take off if you want. It’s looking slow for a Sunday.”
Get a grip, Beck. There’s work to do.
“Not gonna happen. Guess who I just got off the phone with?”
“Hmm. My dad?”
“Nope.”
“Your dad?” She laughed at her own joke.
“Uh, no.”
“Yeah, that can’t be right. You’re smiling. I give up. Who?”
“Someone from the Finger Lakes Flavor Fest. They had a cancellation and wanted to know if we were interested. Apparently the smash burger is”—I grinned—“a smash.”
Mae rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. But seriously? Dad’s been trying to get in there for years.”
“I know. Although he didn’t even apply this year. Was a little salty about being rejected so many years in a row.”
“They’re really picky, especially with pub food.”
The Finger Lakes Flavor Fest had become iconic in just seven or eight years, thanks to its selective vendors. When I visited a few years ago, I was impressed by the scenic lakeside park setup—food trucks, local businesses, live music, wooden picnic tables, string lights, and waterfront views—attracting locals and tourists alike. For O’Malley’s, this was a perfect chance to establish a reputation beyond being Cedar Falls’ drinking spot.
Despite myself, I’d begun to start thinking like an owner and not just the manager of the pub. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that maybe the carefree lifestyle I’d held on to wasn’t as appealing as I’d always convinced myself it was, and this opportunity to take ownership was starting to feel like something worth considering.
“Exactly. Which is why we have to do it.”
“When is it?”
This was the bad news part of the call. “Next weekend.”
“Next… what? You’re kidding me?”
“Wish I was. We’ll need a setup, menu, coverage for the weekend?—”
“Holy shit. Beck? In less than a week?”
“Excuse me. Can I get a Yuengling draft?”
The bar was picking up. Dinner crowd.
“Sure thing.”
By the time I got his draft, and served a new couple that just sat down, Mae was already running the floor. It went from slow to packed in fifteen minutes, and we didn’t get a chance to catch up for over an hour. That wasn’t to say I didn’t notice her.
Challenging myself to keep my eyes from her, I lasted all of about five minutes when she dropped her pen and bent over to get it, right in front of the bar. Talk about torture. Finally, she disappeared in the back as things slowed back down, presumably to look at the books, something she mentioned doing on Sunday.
“Mom is on the ball,” she said finally, re-joining me. “Payroll looks good. I took care of a few invoices but… we really need to talk about this festival. What did you tell them?”
“That we’d do it. Obviously.”
“Good.”
And that was it for another good hour. May wasn’t usually as busy as the summer, with the exception of graduation weekend. The local college always brought in more than a few extra visitors, and I was suddenly glad to have Mae around. It was too bad she didn’t want to take over the bar. She was really good at it.
