Page 6 of Honeyed
I wave at my grandmother as she takes the lunch order of one of our regulars, and I scoot past tables on the way to my office.
Hope Pizza has been in our family for four generations, and I know this restaurant like the back of my hand. I could traverse the setup of the dining room in my sleep, even with the six or so occupied four-tops of locals whose orders I’ve known since I was slinging a waitressing book at the age of fifteen.
The smell of the wood fire oven and my nonna’s cannoli cream, the red apron my mother hangs by the door each night and puts on anytime she comes in here, the stack of red-and-white checkered tablecloths in the corner after they’ve been freshly laundered—this place is my second home. And from the time I came home from college, my adult workplace.
Each sibling in my family has a passion, and luckily, we haven’t been forced to fit those into the family business because coming home again and doing so was just a natural life path. Our family is close-knit and supportive; it wasn’t a burden or heavy lift to want to come home and contribute our individual talents to Hope Pizza. For my brother Patrick, it’s his accountant’s mind for numbers. Liam, the oldest, runs our farm and retail sauce side of the business. My little brother, Evan, is the culinary mastermind who won tons of prestigious foodie awards and just returned home to take over the kitchen reins from my father.
And me? I’m the marketing guru behind them all. I make sure our website appears at the top of search engines and that we are all over social media feeds. My job is to sign us up for the local festivals and food truck days so that we stay visible in the mouths and hearts of our favorite customers. I book us on local TV stations and submit our story for national news. When a magazine or website calls looking for a quote, I’m the one who gives it. Anything that falls into communications, PR, influencing or otherwise is my territory, and my family lets me run with it.
If my peers in my college marketing classes could see me now—they probably stalk me on social media, let’s be honest—they might laugh at how mediocre my job sounds. Back then, we all had aspirations of working for top brands or firms in the marketing space. Had dreams of going to fashion week or red carpets.
But I’m much happier than I ever would have been in a big pond competing with sharks. I love my hometown, being close to my support system, and driving down quaint streets to my little office in the back of the pizzeria.
And if I’m being extremely vulnerable and open, I admit that I’ve never left because of the one person I always stay for. But that makes my heart ache too much for a Monday afternoon.
“Did you get that email I forwarded from the Foodie Channel interviewer?” Evan, my youngest brother, pops into my office before I can even set my blush pink work bag down and pull my laptop out.
“Saw it last night, but you know I don’t do media requests on the weekends.” Working for a small business, not to mention one managed by my family, means I have to install boundaries for my own sanity.
Working very minimally on the weekends, setting office hours, and employing task charting software for each employee are all necessary means that I set up to ensure just that.
“Yeah, got it.” My brother has some kind of sauce on his cheek, and his hair, the same dark black as mine, looks like he’s been running his hands through it all morning. “They need me in New York on Thursday to film the segment, so I’ll ask Dad to cover the kitchen. And book me a flight, would you?”
Annoyance ripples through me. Evan might be a culinary wunderkind, but he’s been pissing me off more lately than not since he returned from San Francisco. Dad, Liam, and Patrick have worked with me far longer and deliver the respect I am worthy of, while I think Evan has always been given special treatment and handholding from those around him.
“I’m not your assistant,” I grumble, gingerly lowering to my desk chair and opening my laptop.
He sighs, dropping his eyes to the floor. “Sorry, sis, I didn’t mean it. I’ve been up since three a.m. with this recipe dancing in my head and can’t get it right.”
Another one of Evan’s qualities? His compulsion to cook at all hours of the day. He’s like an artist or a musician when it comes to the kitchen; nothing can keep him from creating once he has a bug in his ear. I feel for and envy him because I’ve only known a love for something like that once, and I’m not allowed to pursue it.
Try as I might, I haven’t been able to keep Warren out of my head since the funeral two days ago. Hell, have I ever succeeded in not thinking of my best friend twenty-four seven? Probably not since I hit puberty.
It’s the look on his face, one of loneliness and discontent, that I can’t stop picturing. Because I know him best, I know he thinks he’s alone in this world now that his last parent is gone, but it couldn’t be further from the truth.
I manned up at the funeral, being the shoulder I knew he needed, even though it sliced another chunk of my heart every time I touched him, held his hand, and provided support. Because we both know I wanted to do those things as so much more than what our relationship currently is. I have no idea where we stand, if that was meant to be a truce, or if we’re still in this standoff.
Part of me hopes we are because I can’t go back to ignoring everything between us. Like I have for so many years. It’s either all in or …
Thinking about Warren not being in my life, friend or otherwise, because I’d rather have everything with him is terrifying. But I can’t continue to see him every single day, knowing that we could be so much more and live with myself.
The uneasy feelings in my stomach make me feel like I’ve had six cold brews, even though I only had my regular one this morning.
Letting go of my anger, I smile at my baby brother. “That’s okay. What’s it this time? And yes, I’ll let them know you’re coming. I’ll even book your flight. As long as you do two things for me.”
I’ve always been the best at bargaining when it comes to the Ashton siblings.
“Why do I feel like I won’t like this favor at all?” Evan smirks, leaning against my doorframe.
Ticking off my fingers, I ignore his question. “One, you have to mention the new sauce Liam just released. It’s a spicy blend that we want to do well, so get the ingredients from him and talk it up.”
“That’s easy enough. The segment is on the hotter side of Italian food, so that will actually fit in nicely.” He nods as if he can see his talking points now.
“And … you also have to join my side in the fight against dad to open up my storefront.” I lean back, crossing my arms as I lay down my ultimatum.
Evan shakes his head. “No way, I’m not getting in the middle of that. I’m already fighting the old man enough about changing the menu, I don’t need another layer of bricks on my shoulders when it comes to him.”
“If you want me to help in your assistant tasks, because you’re a man-child who can’t function on his own, then you’ll put in a good word. Tell him how much revenue and name recognition this would bring to both a storefront and the pizzeria. Talk about cultivating the goods in this community. You’re a charmer when you want to be, that’s why Foodie Channel wants you on their segment. So turn the charm on Dad.”