Page 72 of It's a Brewtiful Day
With the crisp mountain spring air breezing all around us, Elliot and I stood and stared at our vehicles parked at the entrance of the Columbia Glacier Day Festival. We were each there with our respective businesses; Elliot as half-owner of Coffee Loft and me as a very small co-owner of Pages and Dreams, but on an off-shoot version. His coffee truck – decked out in the Coffee Loft’s signature colours – was parked beside my heavy van full of used books and exciting adventures.
At the start of the new year, we both decided to help our respective businesses by including a food truck of sorts to hit up all the festivals and markets we could attend on the weekends through the spring, summer, and as far into the fall as we could safely go. In a surprise business deal, Harvey was totally onboard, and I dipped into my savings to purchase the giant cargo van and outfit it in Pages and Dreams branding while running the mobile bookstore on my own, but under his banner. We’d been to three markets already in the past two weeks, and so far, it was a success. Books and coffee paired well together – what else could a person truly need?
I secured the van, which I had parked at a weird angle to have the walkthrough end near Elliot’s truck and pocketed my keys. Elliot did the same and reached for my hand.
“Ready?”
“Ready.” I squeezed his hand; one I enjoyed holding every single day we were together.
His boots scraped against the loose pebbles. “On the map, I spotted a small lake over this way. Does that work?”
“Any spot works, but if it has a view, all the better.”
He shrugged. “It’s no Pyramid Island, but it should work.”
Pyramid Island was one of our favourite locations to sit and reflect at, but being what today was, and how busy we’d be with the festival, there wasn’t going to be time to visit. At least not before the sun set.
Hand in hand, we walked through the parking lot which was starting to fill with all sorts of vehicles. It may be April, but it was also the Rocky Mountains, and even though most of the snow had melted, therewas still an undeniable chill in the air and I pulled a toque on over my head.
“That’s the lake?” I asked upon approach. It was smaller than what I had expected.Lakewas a gross inflation of the size of the crystal-clear bed of water.
“I guess. Looked bigger on the map.” A tight smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
We walked closer and found a wooden bench alongside the path, which was thankfully empty.
I sat, facing the toe of the Columbia Icefield. “It’s small, but pretty.”
“Like you.” Elliot never missed a chance to toss a compliment my way. He was sweet like that. Almost too sweet, like the maple twist macchiato he created.
I cleared my throat. “Shall we begin?”
“To the airing of grievances and things that drive us crazy.” He was a little theatrical in his delivery as a couple walked by and gave us the strangest expression as Elliot spoke. But whatever. I didn’t care, and neither did Elliot. This airing of grievances was for us, and us alone.
It happened on the same day of each month – our anniversary. As a way to stop me from bolting or finding a reason to leave the relationship behind, we agreed to have a ten-minute session each month to voice our concerns and keep the relationship open and honest. Cassie thought it was brilliant and thought it should be something to embrace whileChad thought we were complete nutters. But hey, at least he voiced his concern.
“You go first.” I waved for Elliot to start as I pulled on a pair of leather gloves.
He regripped my hand and inhaled sharply. It had always been difficult for him to say anything negative, and it’s not that I wanted to hear all the bad stuff I did, but it was important for us, for me especially, to understand what I was doing wrong and how to improve.
“Okay.” A long gust of air sailed out of his lips. “When you make toast or a sandwich and open the bread bag, it bothers me when you don’t tuck the end of the bag under the loaf and leave it just sitting out flopping in the air. It looks messy, and I’m always tucking it back under.”
I nodded thoughtfully, wondering why he was doing that, but now I got it. “I understand and will do better.”
“Oh whew. I was trying to find something to nitpick.”
“That’s pretty nit-picky.” My head bobbed in quick bouncy movements.
“Right?” He squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry. But I’d rather compliment—”
I covered his mouth. “That comes after.”
“Sorry.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Okay, hit me with the bad. I’m ready.”
I swallowed and searched his beautifully handsome and rugged face. Like him, I too struggledto find a grievance I needed to air, at least this month. Last month had been about the way the toilet paper unrolled; always over, never under.
“Okay.” I breathed again. “I wish you used more body wash.”
For a brief moment, his eyes nearly bugged out. “I shower, and I wash too.”