Yup. I’ve been amusing myself with it all weekend 🤣 Just a few prompts and it writes itself.
Chapter 62
Meghan’s Jammin’
It all started with a jar.
I came home one afternoon to find Meghan in the kitchen, wearing one of those artisanal aprons that only look stylish because of the distressed vibe, not actual use. She was standing over a saucepan, stirring something with an intensity I hadn’t seen since her royal debut.
“Babe,” I called from the doorway, “what are you making?”
“Jam,” she said, not looking up. “It’s not just jam. It’s revolutionary jam.”
I frowned.
“Revolutionary jam?” I repeated.
She nodded, still stirring.
“It’s going to change everything. Think local, organic, with an ethos. A real taste of California in a jar. It’s about heritage.”
I squinted at the jar on the counter.
It was a mass of murky pink goo. I wasn’t convinced.
But she was in full hustle mode. The next thing I knew, there was a brand name: American Riviera Orchard. She had her Instagram page up, the logo designed by some freelancer in Bali, and a vision that made her eyes glisten.
“It’s going to be like Napa, but for the people. A sustainable orchard in every jar. A revolution in fruit spreads.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that “American Riviera Orchard” didn’t exactly roll off the tongue. I mean, it sounded more like a mid-tier real estate development than jam—but I’d learned not to crush these... creative moments.
A few days later, she launched the website.
I walked into the office to find her furiously typing away at the keyboard.
“Website’s live,” she said, grinning. “You’re going to love it.”
I nodded, always the supportive husband. “How’s it look?”
Her fingers hovered over the mouse. “It’s a vibe. All the right fruit pictures. I mean, it’s got soul.”
The website was all aesthetics—golden hour shots of jars, a few mysterious orchard photos, and words—lots of them. It read like a spiritual retreat, but for jam. There was a whole section on “The Essence of Fruit” and “Empowered Sweets for the Empowered You.”
I glanced at the legal text. There were links to copyright notices that seemed a little… off. And a Terms and Conditions page that didn’t exist yet. A few of the links didn’t even load properly, but I didn’t say anything. Meghan had put so much energy into it.
Then came the name confusion.
“I was going through our emails and noticed something from the Patent and Trademark Office,” I said casually over dinner, digging into my gluten-free, sugar-free, fun-free Buddha bowl. “They’re refusing to approve a trademark for ‘American Riviera.’ Apparently, it’s too vague.”
“WHAT?” she practically shrieked, dropping her fork. “How did I not know this?”
“And also,” I added, “there was something from a company called Royal Riviera. Their owners—Harry & David—are lodging a complaint. Something about ARO sounding too similar to their brand.”
It was like watching a masterpiece slowly self-destruct. The domain, the branding, the entire vision… gone in a single moment. This wasn’t like having the Windsor legal team. No one had caught the glaring oversight.
She groaned. “I knew it. I knew I should’ve had a legal team look at it.”
She grabbed her phone. “This is fine. This is fine. I’ll just rebrand. We’ll start fresh.”
While Meghan kept rebranding, I kept eating the jam.
The strawberry-basil one was surprisingly good. Even though it looked like something you’d give your grandmother after 45 minutes on Pinterest, I couldn’t deny it tasted—well, like jam.
I started spooning it straight from the jar. I didn’t even bother with toast anymore. There was a jar in the fridge at all times.
But then came the real crisis.
“Harry,” Meghan said one morning as she scrolled through her phone, “I’ve been getting some feedback about the jars. Apparently, there’s a better way to ‘seal in freshness.’” She grimaced. “How are we supposed to be organic when we’re getting called out for the sealing method?”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but she had the tone of someone whose empire was crumbling.
“So I guess it’s back to the drawing board for the packaging,” she muttered. “But we’re still on track, right?”
“Yeah, babe,” I said, taking another spoonful of jam. “I think you’re onto something here.”
She beamed. Then her face fell slightly. “I was really hoping we could make this a legacy. You know, like a family thing.”
I smiled. “It’s good jam.”
She nodded. “We’ll figure it out.”
Within days, the first rebrand arrived: Mama Knows Best.
The new logo was soft, feminine, and dripping with empowerment. Meghan smiled as she showed me the design, clearly proud of herself.
“That’s the one,” she said. “This is my brand.”
I frowned slightly, hearing her say it over and over in my head. For some reason, the name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
Without thinking, I hummed a little tune—my mind stuck on something else entirely.
Meghan’s face twisted. “What are you humming, Harry?”
“Oh, just a song from Tangled,” I said. “You know the one—‘Mother Knows Best’? The one Mother Gothel sings?”
Her face dropped into full despair. “The witch?!”
Mama Knows Best was catchy, but it definitely had a Disney villain vibe.
“Okay,” she said a few days later, undeterred. “What about With Love, Meghan?”
I thought for a moment. “It’s nice... but doesn’t it sound a little generic?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, generic? It’s heartfelt. It’s personal.”
I nodded slowly, unsure how much I could press the generic point without triggering more rebranding chaos. “Sure. It’s personal.”
As Chief Jam Taster, I began to notice I was piling on the pounds. But I was happy. This was the only sugar Meghan allowed in the house. It was the least I could do. I was being a supportive husband.
As Meghan pulled out her spreadsheet of potential new names, I sat back and heaped another spoonful of jam into my mouth, reminiscing about the time I ate Kate’s homemade apple chutney in the kitchen at Anmer Hall.
I didn’t dare say it out loud…
But Kate’s Christmas chutneys were better. Maybe I could ask her for the recipe?