Forgetting Chuck Taylor

by Bailey Peters

  “I need to take a page out of his book,” Eva said, ribbing Taylor. “The man moves fast.”

  Dalton scowled at them from across the table. “I may be an old man but my hearing is still good.”

  The next course was lamb chops in a red wine veal sauce with a side of grilled asparagus.

  “With a husband that cooks like this, how do you stay so thin?” Taylor asked Amanda.

  “We dance it off. A little bit of bachata, a little bit of tango, a little bit of thrashing around the living room to whatever’s on the radio and then you’re good.” From her clutch, she produced a business card and slid it across the table. “If you two are interested, I just started teaching dance classes twice a week at the center where I learned.”

  “That could be fun.”

  Trivia started just after dessert was served. The categories were announced in advance. Famous historical figures, classic cars, movies from the Criterion collection, Olympic sports, Fortune 500 companies and one hit wonder songs.

  It turned out that Dalton was their secret weapon. He wasn’t shy about showing it off, either. By the end of the classic cars round, he’d promised Grandma Scott a whirl in his Ford Mustang, telling her if she brought a head scarf he’d put the top down so they could cruise in proper fashion.

  Amanda and Eva managed to tackle most of the movies and songs.

  It was the Fortune 500 companies that ultimately knocked them down to third place.

  “Still, I think we did pretty well for ourselves,” Eva said defensively when the table next them cheered raucously when it was announced they won. She wasn’t one that took losing lightly. She’d confessed to Taylor after a heated game of Scrabble that too many horse races had made her stubborn about taking home ribbons and titles, even when she was playing for fun. At the very least, she wanted to walk away with bragging rights.

  Taylor scraped the last morsel of panna cotta out of her glass, savoring it.

  “Taylor, if you get your website off the ground by this time next year and you find a way to use it to provide some kind of service, expand it into a platform for a nonprofit, maybe Amanda could add it as a possibility on the prospective fund recipient list.”

  Taylor felt her cheeks flush a violent red. She’d enjoyed the night so much and now everyone’s eyes were on her, ruining it. Yes, she was excited about a platform for change. But at this particular moment, she didn’t want to talk about her felony in front of Dalton and her less familiar table mates.

  Amanda nodded vigorously. “After Eva told me about it the other night, I ran home and told Jamison. He wanted me to let you know he’d love to help if you need anything.”

  She wasn’t exactly sure what Jamison’s culinary expertise had to do with a website or a nonprofit to ease someone into life post-conviction. Her confusion must have been evident, because Amanda leaned in to explain, keeping her voice down so that only the people at their table could hear her.

  “Jamison spent some time in jail for drug charges. When he was in his early twenties, he was caught with coke on him. There was enough they thought he was dealing even though he wasn’t. Jamie thought maybe if you needed someone to interview, he could talk about how he found the restaurant industry because he’d heard kitchens were pretty forgiving of rap sheets.”

  Taylor felt a flash of relief and like her chest was tightening all at the same time.

  “I was going to have him tell you himself later tonight, but that’s why Aunt Joan wrote those terrible things in her review. My family was mad that I was marrying Jamison. Since they couldn’t take it out on us, she took it out on you because it was another way to signal her distaste for his background. When I went to put up my own review, I saw hers. I wish Eva had told me. I made Joan take it down.”

  “When Eva first told you about my conviction, did you tell her about your husband’s?”

  Amanda shook her head. “I’m sorry. I should have. It’s just that with all he has already faced, Jamison likes to be selective about who he tells. Eva and I had just started becoming friends.”

  “That’s fair.” Taylor couldn’t be angry. She understood his desire for privacy all too well.

  “What the hell are they talking about?” Dalton asked Grandmother Scott.

  “I’ll tell you about it later,” Grandma Scott said. “Why don’t you take me outside so we can get some fresh air?”

  38

  Eva

  Eva wasn’t sure how to prepare for her interview with Joy, so she went overboard. She scrubbed and hyper-organized every nook and cranny of her office, lit candles to create a sense of atmosphere the way she would for a client consultation, and brought out centerpiece samples and photo albums of some of her favorite events.

  Joy breezed in decked out in a power suit and a chignon, looking more like a politician than a reporter. Eva could appreciate a no-nonsense woman that knew how to create a presence that commanded respect and told you right away there would be no nonsense. Joy got down to business quickly, politely declining the cupcake and prosecco that Eva had put out for her. Joy wanted to see a price breakdown, a list of vendors Eva worked with, and to get to the good stuff without all the typical small talk.

  “You’ve mentioned wanting to make your business more inclusive. What sparked that?”

  “When I pictured who I’d end up with, it was always the same: a guy wearing a pair of Chuck Taylors and carrying around my favorite book. When I finally met someone I could see myself spending forever with, it was with a woman. That made me realize how little I knew about planning a wedding for people in a relationship like mine. Sure, a lot of it is the same. The cake, the dancing, the DJ playing cheesy wedding songs. But the vows, the forms, and many of our traditions are gendered. The mark of the perfect wedding is that it’s reflective of the couple and the love they’ve built. I can’t pull off a perfect wedding if I’m using a tired model that asks a couple to fit a set of outdated societal expectations.”

  Eva took a deep breath and fiddled with the hem of her dress before she kept going. “When I attended a conference for event planners in Asheville, I met an industry expert that walked me through areas that I could improve and gave me a list of action items to tackle. If any of your readers are looking for a destination wedding in the mountains, I highly recommend they consider hiring Candace Reynolds.”

  Eva’s mother had taught her to give credit where credit was due. Sure, it was nice that she was now taking steps to serve GLBT clients in the future, but the person that taught her the ropes and was already doing the work was the person that really deserved the credit.

  Eva dreaded the thought of Taylor seeing Candace’s name in the article and realizing she was the photographer from the hotel, but she also knew that Taylor valued integrity. She was doing the right thing.

  Before Joy left, Eva promised to follow up by emailing her Candace’s contact information.

  * * *

  The Observer article about Eva was only five hundred words, but five hundred words were enough to generate buzz. Her phone was ringing off the hook.

  The director of the local GLBT Center was getting married and wanted the ceremony to be right in the middle of the Pride festival downtown. When Jem called, they shared that they used they/them pronouns and that the wedding was going to be very high profile, very public, and the attendance was expected to be huge. After reading the article, they thought Eva sounded like she might be the right person for the job.

  After setting up a meeting, Eva sifted through her best stationary and found a thank you card.

  Candace,

  Thanks to your help, I just landed my first GLBT wedding job. It wouldn’t have been possible without you. I’m hoping the enclosed article will also help you see a new flow of potential clients. I know I can’t make things right, but I hope this helps make them better.

  Best wishes,

  Eva

  She slid a clipping of the newspaper article into the heavy cream envelope and dropped it off at the post of
fice on her way to have lunch with Amanda.

  39

  Taylor

  Instead of surprising her before work again, Dalton emailed Taylor and asked her if she’d meet him. They arranged a breakfast at Coffee and Crepes before her work shift started.

  At the register Dalton ordered a black coffee and a Western Omelet and insisted on paying for Taylor’s bananas foster French toast and espresso frappe before they found a table and got comfortable. She was grateful when the caffeine hit her system. As the end of the semester neared and her academic obligations grew, she was burning the candle at both ends. The night before, she’d fallen asleep in Eva’s bed with her discrete mathematics textbook on her chest. It hadn’t exactly made for a riveting read.

  “You kids and your hipster breakfasts,” Dalton huffed when he saw the production that was Taylor’s French toast. “What happened to greasy spoons like the Waffle House?”

  Taylor poached a banana covered in crystalline brown sugar and popped in into her mouth, trying not to moan as the combination of flavors melded beautifully together. “Nothing wrong with the greasy spoon near me if you can overlook the crimes that happen in their parking lot.”

  “Point taken,” he mumbled.

  “So what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

  “Well, there are two reasons I wanted to chat with you.”

  She raised her eyebrows, waiting for another book suggestion that would push the envelope.

  “As you could probably tell, I enjoyed your grandmother’s company very much. I wanted to see what you thought about the possibility of me courting her?”

  “I think what matters more is what she thinks,” Taylor said slowly, raking syrup across her plate with her fork. “That said, you should probably know she has Alzheimer’s. That might make things a little harder.”

  Dalton nodded and took something out of the beaten leather satchel he used to tote his reading glasses, newspapers, and books around. Then he slid it across the table to her. “She told me. I worked out a system that might help.”

  He’d made a laminated sheet with his picture and a message on it.

  Good morning, lovely Celeste. I hope you slept well. If you wake up and don’t recognize the man in the picture below, it’s me—Dalton. You and I met recently at a trivia night for charity and have talked about the possibility of spending more time together. We both like classic cars, Humphrey Bogart movies, and spending time with your granddaughter Taylor. If you want to chat on the phone or want someone to come visit you or take you out on the town, my phone number is provided below. If you’re not up for visitors but you want some company, we can watch Jeopardy together over the phone. I’ve also included some other facts for your reference that might help to dash your memory.

  “This is brilliant,” Taylor said, pursing her lips to bite back tears. “We’ve had a system of notes before, but it was for helping her remember to do things like turn off the oven after she cooked when she still lived at home.”

  “I can make her a card that has your information, too,” Dalton said. “I’d just need a picture.”

  Taylor dabbed her eyes with a napkin. “You’ve got it. My endorsement, that is. Just be gentle with her. And no smoking! My grandfather died before I was born from lung cancer.”

  He produced a pack of Nicorette gum from his coat pocket and flashed it at her. “My effort to quit is already in progress.”

  “She told you about my grandpa, too?”

  Dalton gave her a mischievous grin. “No. Just didn’t think she’d want to kiss a smoker.”

  Taylor absolutely couldn’t imagine her grandmother kissing anyone. Nor did she want to. She plunged back into her breakfast.

  “You’re not going to ask me what the second reason I brought you here is?” Dalton asked.

  “Sorry, I was too weirded out by the thought of you putting the moves on my innocent grandmother.”

  Dalton chuckled. “That website concept of yours—I want you to tell me about it. I know you can code, but who’s going to do your graphics? Who are you going to use for hosting?”

  “I haven’t exactly thought about all of that yet. As soon as winter break comes and I have some time away from school, I planned to work out all of that. Figure out what I can do myself and what I might have to outsource. For right now, I’ve just been thinking about the content. I want a section for people like me that need access to resources and success stories that can help them see the light at the end of the tunnel. I also want a section for employers that are considering hiring people with records, and maybe a section for the friends and family members of people that are getting back on their feet after a conviction.”

  “Eva said something about a nonprofit, too. Have you worked all of that out?”

  Taylor took a deep breath. “Not exactly. I’ve thought about setting up a mentorship program, maybe some workshops on life skills and tips and tricks for finding employment, but it hasn’t gotten far beyond that.”

  “Have you thought about things like grant writing to help cover the costs of that? Or how to handle taxes?”

  She had, sort of. She shrugged at him and shoved French toast in her mouth to cover her grimace. Every time she sat down at her computer to do her research, she got flustered and overwhelmed. If she wasn’t going to do something like this, she wanted to do it well. Otherwise, why bother? Taylor felt lucky to have so many people excited about her idea but she wasn’t quite sure she could live up to their expectations. It was a lot of pressure.

  “Before I was retired, I was a corporate attorney. I still have my license and dabble a little bit when my son needs help with his startup. If you need help getting off the ground, I’m happy to offer my services.”

  He reached into his satchel again and handed her an envelope with her name on it. “I’d also like to offer you some money.”

  Damn, she thought. She was crying again. “Dalton, this is so generous of you. I’d love your advice and your expertise, but I can’t take your money. That’s too much.”

  “Don’t insult an old man by refusing to take money he’s happy to give to you. It’s not like I have anywhere else to spend it. Besides, it costs to host a website. It costs to have good branding. You’re going to have paperwork fees if you start a nonprofit and you’re going to need things like liability insurance.”

  The waterworks were full force now. There was no use in trying to contain them. She was ugly crying like someone that had won the lottery or the publisher’s clearing house and the dispenser at their table was nearly out of napkins she could use to blot her tears.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Do you remember the first time we met?”

  “Book club?”

  Dalton shook his head. “Six months after my wife died, you checked out a pile of books to me at the circulation desk. When you saw I was checking out a book on heart health, you handed me a flier for the book club. You also told me that something else I’d checked out was one of your favorites and asked me to let you know what I thought of it once I was finished reading.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “No. I thought it was a flaming pile of rubbish. You’ll notice I haven’t asked you for any recommendations since.”

  Her tears turned to laughter and she nearly choked on her frappe.

  “Do you know why I went to your book club after that? I felt like you were the only person that noticed me in months besides my doctors. You took a moment out of your day to try to make a connection when you didn’t have to do that. Then I became a regular because you and the other people at book club gave me something to look forward to again.”

  “I think I get that,” Taylor said, thinking back to her life before Eva, to the days when brief conversations with her favorite grocery store cashier and bank teller felt more like life lines than basic transactions. She’d been so isolated.

  She reached across the table for Dalton’s hand and squeezed it. She’d finally found her people.
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  40

  Eva

  Eva and Taylor had a lot to celebrate.

  They both also had a lot to get done.

  Out of necessity for both their relationship and their sanity, they declared the weeknights that Taylor wasn’t in class as time for co-working. They allotted an hour for dinner, two hours for work, and whatever time remained for fun. The promise of time spent cuddling on the couch in front of their favorite reality television made slogging through the budget for Eva’s Events and getting the quarter’s paperwork together for her accountant a lot more palatable.

  When the timer went off to cue that their work block was done, Taylor snapped her computer screen shut. “All that’s left for me to do with my final history paper is edit it. After that, one more exam for math and this semester is over.”

  “I can’t wait until you’re all mine,” Eva said, grabbing Taylor’s backpack as they relocated from Eva’s office to her apartment upstairs so they could sink into the soft leather couch cushions. The living room was more open than usual. Eva had rearranged some things to make room for the Christmas tree they were planning on picking out together after Taylor’s final exam was behind her. Afterwards, her parents were going to come over and help them decorate it. It was long overdue, the two of them meeting Taylor. They weren’t shy about letting her know it.

  It was the first time in Eva’s adult life that she was going to have a Christmas tree or that she had plans to do anything particularly festive. She’d been so busy building her business in the years before that she hadn’t allowed herself to fully relax and enjoy her favorite holiday. This year, she wanted to do it all. Christmas cards with pictures of her and Taylor wearing matching flannel, hot chocolate and cider during holiday movie marathons, and long afternoons baking cookies to give out as gifts to clients and coworkers. A double date was already lined up for the week before Christmas so that she and Taylor could go with Grandma Scott and Dalton to drive around town after dark and check out all the Christmas lights while they sang their favorite carols. She’d even ordered Taylor a monogrammed stocking to hang beside hers on the mantle.