“Well, I don’t think we need custom beds.” I circle some prices on my budget sheet, happy for the distraction. “But we should prioritize quality mattresses, sleeper sofas, and blackout curtains, because this is a hotel and not someone’s guest room.”
“I agree.”
“Since all the cabins will be different, we can probably get deals on discontinued kitchen cabinets and maybe granite remnants for countertops. And as far as the decorating goes, I figured I would spend the next couple of months scouring thrift stores, estate sales, antique shops, and eBay for unique pieces.”
Mason nods, studying the design. “Okay. Yeah. I like that.”
“I know the industrial look is kind of a trend in taprooms,” I continue. “But if the cabins are the bedroom of the property, then the taproom should be an extension of that. It should feel like the living room. People should want to sit. They should want to stay.”
“That makes sense.”
“And while we’re on the subject, you should seriously reconsider putting beer taps in the cabins.”
His head jerks up, his eyes registering surprise as they meet mine. “That was the whole point of the hotel.”
“I know,” I say. “But what do you think is going to happen when a bunch of people have a keg in their bedroom?”
Mason is quiet for a beat. Then: “It’s going to end up … everywhere.”
“Bingo.”
“So what do you propose?”
“Wristbands,” I say. “If someone is wearing one in the taproom, we know they’re a guest of legal drinking age and their drinks are free. We could incorporate an RFID chip that also unlocks their cabin doors, but a plain waterproof wristband would work as well.”
He blows out a slow breath as he runs his fingers up through his hair. “I need some time to think about this.”
“I really don’t mean to be a killjoy,” I say. “But instead of holing up in their individual cabins, our guests should be encouraged to congregate in the taproom, where they can meet one another, get to know the locals, and have a good time without ruining the rooms. We’ll save money on cleaning and on beer, because only the most hard-core drinkers would ever be able to kill a keg. Instead of tapping each cabin, we’ll tap only what we need.”
“Those are all solid points,” Mason says. “But you just torpedoed my dreams, so I’m going to need a few days to get over it.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “Book club is Thursday and I’m a few chapters behind.”
CHAPTER 8
Merak
Serbian
“the pursuit of small pleasures every day, which all add up to a feeling of contentment, fulfillment, and oneness with the larger purpose and the universe”
My relationship with my body is complicated, and I’m fully aware that relationship doesn’t make me special, unique, or unlike millions of other women in the world. I want to embrace body acceptance, but sometimes I also want to be thinner. It’s comforting to know I’m not the only woman who feels this way, but it’s still complicated. Especially having grown up with Anna for a sister.
As a little girl, I wanted to be as noticeable as her. She was this little pixie of a person with nearly white hair, freckles, and big blue eyes. She looked like she could grant all your wishes if you believed in her hard enough. Mom was careful not to compare us, but Dad would brag about his beautiful baby girl and joke how lucky I was to be the smart one. Except, Anna is every bit as smart as I am, and I don’t need to lose weight to be beautiful. Admittedly, our dad was kind of a dick. He may have left a long time ago, but his small damages have endured.
As the minutes tick toward Avery’s yoga class, I start getting cold feet. All I can picture is a room filled with agile, slender women dressed in expensive workout wear, while I’m wearing a pair of old gray leggings that are pilled where my thighs rub together. Throw in a black sports bra that might be a size too small and my only “sporty” tank top—pink, with the words YES WAY ROSÉ printed on the front—and I’m ready to change into my pajamas and curl up with a book.
Maisie and I reach the kitchen as Mason comes in through the side door. He pauses in the doorway, giving me a quick once-over before his eyes meet mine. “Oh, um—hi. You look—”
“Like a wine mom,” I say, filling my water bottle at the sink. “I know.”
He scratches behind his ear, a crinkle of confusion forming between his brows. “A wine mom?”
“You know, the stereotypical woman who drinks a lot of wine and wears clothes with cutesy sayings like…” I point to my shirt and as his gaze drops, I realize I’ve guided his attention straight to my boobs.
Mason’s eyes meander back to my face slowly, his cheeks coloring. “I was going to say you look ready to take on warrior pose.”
“Oh.” I smile bigger than I should, pleased at the compliment and maybe also a little pleased that he was checking me out. “Thanks.”
He glances at Maisie, who is trying to tie her own sneaker even though she has no idea how. “She’s going with you?”
I can’t read his tone, so I don’t know how to take the question. “Yeah. You don’t have to worry about her being underfoot.”
“I wasn’t—I’m not—” He opens the fridge and dips his head in to survey the contents, his face hidden behind the door. “I didn’t know the wellness center offered childcare.”
I forgot to ask Avery about babysitting, so I’m flying on a wing and a prayer to keep Maisie out of Mason’s way. “I think they do.”
“Huh. Okay.”
Except when I get to the wellness center, there are no other children. No babysitting. There are women of all ages and a variety of sizes. That part is a huge relief, but without a sitter, I won’t be able to join.
“I’m so sorry,” Avery says. “Maybe Daniel could come get her and—”
“It’s really not a problem,” I say. “I should have asked. I’ll figure out something for next time.”
Tori, the cashier from the general store, comes out of the bathroom wearing yoga pants that match her brightly colored hair and a Hello Kitty tank top. She’s younger than I initially thought. Maybe a high school senior or a freshman in college. “What’s going on?”
“Rachel needs a babysitter,” Avery says.
Tori shrugs. “I only came to pad your numbers in case no one showed up.” She turns to me. “You should stay. I’ll hang out with Maisie.”
“Are you sure?”
“Never give a babysitter a chance to have second thoughts.”
I laugh. “In that case, yes, and I’ll pay for your time.”
“Now you’re speaking my language,” she says, looking down at Maisie, whose eyes are practically heart shaped as she stares up at the hot-pink girl. Tori resembles Maisie’s favorite Barbie doll. “Hey, kiddo, let’s go do some kids-only yoga.”
“What’s that?” Maisie asks as she leaves the lobby holding hands with a stranger. I feel a little guilty, but as we head into the yoga room, Avery assures me Tori can be trusted.