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It’s amazing what has happened to this business this year.
After my dad almost ran the family craft brewery into the ground, my siblings and I stepped in and saved it from catastrophe. All four of us went all in, quitting our jobs to make this dream for my dad happen. I needed the most coaxing.
He called me one day and begged me to come home. “Please, Jackson, you haven’t been home in years. Please help me fix this. Please turn this around.” I knew I could, and I wanted to. Although this town dials my anxiety up to an eleven, I agreed begrudgingly.
Within two months, I left my finance job, my apartment, and a quiet existence in Seattle to move back here. With my guidance, my dad pulled his beer from distribution, stopped chasing large-scale money-pit ideas, and focused on the taproom and building community within our small town founded during the California gold rush.
My dad listened to me too well.
“Our business is only as good as how happy our employees are,” he said once when he put another event on the schedule.
Hence all the barbecues.
I prefer not to attend. Every chance I get I try to get out of them. The employees-only ones aren’t so bad, especially because many of the employees weren’t around ten years ago. I would rather stick pins underneath my fingernails than go to the Goldheart events. Between a group of women Reid now calls the “Bad Biddies” and friends who are now strangers, I just avoid them all together.
“Jackson, are you coming to the barbecue?” my mom repeats.
“Aren’t your other kids going?” I ask.
“Yes, and you’re one of my kids.”
“Allegedly.”
“Jackson Rollins Finch.”
“Katherine Rollins Finch.”
My mother runs her hands down her face. “Don’t be a smartass. Take a shower and make an appearance. We have a couple new hires coming. Clover and Shiloh.”
“I met Shiloh already,” I say, punching a finger in the air. My parents, especially my mother, love when I’m social. I deserve credit for meeting that girl.
Shiloh is the type of person darkness dwellers like me hiss at. Sunny, bubbly, wears braids unironically. Her shoes have a hole in them, and she wore them on her first day with us.
My mother should be excited I shook her hand and that I didn’t make her cry.
“Emily says you’re avoiding her.”
I grumble. After her first two shifts where she went out of her way to say hi to me, I looked up her schedule so I could hide the next time she was on.
When I went back to my desk after hiding, she left a sticky note:Hey Jackson! Sorry I missed ya! Shiloh
A heart replaced the dot above the i in her name.
“Are you going to come, Jackson?”
My head pounds; my stomach churns. I have no food in my fridge, and the food my dad orders for these things is usually amazing. I can eat, drink some of the special edition beer my dad pulls out, and put in enough face time to get out of the next few events. Also, I could stop Shiloh from being so fixated on me. The pros outweigh the cons this time.
“Fine,” I agree.
“Great. It starts in a half hour.”
“Oh shit. Gotta go, Mom, shower time,” I say, closing the door in my mom’s face.
“Hey!” she shouts, and I open the door.
“Sorry, Mom. See you soon,” I say, before closing the door gently.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m showered, and the pain in my head is now a dull ache behind my eyebrows. I take some of my kitchen Ibuprofen, chug some water, and leave.
