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She felt she was getting there.
3
THOSE REMINDERS
“Hey, Grandpa,” Cal said a few days later. “You’re here early.”
He was at the liquor store for the delivery before they opened. He had a manager that did this. One at each store. But Chris was on vacation this week and there was no way he was having his grandfather do any lifting.
“I thought I’d come in and help out,” his grandfather said.
“Nope,” he said. “You don’t need to do that.”
“You don’t have to treat me like a baby,” his grandfather said.
He looked at the man who was six foot three. Well, probably six one now with the bone loss of age.
“Never,” he said. “Look at what we’ve got here.”
He held up a bottle of scotch. “Damn,” his grandfather said. “You found some?”
“It wasn’t easy. I’m not sure how much of a big seller it’s going to be. I ordered seven bottles. I’ll put three here and three in Albany.”
That was where his second liquor store was located. Not as big as the one in Latham, but still plenty busy.
“Where is the seventh bottle going to be?” his grandfather asked, turning it around in his hand. It’d sell for over six hundred retail. With the holidays in a few months, there was a shot he’d sell them all but wasn’t holding his breath.
“It’s where it belongs,” Cal said, laughing.
“Mine?” his grandfather asked.
“You’ve been talking about it for months. Maybe a year.”
“You need to sell this,” his grandfather said.
“Nope. It was a seven-bottle minimum to purchase it,” he said. “That bottle is yours.”
Which was a lie. It was six and it made sense to put three in each store. His grandfather deserved to get one.
“You’re pulling my leg, but I’m not going to tell you no.”
“Because I won’t take no for an answer.”
“You’re a good kid,” his grandfather said.
Cal smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His mother had told him that all the time. His father too.
It made him feel good to get those reminders at times.
“I’m a good adult now,” he said. “Enjoy it.”
“Why don’t we open it together,” his grandfather said. “When was the last time you sat down and had a meal that wasn’t in front of the TV?”
Longer than he could remember. Most of his meals were things he threw in the microwave or picked up. Owning an Italian restaurant, he ran in there half the time and got something from the kitchen or the takeout window.
Not like he ate pizza every night. He’d get a meal to take home. Or a few and heat them up.
He knew he should learn to cook, but he’d never mastered it all that well.
