Hot Pickle - J.J. Knight Page 0,82
dad and brother.
Camryn hasn’t seen me up here. I have a moment to collect myself and think about what I want to say.
So, hey.
I could use some help here.
You’ve heard the whole story.
What would you do?
What would you say?
If the person you were absolutely certain you could not live without was trapped by your Grammy and a tray of hot pickles…how would you start?
The light brightens the auburn in her hair to a majestic red. The long silky locks I remember so well flow down her back and across her shoulders, shimmering as she nods to my grandmother.
I can almost smell it. And her.
As soon as I start speaking, the room will quiet down, and all attention will turn to the stage.
To me.
She’ll see me.
It will be my one shot.
I’m supposed to talk about my grandmother. Our family deli. This place that supports us and feeds so many people.
How do I say those things but also speak to her?
My hand tightens on the microphone.
And I have it.
I think you guys beamed all your good juju right at me.
I draw in a breath. “Most of us have been lucky at least once in our lives.”
My voice reverberates across the room, and I pause, waiting for everyone to quiet down.
Grammy turns to the stage, and Camryn looks up.
Our eyes meet. I haven’t seen her face in weeks. I haven’t held her close for longer than that.
My arms ache with the very idea.
Her hand flies to her mouth. Her eyes are big, and I think, alarmed.
I have to get this right. She looks ready to run.
“Most of us are lucky at least once,” I say again, now that I have the room’s attention.
I don’t take my eyes off Camryn. I’m afraid if I look away, something will happen to her. She’ll dash away. Or maybe evaporate into a mirage.
“When we get that one piece of luck laid at our feet, we find someone who truly matters. Maybe it’s your mother, who tucks you in at night. Someone, even long after she’s gone, continues to wrap you in comfort whenever you think of her.”
I clear my throat. Camryn drops her hand to her side.
“I got lucky with my mother, even if I lost her before her time. But I didn’t get lucky only once. I also have a strong and fearless grandmother. When my grandfather died unexpectedly, far too young, she took what she did best—feeding her family—and turned it into a deli in Brooklyn.”
The room is mostly quiet, the only sounds the whispered food requests and the muted sounds of the cash register working in the very back.
“Because of that strength fifty years ago, I got to grow up sitting on a stool behind her counter. When my father was ready to take on the tradition, he opened this very store where we celebrate today. He took every dime he had ever saved, every dollar his mother could scrape together, to take out an outrageous loan on this building and open the first Pickle franchise.”
The room claps and cheers, but I don’t dare let go of Camryn’s gaze. I’m afraid she will spirit away like a startled deer. I’m not positive she came here for me. She seems too anxious, too unsteady. It’s almost as though a twist of fate brought her here, and she isn’t sure she should follow its lead.
“My father and brothers will tell you more about Grammy Alma’s impact on all our lives, but I wanted to impress upon you that I got lucky a third time. Back in Los Angeles, where I have my own deli, a girl walked in with hair like fire and earth in equal measure. She believed in me and wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to screw up on my path.”
My gaze is so intent on Camryn that several people turn to see what has my attention.
Camryn realizes she’s been noticed, and her hand moves to her hair. A collective ahhh ripples through the crowd as they realize I’m speaking about her.
“She was right of course. I did screw it up.” I wait out the chuckle from the crowd. “I’m up here to make sure she knows I made the wrong decision. The way I feel about her should’ve been out in the open from day one. We should have let it shine.”
She bites her lip, so I know she’s heard me and understands. What will happen next with her is out of my hands.
So I break her gaze and look at