All About The Treats

by Weston Parker

  “Theo,” he growled under his breath.

  “Nope. Have fun.”

  I smiled at the gentleman who now had a confused look on his face as I got back into the car. I was much happier with the taffy. One of the benefits to being wealthy was the fact that I could have an assistant buy me the cars I wanted. I didn’t have to deal with pushy salesmen that wanted to sell me the moon.

  Sawyer flipped me the bird before walking away with the man. I laughed and popped another taffy into my mouth before pulling out my phone and turning on my favorite Bob Dylan playlist. I leaned my head back and watched Sawyer as he checked out a shiny black Mercedes.

  The man liked his cars. I supposed we all had our vices. I liked candy and video games, and he liked fast cars and women.

  Chapter 4

  Harper

  I was growing irritated. Not growing. I was irritated. I hated when people didn’t call me back.

  I wasn’t known for my patience. It was one of those things I said I was going to work on every New Year’s. The big day wasn’t all that far away. I wanted all my ducks in a row well beforehand.

  That was the slightly obsessive, controlling side of me. The festival wasn’t a success because I didn’t pay attention to details. Every detail counted, and I had to make sure everything was perfect.

  I felt like I was dealing with an elusive beast in my attempt to get a call back from the candy factory. I had left several messages without a return call. I knew I had the right number, but maybe there was a better way to contact them and actually get a response.

  I felt like my messages were being carried by pigeons. I couldn’t believe they would have such poor customer service and be as successful as they were. How in the hell were they still in business if they never called people back?

  I pulled up their web page, sipping my coffee and scanning the menu. I checked out the contact us section

  “Dammit,” I groaned. The only number posted was the same one I had been calling.

  I selected the reviews page, wanting to get a better idea of what I was dealing with. Maybe they had shitty customer service. Great candy and shitty service was my assumption.

  I was surprised to see the reviews about the company were mostly five stars. I read through the comments and was disgusted by what I read. People were assholes. Everyone raved about the candy and the cleanliness of the facility, but there were some who felt the need to point out the man behind the candy was weird, strange, different, and odd.

  As the mother of a child who was often called those names, I felt an immediate kinship with the guy. I wanted to protect him from the nastiness in the world.

  “Rude,” I said, shaking my head as I read another comment about the man’s eye color. “As if he can change that.”

  I hated it when people bullied others. It was one of my biggest pet peeves. Maybe it had something to do with my own son’s bullying, but I felt like I had to stick up for the underdog. I was outspoken. When I saw something I didn’t like, I said it.

  I clicked through the site and saw a page about tours. That gave me an idea. I could suggest Jace’s school go on a tour of the factory, and I would eagerly agree to chaperone. Then, I would accidentally on purpose run into the owner. According to the website, the owner made an appearance during most tours if he was on site. I was going to get a meeting with the man one way or another. I wasn’t called tenacious for nothing.

  I heard footsteps sliding across the wood floor and looked up from the table to find Jace coming down the hallway. “Good morning,” I greeted him. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Fine.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  He shrugged. “I guess.”

  “I can make pancakes or waffles?”

  “Do we have any strawberries?” he asked.

  I grimaced, hating to disappoint him. “I don’t think so, but let me check,” I said and headed for the fridge, praying some strawberries would magically appear.

  I rummaged through the fridge and found none but then remembered I had some frozen from a trip to the farmer’s market a couple of months ago. I pulled them out to thaw and got busy making batter.

  Jace took a seat at the table, his book open. I loved to see him reading. He was always reading. It sucked for his socializing but was great for his brain, I figured. He was smart as a whip, and I attributed that to all the reading he did.

  “Can I have some juice please?”

  “Of course.” I poured him a glass and delivered it to the table. “Have you thought about what you want to be for Halloween this year?”

  “I’m too old to dress up.”

  “What?” I exclaimed with exaggerated shock. “No way! You are definitely never too old. I’m going to dress up. We can have matching costumes.”

  “No, Mom. That’s dumb.”

  “It isn’t dumb! Come on, it will be fun. We can be salt and pepper shakers or maybe Tom and Jerry.”

  He groaned, putting his book down. “Mom, that is so lame.”

  I burst into laughter. “Lame? Did you just call your mother lame?”

  He nodded. “I don’t want anyone to see me dressed up with my mom.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “That’s one of the perks of dressing up—you can get crazy and no one will know it’s you.”

  “They’ll know who I am,” he insisted.

  It pissed me off that he felt like he couldn’t be him because of the kids making fun of him. “What about trick or treating? You love trick or treating, and I know you love candy.”

  “I do, but you can just buy it for me.”

  I laughed, opening the waffle maker and dropping them on a plate before pouring more batter. “Uh, I could, or you could be a normal eight-year-old and go trick or treating and load up on your own loot.”

  “I’m not normal,” he said in a soft voice.

  I winced. I’d used the wrong word. “You are so perfectly abnormal. I’m not normal by today’s standards. Normal is boring.”

  “How come you’re not normal?” he asked.

  I smiled. “Well, for starters, I talk a lot. Sometimes, people think I look a little different.”

  He wrinkled his little nose. “How come?”

  “Because mama has a booty for days,” I said with a laugh.

  He giggled. “You have a big butt.”

  “Thanks, kid.”

  “That’s okay,” he assured me.

  Oh, the things my kid said. I wasn’t ashamed of my butt. I had a womanly figure. I wasn’t a stick. I liked food and wasn’t going to deprive myself of something just to fit in with society’s idea of a good body. I was healthy and happy.

  “So, I was thinking about asking your teacher if she’d like to take your class on a tour of a candy factory,” I said, testing the waters.

  Jace put his book down. “A candy factory? They actually make candy and candy bars?”

  I smiled. “Yep.”

  “Yes! That would be awesome! Can we go?”

  “I’m going to ask your teacher. You know, this factory we’re going to see? They make your dad’s favorite candy bar.”

  He picked up the book again. “Oh,” he said, all enthusiasm vanished.

  If I could slap my own ass with the spatula in my hand, I would have. I had ruined the moment. He’d been coming out of his shell until I brought up his father. I didn’t mind talking about David. I kept pictures of him around for Jace to see. I didn’t want him to forget his father. I wanted him to be able to talk about him and ask me questions about the man who’d fathered him.

  In the past four years since David died, Jace had talked about him very little. I felt guilty, like I should force him to listen to stories about the good times, but I couldn’t do it. It always left the kid in a sad mood. I wanted my baby to be happy and enjoy his childhood. I didn’t want it to be plagued with sadness and a sense of loss.

  “Can you grab the whipped cream from the fridge?” I asked him, wanting to pull him back out of his book and into my world.<
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  “Yes,” he said with little enthusiasm.

  I quickly set the table. “Should I cut your waffles for you?”

  “No, Mom. I’m not a little kid.”

  I smiled. “All right. Do you want to cut my waffles? I feel like a little kid. I always cut them too big.”

  He smirked. “You can do it.”

  “All right. What should we do today?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want to go to the park? I have to do some grocery shopping, but we can go to the park before.”

  “The park is boring. There’s nothing to do.”

  “I can push you on the swings.”

  He stuffed a bite of waffle in his mouth. “I don’t know.”

  “I need to go by that new Halloween store that opened up. We can look for costumes.”

  He made a big show of rolling his eyes. “I don’t want to wear a costume.”

  “Can you help me pick one out then?”

  “Yes.”

  “I also want to see if I can get them to donate some stuff for the Halloweenfest,” I told him, knowing he didn’t really care about my planning needs, but I liked to talk, and I liked to talk to him. He wasn’t exactly a great conversationalist, so I often found myself carrying the conversation.

  “Fine,” he mumbled around a mouthful of waffle.

  I took another bite and watched him eat. “What’s your book about?” I asked.

  “A mouse that goes on an adventure with a boy.”

  “Yuck, I hate mice.”

  “Not this mouse. He’s nice.”

  I looked at the cover. It wasn’t a title I knew, and it wasn’t a Cleary book. “I suppose. Just don’t get any ideas about making friends with mice and bringing them home.”

  He groaned. “It isn’t real, Mom.”

  “It could happen.”

  “Mice don’t talk,” he said.

  “Don’t you ever wonder what animals would say if they could talk?”

  He shoved the last bite of waffle into his mouth and scooted his chair back. “Can I be done?”

  I laughed. “Gee, I feel like you don’t want to talk to me.”

  He shrugged. “I just want to read my book. It’s hard to talk and read at the same time.”

  “All right, all right, I’ll quit talking your ear off. I’m going to clean up and then we’ll be going soon. Pick up your dirty clothes and get them in the laundry room. Brush your teeth and get ready to go.”

  “When?” he asked as if he had a busy schedule and needed to squeeze me in.

  “An hour.”

  He carried his plate to the sink and rushed back to grab his book before rushing out of the kitchen. I let out a long sigh before finishing my breakfast. I hated that he didn’t have any friends that he could hang out with on a Saturday. I so wanted him to have a normal life with kids to play with. The few kids in the neighborhood were not good fits for Jace.

  He preferred reading or more creative things. The other boys his age were all about video games and playing some kind of ball. I had signed the poor kid up for soccer, tee-ball, and every other sport, and it was always the same result—Jace sitting on the bench. He’d inherited my athletic ability. I tried to teach him how to swing a bat and kick a ball, but between the two of us, it was a series of comedic errors.

  I felt inadequate as a parent most of the time. I tried to give him everything, but some things I couldn’t do for him. All I could do was love and support him, which I was damn good at. I kept telling myself things would get better. It was just a phase. He’d grow into those long legs and arms of his that were all his daddy and feel confident in his own skin.

  It would take time. I had my whole life. I would never give up on trying to make him feel good about himself. I was determined to find the thing he was born to do.

  Together, we would find it.

  Chapter 5

  Theo

  After stopping in the employee cafeteria for a cappuccino, I headed for my office, smiling and nodding at the staff as I moved through the building. I liked the people that worked for me. At least the ones that I had talked to. I didn’t know them all, but I was trying to do better. I wanted to be a good boss, and that meant good employee relations.

  It was early. I made it a habit to get to work at least an hour early on Mondays. My assistant was dedicated, and she did a great job, but I liked to try and stay hands-on as much as possible. That meant checking emails and voicemails before they could be filtered and sanitized by my assistant. She hated to bother me with what she felt was unnecessary stuff.

  I walked into my office, closed the door behind me, and took a seat behind the desk. I went through my usual Monday morning ritual and listened to voicemails while checking email. I frowned when I heard the same woman’s voice again and again.

  “Hi, my name is Harper Pinkston. I’m sorry to keep bothering you, but I’m not sure my earlier messages were received. I haven’t gotten a call back. The matter I need to speak with you about is rather urgent. There is only a limited time this proposal is valid for. Please, call me back. You can call my cell phone any time.”

  I pushed the button, skipping to the next message only to discover it was her again.

  The voicemail box was full. I had a feeling the messages were all going to be from the same woman. She was persistent. “Damn woman, you really need to get a life and drink a lot less caffeine,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “Hi—”

  I pushed the button to delete the message without bothering to listen to it.

  “Hello—”

  I pushed the delete button again just as Sawyer knocked once and came in. He chuckled, holding up his phone.

  “She got me too,” he said. “Three messages on my personal line.”

  “What the hell? Is she a stalker? I’ve deleted at least six messages so far.”

  “I don’t know who she is.”

  “This is why I didn’t want the number posted on the website,” I complained. “There are too many freaks in this world.”

  “We can’t be a ghost company,” he said with a sigh. “People have to be able to call and talk to someone.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Because we’re a business, and businesses have phones,” he said dryly.

  “We call people. Distributors have their own numbers to call. I don’t see why we need that number.”

  “Because we do,” he said with exasperation.

  “Can’t we have like a customer relations number or something?”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “We do.”

  “Then put that on the contact information,” I instructed.

  He nodded. “It’s never been an issue before. I’ll take care of it.”

  “It is now.”

  “I’ll take the number down.”

  “How did she get your number?” I asked, only then realizing his number wasn’t public information.

  He smirked. “I don’t know. I would guess some light stalking. She’s good.”

  “Do you think it’s something to be concerned with?”

  He shrugged. “I think she just wants a meeting.”

  I smiled. “Is she the mother of your illegitimate child?”

  “She called you. Maybe you’re the baby daddy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Trust me, that isn’t the case.”

  He laughed. “That’s a matter to discuss another day. I’ll give her a call later and get the situation handled.”

  “Do we have any meetings or tours today?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. You have the whole day to yourself.”

  “Good. I’m going to try something new with taffy.”

  He laughed. “Feeling competitive?”

  “That taffy was good, but I can make it better,” I said firmly.

  “Cocky much?”

  “You know my stuff is good.”

  “I do. Your dad would be very proud of your accomplishments.”

 
I scoffed. “I doubt that. He would want it to be better.”

  “Bullshit,” he replied. “Your dad loved to brag about the latest inventions you cooked up.”

  I shrugged. “He never said anything to me. He always acted like I was bothering him when I brought up new ideas at product meetings. I think I embarrassed him with some of my off the wall ideas.”

  He shook his head. “Not a chance. He loved that you were so creative.”

  “He was a far better businessman than I will ever be.”

  Sawyer nodded. “Your dad was really good at handling the business side of things. The employees loved him, but you are running the business your way, and it is going well. It’s you that keeps this place going.”

  “My business manager and you are running the business. I’m just the guy that makes the candy.”

  “That isn’t true,” he argued. “You’ve taken this place way farther than your father could have. You have a vision. You don’t have to be great at everything. That’s what we are here for. We’re your support. You do what you do best, and we’ll do the stuff we’re paid to do.”

  “Thanks. Really, I appreciate that.”

  “You’re welcome. You’re kicking ass here. I ride you sometimes because I know it can be better. You can really get the company to the top of the food chain. I don’t want some other company coming up the ranks and stealing our place in the industry. Business is changing. People want to know who they’re giving their money to. Everybody wants to feel like they are doing something good and supporting the right companies. You need to be out there, showing you’re a good guy.”

  I groaned. “I’m not a bad guy. I just don’t want everyone in my business.”

  “They won’t be in your business. You’ll have the persona you wear for public events, and then you can take it off and go back to being you.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said. “Walk with me to the lab.”

  He followed me out the door. “What’s your idea for a new taffy?”

  I grinned. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Oh god. Not one of those crazy concoctions that no person in their right mind would eat.”