The server finally makes an appearance and approaches us. “Do you know what you’d like?”
Cormac waves at the menu. “I’ll have whatever the smiling broccoli is.”
I laugh. “Make that two.”
José and Pansy put in their orders, and the second the server steps away, Pansy pulls an enormous reusable shopping bag out from under her chair.
“Here we go,” José murmurs.
Pansy ignores him and yanks a swatch of fuzzy light-pink fabric out of the bag. Presenting it to Cormac, she says, “Run your fingers over this and tell me the first thing you think of.”
He complies, then purses his lips. “Plastic.”
“It’s made of luxury, man-made materials,” she says with a faint frown.
“That’s usually a fancy way of saying plastic,” Cormac replies. “But it’s…soft plastic, I guess.”
José takes her hand. “Not now. We haven’t even eaten yet.”
He looks tense, his smile tight and full of unease. Pansy, on the other hand, seems energized by our awkwardness.
“Why don’t we play a little icebreaker game?” I suggest.
“I’d rather not,” Cormac says. “Let’s just get the presentation over with so we can—” His Adam’s apple bobs. “Have fun.”
He’s obviously not enthusiastic about this evening, not that I blame him. He’s upset with me, and he probably should be. José looks angry too—definitely with Pansy, and possibly with all of us.
I was hoping I could slide some questions about her two ex-fiancés into a game, but that’ll have to wait, because Pansy pulls a binder out of her bag.
“Now, I took the liberty of envisioning a redesign not just for the bathrooms but the whole brewery. Let’s set the scene.”
She pulls out her phone, and seconds later, a tinny rendition of “Livin’ on a Prayer” reverberates through the air. “I’m thinking upbeat music.” She grabs the swatch of plastic fabric and waves it at us. “Comfortable, cozy seating.” Her smile stretches wider. “A dedicated dance floor.”
José rubs his forehead. “It’s not a dance club, for Christ’s sake. It’s a brewery.” She darts him one of her wounded, Bambi-eyed looks, and he sighs heavily. “I’m sorry. I have a headache, and the heat and the music aren’t helping.”
Pansy gasps. “You don’t like Bon Jovi?”
“Of course I do. I just…why don’t you show them your redesign plan for the bathrooms? That’s what Nora asked for.”
She shoots him a disapproving look before flipping the binder open.
For the next ten minutes, she guides us through her proposed changes, which involve stupidly expensive fixtures, fuzzy towels that would have to be changed way too frequently, and a couple of tampon and condom machines that might actually be good additions if they weren’t so expensive.
After she finishes, I turn toward José. “The budget is beyond our means. All of it.”
This is where he’s supposed to step in and agree with me, because he knows as well as I do that we can only afford new window dressing, not all these unnecessary “upgrades.”
“Aren’t you being silly?” Pansy says with a smug smile. “Based on what I’ve read, Cormac’s budget must be basically limitless.”
“So, maybe he’d like to have those fixtures in his bathroom, but?—”
“I wouldn’t,” Cormac interjects. “They’re impractical.”
I glare at her. “Besides, his budget is notourbudget.”
“Isn’t it?” she asks with wide-eyed innocence.
She’s giving me a look that saysyour parents would find all of this very interesting, wouldn’t they?
