Two for the Aisle

April: Business Ventures (5 Months, 21 Days)

Delia’s birthday was a shitshow.

The stomach flu had been making the rounds at the studio, and Delia had brought it home to the boys, including her boyfriend. Topher managed to escape unscathed, and spent most of the ensuing few days back and forth between their bathroom and Delia’s at the end of the hallway. Matt and Delia were toying with dehydration, and he understood all too well the unappetizing idea of putting something in an unsteady belly. He forced fluids into the pair of them, and hoped for the best.

Tate wisely stayed in Brooklyn.

Once that carnage had passed and Matt was able to look at food without turning an unhealthy shade of green, he stole Grandpa Tate’s phone number from Topher. He slapped a hand to his own forehead as he paced the upstairs hallway, sure he was still feverish and out of his right mind.

It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Not a fuckin’ thing. He stopped, took a deep breath, and hit the call button.

Tate picked up on the third ring with a crisp, “Stanton.”

“Hey, Gr-grandpa. It’s Matt. Winchester. Matt Winchester.” He winced.

“Matty.” Tate’s voice warmed considerably. “How’s things in New York?”

“Good. They’re good. We’re good.” Matt didn’t mention they were still somewhat getting over the stomach bug from hell and Topher looked rundown enough to catch any and all illnesses available on his commute.

He resolutely didn’t think about that shittin’ m-word.

“That’s good. Danni will be glad to hear that. This isn’t purely a social call, though, is it?”

Tate always did go for the jugular when he could. It was probably what had made him so good on Wall Street.

“Uh, yeah, no.” He shoved trembling fingers in his jean pocket and leaned against the wall by the computer room. “Toph told me you knew a thing or two about business ventures.” Well no fucking shit, Sherlock. How do you think the man made his billions?

Luckily – or unfortunately, and Matt wasn’t sure which it would be – Tate chuckled. “That I do. I know about the ones that work and I definitely know about the ones that flop. What are you thinking?”

This was mildly easier than Matt had originally thought it would be. “I saw this empty storefront in SoHo the last time we were wandering through. It looked like it might have been a coffee shop already and I had this idea pop in my head about a place where writers could go and just hang out, write, and drink coffee. Booths near the front for people who were meeting for coffee, and armchairs or something near the back in a more nook-like kind of thing.” He paused to suck in a quick breath and plowed on with, “I even – I thought of a name, too. The Writers’ Nook. Kinda tucked away in SoHo. Fair trade coffee and not a Starbucks around for at least a couple blocks.”

Part of his brain was aware he was babbling. The larger part of his brain told that part of him to shut the fuck up.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“That is an interesting idea. There could be demand for it in that part of Manhattan, too. There’s quite a hipster culture in the area, isn’t there?”

He shuddered violently. “Y-yeah.”

If Tate found it odd Matt sounded more afraid of hipsters than he was of spiders he didn’t let on. Topher would have laughed until he pissed himself were he there to see Matt’s expression.