CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BY THE END OF THE first week, things at Meade Creamery feel mostly back to normal.
Mostly.
On the whole, and to all the girls’ relief, working for Grady isn’t much different from working for Molly, because he’s hardly ever around. He spends the bulk of his days up at the farmhouse. Amelia assumes he’s untangling Meade Creamery’s financial picture, as his dad instructed him to do, and tackling his schoolwork. That’s all in addition to, obviously, making Molly’s ice cream.
Amelia suspects his distance might also have something to do with whatever happened between them in the office, during her ice cream tasting. Though it seemed to Amelia like they had been getting along well enough before that moment, their interactions feel more formal and stilted now. When Grady pops down at the stand—usually around five o’clock, when he stops in to grab any packages that have been delivered and to check the register totals—he barely speaks to her.
Not that she minds. It’s better this way.
And she reciprocates in kind, careful not to be too friendly or chummy, even the times she’s encountered Grady around Sand Lake—he was studying at the public library when she dropped off some checked-out books on Wednesday, and then again on Thursday, at the lake. Though she didn’t actually see Grady there, just spotted Molly’s pink Cadillac parked on the public beach side as Cate drove past.
The only way Grady seems comfortable talking to her is by texting . . . which he does plenty of.
Day and night, Amelia has been answering his random questions about the business. The girls get paid on Mondays. No, there is no premade waffle cone that might compare with the ones we make fresh. We average about one supersized container of sprinkles a week. So many questions that Amelia has taken to keeping her phone on silent, with no vibrate, because Grady often texted her when she was off the clock and doing other things, like on Saturday afternoon, when she was helping Cate weed her closet of fall clothes that looked too explicitly high school, or on Sunday night, when all the stand girls went to the movies together after closing.
This is, in part, because even when Grady’s visits to the stand are brief, Amelia notices there’s still a shift in energy that starts when he walks in and lasts until he leaves. Conversations get quieter, the girls less playful. Like on Monday, when a few of the girls were chatting with each other during a shift change, the topic of conversation was Liz and a guy she had a crush on.
Grady was in the office with Amelia, and they could both hear everything that was being said outside the door. Cate was doing most of the talking, pumping Liz up, giving some advice on how to act if the guy came to her window that night.
Amelia raised her head, pausing from the cardboard she was breaking down to see if Grady was listening. He seemed focused on prying their old punch clock from the wall. Grady had found a payroll app—one that had been created by a guy in his frat and that made him an insta-millionaire—and had all the girls download it onto their phones. It would make payroll easier for sure, but there was something sad about the punch clock getting the heave-ho. Amelia almost wished Grady would leave it, even if they wouldn’t be using it anymore.
Still, Amelia got the sense that she should say something to the girls, let them know Grady could hear them. They probably didn’t know he was there. But before she could, Grady walked to the office door, the punch clock under his arm.
“Hey. Here’s my two cents. If a guy likes you, he’ll call you. It’s really as simple as that.” He smiled, like he was being helpful. The girls stared at him blankly until he realized he’d majorly overstepped and hastily made his exit.
At least, as Cate said later, it provided her with a teachable moment about mansplaining.
Grady’s made a few other changes too, besides the time cards. Meade Creamery is now on all social media platforms, and he’s been talking about creating some kind of Instagram-friendly wall on the side of the stand, to encourage more online traffic. Last check, they had a measly sixty-four followers. Grady has asked the girls to share his posts, though none of them have, either because they don’t love the photos he’s taken (Amelia’s eyes were closed in one shot on opening day) or because he’s gone embarrassingly overboard with his hashtag game (#youknowyouwantit, which, ugh).
Grady’s also ordered two credit card readers, but he hasn’t gotten Wi-Fi installed, so they aren’t usable. For the time being, they live on the shelf near the radio. And the stand is now offering nearly double the toppings it did in summers past—a difference made up almost entirely by sugary breakfast cereals. It has made their already cramped sideboard area even tighter, but Grady thinks customization is a thing consumers expect, and it helps to give their four-flavor menu some depth.
For the most part, the girls have been accepting of, if slightly irritated with, these changes. Despite her own misgivings, Amelia has decided to pick her battles with Grady carefully.
Her first opportunity came this past Monday.
She’d just gotten to the stand when Grady texted Has there ever been another Meade Creamery storefront? Like somewhere on Main Street?
Nope. Just this one.
Before she could put her phone down, Grady texted back. This was unusual. He’d always taken her answers at face value. But not this time.
Mistake.
Amelia stared at the word. How so?
Main Street would be a way better location. We’re in the middle of nowhere.
Amelia shook her head. With her top lip curled, she typed, This is where everything started. And then added, Also, you’ve probably noticed that people don’t have any trouble finding us out here.
Amelia waited for Grady to answer back. When he didn’t, she was a little bummed. She wanted to keep arguing with him. Or at least, that was what she thought, until he suddenly came in through the back door.
“Don’t get defensive, Amelia. It’s just an observation.”
“I’m not,” she said, even though she could feel her pulse in her throat. She’d been fine with changes and helping Grady wrap his head around the business. But she wouldn’t let him imply that Molly Meade didn’t know what she was doing. “Part of what makes this place special is that it isn’t close to other things. It’s a pilgrimage.”
“All I’m trying to say is that she could have been making more money. Imagine if she had a place down near the lake!”
“There are no shops at the lake.”
“I’m just brainstorming here,” he sourly informed her, lowering himself onto the yellow love seat. “And when brainstorming, you’re not supposed to shut down ideas.”
“I’m not shutting you down. I’m telling you the facts. There’s nothing around the lake but trees. So it seems silly to think about how much better business would hypothetically be if you moved the business to a location that doesn’t actually exist.”
After getting up, he chastised, “You have to dream big if you want to succeed in business, Amelia. Look for green lights, not stop signs.”
As Grady walked out, Amelia caught the eyes of the other girls in the stand. They were beaming at her, and Cate licked her finger and pretended to touch Amelia with it, making a sizzle sound. But while Amelia felt happy to have stood up for the stand, their conversation was more proof that any friendliness between her and Grady had chilled since she’d given him the ice cream. Now, even when they did talk, they argued. Something had happened in that moment, she just wasn’t sure what.
The next day, one week since the stand opened, Grady pulled up in the pink Cadillac, beeping his horn long and hard. He was being followed by a tow truck, yellow rooftop lights flashing. Hitched up to the truck’s hook was an old white van.
“Holy crap,” Cate said. “Is that a food truck?”
Amelia, Cate, and the other girls ran out.
The shape of the thing immediately betrayed its age. It was boxy, with plenty of dents and nicks. There were hinges on the side, for a fold-up awning and a fold-down counter. An old logo had been painted over hastily.
Grady hopped out of the Cadillac and directed the tow truck driver to park the food truck behind the stand. “Ain’t it a beauty?” he said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “I found it on Craigslist last night. It’s been in someone’s garage for the last three years.”
Cate, to Amelia’s surprise, looked just as excited. “Yo, this is going to be so awesome! We can park down at the lake!”
Grady nodded and pointed. “Yes. Exactly. So what do you think, Amelia? Now that I’ve made the impossible possible.”
Cate gave Amelia a nudge. “Come on, Amelia, it would be so much more fun to work at the lake! We could go for a swim on our break.”
Amelia climbed aboard. The inside of the food truck wasn’t in much better shape than the outside. And it definitely wasn’t set up for ice cream. There was a long grill, and underneath, two old propane tanks. Also mouse poop everywhere. Everything that had been chrome was now rusted. The exhaust fan over her head was thick with fuzz. She touched one of the walls with her finger. It felt slick, yellow with old grease, like honeycomb wax.
Cate followed her inside. Her head flinching back slightly, she said, “Grady, I hope you don’t think we’re cleaning this thing.”
But Grady didn’t respond. His eyes were on Amelia, and his expression betrayed his disappointment in her lack of excitement.
“How much did you pay for this?” she asked.
“Not that much,” Grady insisted, though he avoided her eyes as he said it. “And it was the only one for sale in the state!”
“Does it even run?”
“The guy who sold it to me said he’s pretty sure all it needs is a tune-up.” Amelia saw, over Grady’s shoulder, the tow truck man roll his eyes. “It’s a good idea,” Grady said to Amelia, trying to get her on his side. “You’ll see.” He held out his phone to the girls. “Can someone take my picture? I want to send this to my dad.”
By that afternoon, two mechanics had already been over and given Grady estimates. He crumpled them both up and threw them in the office trash can, saying he was sure he could do better.
Amelia expected to feel more victorious than she did.
Other than those disruptions, the traditions of summers at the stand are back in full force. Different games and pranks, always done in good fun, passed down through the years. One that began while Amelia was here—if not last summer, then the one before, she’s not positive—is that if there’s a closed door, there’s a good chance someone is hiding behind it, waiting to jump out. Last summer, Cate nearly killed Heather when she sprang up from the backseat of Heather’s car, but then Heather got her back that very same night, jumping off the roof when Amelia and Cate were closing. Sometimes scares happen in front of customers. Amelia once tucked herself into an empty box on the floor near one of the service windows, and when Britnee was about to hand over two cones, she sprang up and screamed. Britnee smashed both cones into the closed service window.
Amelia hopes that’s not why Britnee chose to stay at Sephora.
Since there are no newbies yet this summer, some chores are falling by the wayside. Namely, the cleaning of the bathroom. But no one has stepped up to pick up the slack.
That’s why, on Wednesday, Amelia is on her hands and knees, wearing yellow rubber gloves, cleaning the bathroom for the second time since the stand opened this summer. The big mop bucket holds the door open. Cate walks up, leans against the doorframe, and folds her arms. “Well, here’s something I never thought I’d see.”
“What’s that?” Amelia says, wiping down the toilet.
“A Head Girl cleaning the bathroom.”
“I don’t mind. . . .” Or, more truthfully, Amelia doesn’t feel comfortable asking Jen, last year’s newbie. She already put in her time. She isn’t a newbie anymore.
“You can’t give yourself bathroom duty all summer. I won’t allow it. Has Grady said when you can hire newbies? We’re down three girls! That’s a whole shift!”
There’s something to what Cate is saying. Yes, they need to hire more girls. But in the meantime, everyone should be required to take a turn.
The fairest way Amelia can think up?
A chore chart.
She makes one on her break that day. A Sunday-through-Saturday grid with separate Post-it notes for each girl, so she can rotate the names around. This way, everyone knows who’s responsible for what newbie chores each shift. And Amelia won’t have to personally seek the girls out to let them know when it’s their turn.
When she hangs up the chore chart, Cate is not thrilled.
“Come on, Amelia. Are we twelve?” Cate whines, and tries to grab her Post-it note and take it off the chart. “Plus, we’re seniors! You and I shouldn’t have to do this at all.”
Amelia sees the girls on the windows quickly busy themselves, but she knows they’re listening. Rather than fight about it, Amelia takes Cate’s Post-it, shifting all the other girls up and putting herself and then Cate last in the order. Hopefully they’ll have newbies in place before her turn comes up.
* * *
It’s around eight thirty in the evening, and she’s just scraped the last scoop of Home Sweet Home out of the drum in the scooping cabinet. It’s been drizzling for most of the evening. There’s no one in Amelia’s line, and Cate’s not too busy either, leisurely chatting up a couple visiting from out of town whom she’s already served scoops of chocolate in waffle cones. Amelia closes her window, drops her scooper into the wash well, and jogs out back to throw the empty drum into the dumpster.
Walking back in, she puts on the purple ski jacket, grabs the tally clipboard, and heads into the freezer, intending to grab a new drum and also do a quick stock check. The girls should be keeping up with this every time they take out a new drum—marking what’s being taken, as well as shifting everything to the right to create empty space on the left for the new tubs, so that nothing is sitting too long in the freezer. Every few days, Molly would come and grab the tally sheet, so she knew which flavors she needed to restock.
No one kept track on opening day. It was so busy, the girls were bringing new tubs out of the walk-in and moving them into the scooping cabinet almost every hour. But over the week, only a few marks have been made on the clipboard, which means only some of the girls are remembering this responsibility. So Amelia now plays catch-up, organizing and straightening, and counts a total of fifty-one drums gone. When she shifts everything to the right, nearly half the walk-in freezer is empty.
“Whoa,” Cate says from behind her. “I’ve never seen it like this. Why hasn’t Grady brought us down more ice cream?”
“He probably never thought to check. I’ll let him know.”
“Do you think he’s started making it?”
“I hope so. There’s probably going to be a bit of a learning curve.”
“Hopefully not too big.” Cate knocks into her playfully. “And, while you’re at it, talk to him about us hiring newbies!”
“I promise I will.” Amelia already has a running list of things to discuss with Grady. The staffing situation, the missing tiles on the roof, the rotten wooden slats, and now ice cream. She goes into the office, straightens her shirt, and undoes the braid in her hair, because of how young Grady had said it makes her seem.
Hey, Grady. We are running low on ice cream down here, just FYI. Also I have a few managerial issues I’d like to discuss with you.
Cate leans over her shoulder. “Make sure you’re assertive with him about the newbies. If you sound like it isn’t a big deal, like we’re managing okay, he’ll blow you off. Remember, his dad told him to maximize profits.”
“You sure you don’t want to have this conversation?” Amelia’s only half joking.
“You’re Head Girl, not me. Remember? And anyway,” she adds, flopping onto the couch, “I’m on my break.”
Amelia can see Grady writing back.
Sure. Come on up. I’ll leave the door open.
She glances up at Cate. “Oh my God. He’s inviting me inside the farmhouse.”
Cate tries grabbing on to Amelia’s arm. “Wait! I’ll go! I need Grady’s advice on my dorm application anyway!”
Amelia wriggles free and darts past her, laughing. “Enjoy your break!”