Cate is watching all this, her back pressed up against the wall, dumbfounded. Still, she manages to keep her freshly painted fingers and toes carefully spread.
“Amelia, make sure everything in the stand is neat and orderly, okay? And that the girls look like they’re working hard.”
“They are working hard,” Cate says incredulously. “We always are.”
Amelia guides her out, grabbing the mason jar of now-dead flowers on the way and mashing them down into an overflowing trash can. “Just hurry. I’ll explain.” Glancing around the main area of the stand, she sees that the service windows are both smudgy. She lunges for a bottle of Windex and her feet nearly slip out from under her. “There are sprinkles all over the floor,” she says, disappointed. “When was the last time someone swept in here?”
“Seriously?” Cate howls. “It’s the middle of a shift. And I’m on my break. Also, I’m not the boss here,” she says, pointing to Amelia’s flower pin. “You are.”
Jen and Bernadette, the two other girls on this shift, are frozen.
“It’s okay, everything’s fine.” Amelia tries to reassure them while simultaneously straightening up and wiping, a tornado of stress. “But Cate and I are going to take over the windows for a little while. Jen, can you please go empty the trash cans? And sweep up these sprinkles, and”—she glances behind her—“Bern, I know we’re okay on waffle cones right now, but could you get some more cooking anyway, to get the place smelling yummy?” She takes a deep breath. “And please make sure all of you have your shirts tucked in,” she adds, taking her own advice.
“Who the hell is coming?” Cate says, doing the same. “The president?”
Amelia combs her fingers through her hair and glances out the window. “Grady’s dad is on his way here,” she announces. “So everyone, please . . .” Amelia blanks on how to end her sentence. Because what is she asking them, really? “. . . be on your best behavior.”
Not a minute later, a black Mercedes pulls into the stand’s driveway.
“Grady,” she calls out. “He’s here.”
Grady pops up beside her and peeks discreetly over her shoulder. “Okay. I’m going outside.”
The next few customers Amelia helps, she feels like she’s drunk, she has so much adrenaline coursing through her veins. As she hands over a double-scoop cone, she catches a glimpse of Grady greeting his dad out of the corner of her eye. Grady extends his hand for a shake, and his dad obliges.
“How was your vacation?” Grady asks breezily as he leads his dad inside.
“Courses were beautiful. I shot very well.” Grady’s dad surveys the place down the tip of his nose. “You’ve been busy.”
“I can’t believe you came all the way here to surprise me,” Grady says, his energy 180 degrees off from where he was a few minutes ago.
“I think you can understand why I felt compelled not to take your word for how well things are going.”
Grady’s cheeks burn. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m excited to show this place off.” Except Grady does the opposite. He ushers his dad into the office and closes the door.
“Grady’s dad is intense,” Cate whispers.
Amelia whispers back, “He’s here to spy on him to make sure things are going well.”
“Then you’d better make sure he doesn’t open our walk-in freezer.”
Frowning, Amelia walks over and puts on the purple jacket. Maybe two drums of each flavor are left. “Cate, why didn’t you tell me we were so low?” She grabs the clipboard to see, but no one has been filling out the stock sheet.
“Because I didn’t want to upset you. And don’t even say anything about the clipboard, okay? It’s painfully obvious what we have left.”
Grady calls out, “Amelia! Can you bring my dad a scoop of each flavor?”
“Coming!”
“Coming!” Cate singsongs, mocking her. “You sound like his secretary.”
“I do not,” Amelia says, knowing she does.
Amelia makes four junior-sized cups, careful that each flavor is a full, round, beautiful scoop. She stands at the office door, ready to enter, but there’s a conversation in progress. She presses her ear to the door.
“What’s it like up in the house?” Grady’s dad asks.
“Hot,” Grady says with a jovial laugh. “But I can take it.”
“And the girls aren’t distracting you too much?”
“No, no,” Grady says. “They stay down here. And I’m up at the farmhouse, working, basically twenty-four-seven.”
Amelia frowns. That’s not entirely true, Grady.
“I worried this was going to be a party for you.”
“Oh, anything but. Between my online classes and running the business, I don’t have time for any distractions.”
“And how are they taking to having a man in charge?”
“There’ve been some growing pains,” Grady says with a laugh. “But they know who’s boss.”
Amelia shakes her head. What the heck does that mean?
After a pause, Grady says, “Sorry, Dad. I don’t know what’s taking her so long with your ice cream. Hey, Amelia!”
Amelia nudges the door open with her foot. “Here you go, Mr. Meade,” she says. Grady’s dad nods and then leans back, as if she were an inconvenient waitress, to allow her the room to place them on the desk in front of him.
“Frankly, Grady, you’re doing better than I expected.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“But now you need to be asking yourself how you can take things to the next level. I want you thinking big.”
“How do you mean?”
“Like your email about raising prices. Your spreadsheet was solid, but you missed opportunities like, say, shrinking your scoop size.” He peers into the cups Amelia arranges before him, and then up at her with a pressed smile. “How many ounces is this, dear?”
She bristles. “Four.”
“See? Go down to three. You’ll get however many more scoops per three-gallon drum, at a higher price.”
“So . . . give them less and charge more?”
Every muscle inside Amelia clenches tight. Is he serious? She really, really hopes he is not serious.
Grady’s dad clears his throat and his eyes roll from Grady over to Amelia.
“Um, did you need something, Amelia?” Grady asks her.
“No.”
“Then would you mind closing the door on your way out?”
Stunned, Amelia nods obediently and backs out.
Grady’s dad barely notices her. He doesn’t say thank you. And he doesn’t take a taste. Instead he leans back and says, “I have a buddy who’s done some franchising in Chicago. I’ll give him a call.”
“Are you going to try the ice cream? It’s really good, Dad. That flavor was Mom’s favorite.”
“Actually, I could really go for a coffee. Can you call that girl back in here?”
That girl?
“Amelia?” Grady calls out.
Cate puts her hands on Amelia’s shoulders. Amelia hadn’t known she was standing there. “Please,” Cate says, raring to go. “Let me.”
“Cate, don’t.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to ruin anything.”
“Hey, Amelia?” Grady calls louder.
Amelia positions herself behind the office door where she can peek in without being seen.
“Amelia’s taking care of something,” Cate says, entering the office. “Can I help you?”
“Oh.” Grady is standing at their coffeemaker. “Sorry. I couldn’t find any coffee.”
“That’s because none of us drink coffee,” Cate says. She smiles sweetly at Grady’s dad. “Can I make you a cup of tea instead?”
He doesn’t look up from the spreadsheet he’s holding. “Yeah, okay.”
Cate runs hot water through the coffeemaker while Grady’s dad flips through some more of the ledgers. “Mind if I take some of these with me? I’d like to look them over.”
&nb
sp; “No. Not at all.”
“Here’s your tea,” Cate says, delivering a cup.
Grady’s dad takes a sip. “Mmm. What is this?”
“An herbal blend.”
“It’s good,” he says, surprised, taking a second, deeper sip. “Have some,” he tells Grady.
“Do you want a cup?” Cate asks Grady.
Amelia can hardly keep from laughing behind the door.
Grady and his dad are sipping on PMS tea.
* * *
It’s late when Amelia hears Grady open the front door of the farmhouse. Almost closing time. She knows he left the stand with his dad not long after she went up to the house. Cate texted her to say that the two of them had climbed into Grady’s dad’s Mercedes and roared off.
That was hours ago.
The day has been on rewind in her head; she’s been replaying how Grady and his dad treated her. Grady’s dismissive tone, his father’s condescending attitude, calling her “dear.” Grady didn’t even bother to introduce her, or single her out in any way. And as Head Girl, she feels like a total failure for not standing up for herself. She’s supposed to be a role model? Thank god for Cate’s PMS tea clapback.
She ends up making a pretty great batch of chocolate. Not as good as Molly Meade’s but pretty darn good. Could they sell this? Absolutely. But she doesn’t feel happy. She feels humiliated.
Amelia hears Grady kick off his shoes; the floorboards of the hallway creak under his feet. The basement door opens and Grady trudges down the steps. She doesn’t say anything to him. No hello. No How was dinner?
Not that he notices.
Grady falls onto the couch like dead weight. “Well, that was completely exhausting. I swear, nothing is good enough for him. It’s like, I think I’ve figured out how to make him proud, but then he immediately ups and moves the goalpost.” He adjusts a pillow so it’s behind his head and kicks off his shoes. “He never asks for my ideas, he never wants to hear what I think. The whole night was just him going on and on about all the things I should be doing with Meade Creamery. Bigger brand presence. Adding revenue streams. Sell the milk bottles. Sell the polo shirts.”
“What?”
“Oh, yeah. He wants me to start selling your Meade Creamery polos for twenty-five bucks apiece.”
Amelia drums her fingers in frustration. Only Meade Creamery girls get pink polo shirts. They aren’t nearly as special if everyone can buy one. “And what did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything. He doesn’t want me to say anything. He just wants me to do it.”
She spins toward him. “What about his idea for using smaller scoops? And charging customers more?”
“I don’t love the idea, but it would buy us more time.” Grady stretches, letting one long leg go to the floor. “You said you’re close, right? I have faith in you.” Amelia rolls her eyes. “What’s that about?” he says, drawing a circle in the air with his finger.
“Nothing.”
“Come on, say it.”
Her hands go to her hips. “How come you didn’t even introduce me to your dad? I’ve been busting my butt to help you. You treated me like your secretary! When I’m Head Girl!”
He quickly sits up. “Wait, Amelia. Hold on a second. If it’s not already obvious, I have a very weird relationship with my dad.”
“No, that’s clear, Grady. Super clear.”
“I promise I didn’t slight you on purpose.”
“But you also made it seem like you’re the one doing everything.” She’s embarrassed saying this, because it’s not like any of this is hers. She’s a secondary character, background in the Meade family saga.
“I can’t have him thinking I’m not good at this.”
“He’s going to have that impression when you run out of ice cream,” she points out. “Which is going to happen very soon.”
“I’m hoping we figure it out before I have to tell him.”
“You mean you hope I’ll figure it out.”
“Hold up. I was fine to keep trying. You’re the one who volunteered to give making ice cream a shot. And I didn’t stop you because it seemed like you enjoyed doing it. And, to be completely honest, it’s been fun to watch you.”
Amelia doesn’t let herself soften. “I do enjoy it.”
“So what’s the problem?”
Amelia doesn’t like how this is getting muddled. “I don’t want you selling our uniforms! Make different shirts, if you want to, but don’t sell these.”
“Fine, Amelia. We won’t sell the polos. And I won’t raise the prices, and I won’t use smaller scoops. I definitely don’t want to make you upset.”
Cate texts her. Ready?
“I’m not upset,” she tells him, hooking her bag on her shoulder.
“You are. And I’m sorry if that’s my fault.”
“I’d rather you didn’t apologize, honestly. It’s business, right? Nothing personal?”
Grady lies back down and covers his face with the pillow. It looks like he might want to stay that way forever. “That was the idea,” he says, muffled. “But I’ll make an exception for you. Please. Just stay.”
Amelia’s heart races. This is the most overtly flirty thing he’s said to her, something much harder to ignore, play off, look away from.
Unless he’s saying it because of the ice cream?
Part of Amelia wants to know. A bigger part than she’d like to admit.
But Cate is the most important thing in her life. Not Grady. Not ice cream. Not Meade Creamery. And on top of all that she made a promise. So even though she wants to stay, she goes.
And if anyone would understand that, Molly would.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
AMELIA IS AT THE SINK, draining a pot of slippery elbows from a late-night box of too-late-for-anything-else mac and cheese for her and Cate. Cate had to stop for gas if they were going to make it home from the stand, and while she filled up, Amelia ran into the mini-mart for snacks. Luckily, they had the good kind for sale, where the cheese isn’t powdered. Instead, it’s a creamy sauce that comes in a foil packet, which gets mixed in once the noodles are cooked. Amelia squeezes and rolls the foil, working dutifully to get every last drop out.
“You know what sucks?” Cate says, digging in the fridge for hot sauce. They both like to douse enough hot sauce on their mac and cheese to make their eyes water.
Amelia steels herself. She doesn’t really want to talk about what happened at the stand today with Grady. She mentioned on the ride home that Grady apologized, but Cate seemed less convinced of his sincerity than Amelia.
“Amelia?”
“Sorry. What?”
“It sucks that Sand Lake doesn’t do their own fireworks show anymore for the Fourth.” Cate grabs utensils and sets two places at Amelia’s kitchen table. “Remember that?”
“Totally. It used to be my favorite holiday.”
The town used to set off fireworks from a barge in the center of the lake when they were kids. After dinner, everyone in town would walk down with picnic baskets, blankets, beach chairs, and coolers and wait for the sun to set. Amelia loved the way the lights twinkled in the sky and also on the water, a perfect mirror image. And the peppy songs the high school marching band would play from the parking lot. She isn’t especially patriotic, but there was something about the way they matched the beat to the bursts that would make her feel a swell of pride.
“Anyway, the girls were talking today about their plans for the Fourth, and I was remembering the fireworks, and they looked at me like I was crazy. None of them remember going.” Cate shakes some hot sauce into both their bowls, looks up at Amelia, who gives her a nod of encouragement. “Did we ever go together?” Cate asks, adding a bit more.
“Nope. It ended when we were in sixth grade.”
Cate stirs her bowl. “Ahh, sixth grade BCA, before Cate and Amelia. I wonder why the town stopped doing them.”
“I think because more and more people ditched Sand Lake for the better fireworks
shows at the other lakes.” It was true, their fireworks show was never as impressive as at some of the other nearby towns, where they actually charged people money, but it was a mostly steady stream for around fifteen minutes, explosions loud enough that Amelia would plug her ears.
“What do you think about doing our own fireworks show at the lake this year? For the girls.”
“Oh my God, that would be so fun!” But Amelia’s smile wilts as fast as it has bloomed. “I’m not even sure we’ll have ice cream to sell in two days.”
Cate gently asks, “Has Grady said what he’s going to do when we run out?”
“No. I don’t think there’s anything he can do. I mean, we’ve searched the farmhouse top to bottom. Molly’s recipes aren’t there. I think he’s just hoping I’ll figure out how to make ice cream that’s good enough to sell.”
Cate slowly lowers her fork to the table. “But even if you manage to churn out some truly terrific ice cream on your own, it’s not going to be Molly’s ice cream. Customers aren’t going to taste what’s good about yours, only what’s different. And they’re going to be disappointed.”
“Shoot. I never thought about it like that before.” Amelia remembers the man she served on opening day, in the porkpie hat, how his eyes rolled back in his head with just one lick of his cone. How would his face have looked if he’d tried the ice cream Amelia made?
“I worry about the girls, too,” Cate admits. “This summer’s been one big bummer for them. That’s another reason why I think you should start channeling your energy into making the Fourth of July night super fun.”
Amelia slumps back in her chair. “So what should I do? Totally give up on making ice cream?” If she abandons Grady, won’t that be dooming them all?
Cate makes her preference known. “You’ve tried your best to save Meade Creamery, but I think now it’s time to come back down to the stand. When the ship finally sinks, I think you’ll regret not being on it with us.”
Stay Sweet Page 17