COOL BEANS

by Erynn Mangum

  I find the level and take it back to him. “Here you go.”

  Zach looks up at me. “Thanks. Hey, how are things with Travis?”

  “Fine,” I say. Confusing, I think as I leave the room. It’s six thirty before we stop for dinner. Everything is in the house and the movers have left, taking their big truck with them.

  Zach collapses on one of the sofas, laying his head on Kate’s lap. “I’m bushed,” he says. He winces and archs his back again. “Maya?”

  I sigh and grin at him, pushing up my sweater sleeves and kicking off my shoes. “Come here.”

  He falls off the couch and lies on his stomach in front of the entertainment center. Gingerly, I step on his back, grabbing one of the shelves for balance. “If you make any mention of me gaining weight since I was fifteen …” I warn.

  He makes a noise in the back of his throat right as his back cracks loudly. Mom jumps.

  “Maya! Stop that! Zachary, do you have any idea what that does to your spine?”

  “Mom, I’m a doctor,” Zach protests into the carpet.

  “I don’t care. You’re not using your brain.”

  Kate giggles on the couch.

  Dad falls into the other one. “Well, Kate, you have a great house here. It’s good to have you back in town.”

  “Oh, Maya, not by my neck.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Thanks,” Kate says to Dad. “I like it.”

  Mom settles next to Dad. “I guess we can see how much my kids still listen to me.”

  “What?” I ask, grinning.

  “Funny, Maya.” Mom rolls her eyes. She reaches down and rubs a now-clean and dried Calvin.

  “You don’t mind him in here, do you?” I ask, worriedly.

  “Are you kidding?” Kate says. She taps on her knee and Calvin trots over. “I love dogs. I told Zach that we have to get one now.” She rubs Calvin’s head. “Beagles are adorable. So are basset hounds. Do you know anything about bassets?”

  “I’ve heard they’re hard to train,” I say.

  Kate nods. “Are beagles?”

  I shrug as best as I can, standing on top of Zach’s spinal column. “Calvin wasn’t too hard. It’s all about consistency.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, what’s going on with Travis?” Zach asks, voice muffled.

  I dig my foot into the small of his back. “Nothing. He’s dating Jen.”

  “Still hard for you, huh?”

  “No.”

  Kate looks up from Calvin. “Zach, stop. She doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  I step off Zach’s back. “There. You’re all popped.”

  He does a push-up to his knees and rolls his shoulders. “Ah. Thanks, Maya.”

  “What do you want to do for dinner, kids?” Mom asks.

  “It’s a good soup night,” Kate says.

  I nod happily. “Soup!”

  “Agreed,” Mom says.

  Dad looks at Zach. “Apparently, we’re having soup.”

  “We need to get another guy in here, Dad. We’re outnumbered.” Zach digs his elbow into my side. “Huh? Huh? That’s up to you.”

  “Ow. See if I ever pop your back again.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I make peace with the boys. “Fresh Choice? Then you can get whatever you want.”

  Dad nods. “Okay.”

  Mom’s hungry. “Let’s go then.” I sit down with my second bowl of clam chowder. Fresh Choice is nearly dead tonight, and I chalk it up to the weather because the chowder is delicious.

  “Maya, how late is your coffee shop open?” Zach asks, digging into his second plate of salad.

  “Depends on the night. Between ten and eleven.”

  He nods. “I think we might come by on Tuesday, then. One of the other doctors at the hospital has a house in Hudson, and he invited us for dinner.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “That’s a drive.”

  “You do it every week.”

  “Yeah, but not every day. That would get old.” I sip my soup. “Okay, good. You should come by — that’d be fun. You can see where I work.”

  I’m surprising even myself by saying this, but it’s true. Something’s changed with Zach and Kate today. Maybe it’s pity for my situation with Travis. Or stress wearing down the normal reserves. Whatever it is, I like it.

  Kate smiles at me across the table. “Drink recommendation?”

  “Caramel cinnamon mocha. But it’s not on the menu. You have to have special connections with the barista to get that drink.” I point to myself. “It’s the Maya Special.”

  Zach grins. “So, are you working Tuesday night?”

  “I think so.” I think I’m closing every night this week. Which is sort of sad. As much as I hate getting up early, Jack’s right: It’s very nice to be done by two.

  And Cool Beans is very boring from about five o’clock on.

  “Okay. Well, we’ll see you Tuesday then,” Zach says, all businesslike.

  I smile.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I get to work at two on Monday. Lisa starts pulling her apron off when I walk through the door. “Hi, Maya!” she says, all chipper.

  “Hey, Lisa.” I smile. “How’s it going?”

  “Slow day,” she replies, warning in her voice. “Hope you brought a book or something.” She picks up a library copy of Mansfield Park. Lisa’s going to school to be an English teacher.

  “Jane Austen?” I ask.

  “We’re studying her right now.” Lisa grins. “It’s my favorite class.”

  “I’d imagine.”

  “Have a great day!” She hangs her apron in the back, grabs her purse, and leaves right as Jack is coming in.

  “Bye, Lisa,” he says to her. He walks over to the counter and looks around. “Wow. Three whole customers?”

  Today is sunny and warm, and suddenly everyone wants slushes and Cokes instead of hot chocolate.

  “Yep.” I nod at him. “Exciting day ahead.”

  “Oh, joy. Did Zach and Kate get moved in okay?”

  I nod again. “Yeah. They were really nice yesterday. Personable.”

  He pulls his apron over his head and joins me, leaning against the counter. “That’s good.”

  “They’re coming in tomorrow night.”

  He frowns slightly. “Have I ever met Kate?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, good, I’ll have to meet her tomorrow.”

  I start making myself a fat-free mocha. “What did you decide to do about Polly?”

  “I put an ad in the paper.”

  “Are you serious?”

  He walks over and grabs the complimentary paper we offer our customers. Spreading it out on the counter, he points to a classified ad.

  PARROT — Free to a good home, blue-fronted Amazon. Talks. Friendly. Call Jack at (619) 555-4356. Desperate to find a home for her.

  “Tragical,” I say, shaking my head.

  “If I don’t get any calls today, I’m bringing her here tomorrow and trying to give her to a customer.”

  “Too bad she’s not a cute little puppy. She might go faster if she were.”

  “Remember me talking about that internship at Hudson Zoo?” Jack asks, closing the paper and changing the subject.

  “Yeah. Did you get it?”

  He starts grinning.

  “Yay! Good job, Jack!” I smile at him and give him a hug as he comes back around the counter. “When do you start?”

  “I think I start in May. I still have a few more applications and things to fill out now. So, right after I graduate pretty much.”

  “Awesome!” I finish making my mocha and close a lid over it. The door opens, and a very heavily made-up blond bombshell who looks about thirty walks in. She’s wearing fishnet stockings, a charcoal gray pencil skirt, a black-and-white skin-tight sweater, and a glare.

  I barely hold in my groan, but Jack’s not quite as talented. He disguises it as a cough, though.

  Oh, no.

&n
bsp; “Mrs. Mitchell. Hi,” I stutter.

  Jen’s mom is in town? Why did I not know this? I should always know these things.

  “Good afternoon, Maya.” Candace Mitchell is forty-eight years old, but I guess enough money can buy any age you want. She lays a perfectly manicured hand on the counter. “Jack.”

  “Hi.” He waves, staying a safe distance away from her perfume.

  Mrs. Mitchell looks at me. “Jennifer said that you would be here today. Is there any possible way you can make a decent cup of coffee?”

  I smile politely at her. “Yes, ma’am. We are renowned for our coffee.”

  “I do not care that you are renowned. So is Starbucks, and their coffee is the most bitter, burned coffee I have ever tasted.”

  There’s enough acid in Mrs. Mitchell’s voice to melt away any unprotected skin cells. I subconsciously put my hand over my cheek.

  “I’ll give you a taste of ours,” I offer meekly.

  Jack’s already got it for me. He’s standing a few feet behind me. Close enough for moral support, far enough that he doesn’t get singed.

  Mrs. Mitchell’s perfectly arched eyebrows raise just a smidgen as she takes the tiny tasting cup. “How can I possibly get enough to taste anything from this?” she grumbles but takes a sip.

  She sets it on the counter with a huge sigh that racks her petite frame. “No one knows how to make good coffee anymore. It is not that hard. I make the best coffee on the East Coast, and it only takes good beans, a high-quality, nonbleached filter, and the right pH level in the water. I do not understand why that is so hard to comprehend!”

  I take the empty cup from her. I’m hearing that song my mother always sang me when I was a little kid. Something about if you can’t say something nice, say nothing.

  I guess she doesn’t know what to do with someone not responding to her rant because she makes another dramatic sigh. But really, what am I supposed to say? “Here’s a free coffee that you’ll hate”? I think not.

  She sighs again, in case I didn’t hear her.

  “How long are you in town, Mrs. Mitchell?” I ask, pulling her focus from our awful coffee.

  “Just until nine o’clock this evening. Jennifer is dating a new boy, and we all know how the last one turned out.” She rolls her baby blue eyes. “It is better if I nip this one in the bud.”

  I wince. “Wait, what?”

  “Travis Clayton? He works for an insurance company? He helps families with his company avoid being sued and such? What kind of a job is that?”

  Actually, Jen told me Travis works for the protection part of the insurance company, and while, yes, he helps people avoid being sued by their neighbors if their house burns down and catches the neighbors’ houses on fire, he also personally helps the families get back on their feet.

  I have just about had my fill of Candace Mitchell. I glance at the clock. Two minutes and fifteen seconds. That’s a new record, I think.

  I shrug and answer her question. “It sounds like a normal job to me.”

  “Exactly. Normal is not something Jennifer should aspire to. We all know how Adam ended up.” She opens her Marc Jacobs purse. “I am meeting them for dinner tonight.”

  “Oh.”

  One more huge sigh. “And I guess I will take one of those horrific cups of coffee.”

  I ring up her total.

  She hands me a well-used credit card. “Good to see you, Maya. Though I do wish you would take better care of yourself. You will never catch a man looking like that.”

  “Here’s your coffee,” I say, stuffing my response into the side of one cheek.

  She looks me up and down. “I am just trying to help. Surely you know that men prefer women with long hair, Maya. Not a short, out-of-control style like that. And you really should look into doing Pilates classes. It will do wonders for those hips.”

  “Bye, Mrs. Mitchell,” I say, pointedly.

  Rolling her eyes, she pops the lid on her coffee. “Good-bye, Maya. Jack.”

  She exits, leaving only the trace of her expensive musky perfume.

  I rub my face, and Jack massages my shoulders. “Sorry, Pattertwig,” he says. “She’s not a nice woman.”

  “I don’t understand how sweet, wonderful Jen can have a mother like that,” I say.

  Jack sighs. “Me either.”

  “Do you think she knows that her mom’s going to crash her date?” I ask through my hands.

  Jack winces.

  I grab my phone.

  “This is Jennifer Mitchell, legal assistant to — ”

  I hang up on her voice mail. “She’s not answering.”

  Jack is still staring after Mrs. Mitchell. “Just once I want to hear her use a contraction.”

  “It won’t happen. I’ve spent three days around that woman before, and it never happened.”

  “Three days?” Jack is impressed.

  “She came to visit and naturally stayed in our filthy apartment.” I grimace, impersonating her. “Last time, she told me I needed to wear higher-quality clothing and lose about fifteen pounds.”

  Jack rolls his eyes. “Why? So you can look like her? I’ve met stair rails that have more curves than her.”

  I smile, hearing his unspoken compliment. “Thanks, Jack.”

  “How did Jen end up so nice?” Jack mumbles.

  “She chalks it up to becoming a Christian freshman year at Cal-Hudson,” I tell him. “You should ask Jenny about her testimony sometime — it’s a good one.”

  A UPS deliveryman comes into the store with a dolly and three huge brown boxes. “Hi there,” he says to me, holding out the little machine for me to sign. “How’s your day going?”

  “Fine.” I sign my name and squint at the boxes. “Our slow day is over, Jack. Here’s inventory.”

  “Great.”

  The UPS guy smiles at our enthusiasm — or lack thereof. “Best of luck with that.” He slides the boxes off the dolly right behind the counter and leaves, whistling.

  “What is all this stuff?” Jack asks, slicing open a box.

  “Christmas stuff. Alisha told us last time she came that she was expecting a shipment. What kind of merchandise is it?” I try dialing Jen again. This time I leave a message.

  “Hi, Jenny. Call me.”

  I look over at Jack, who is pulling coffee thermoses emblazoned with Cool Beans out of the box.

  “These are kind of cool,” he says.

  “Beans,” I finish.

  “Funny.”

  It’s six o’clock, and I still haven’t gotten ahold of Jen. I’ve called her seven times, left four voice mails, and texted her three times, but she still hasn’t responded. I’m hoping that means she’s still at work and dinner got called off.

  I slip my phone into my back pocket, lean on the counter, and look around the store. It’s nearly empty. A cute redhead and a nice-looking guy are talking quietly on one of the couches by the fireplace. Jack’s mopping in the back, and I’m lazily organizing the front counter area.

  Mrs. Mitchell is not a nice person. She’ll tell Travis to back off and that Jen’s waiting for a Kennedy.

  I sigh at a huge green mug.

  On the one hand, then Travis would be single.

  I blink and straighten.

  What?

  What is this? I’m turning into a psycho!

  I hurriedly put the mug away. And just what would happen then? Jen and Travis break up, and he’d come running back to me? He doesn’t even recognize me! And even if he did, what did I think would happen? We’d live happily ever after?

  I’ve already thought that once.

  By all intents and purposes, it was a “mutual” decision to break up. But really, it was him. He moved to Stanford; we were one year into the whole long-distance thing; and we were both getting frustrated.

  “Pattertwig?” Jack breaks into my thoughts, and I startle.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you come help me for a second?”

  I follow him to the bac
k, and he hands me the mop.

  “You mop while I tip the shelves back,” he says, grunting as he lifts.

  I swoosh the mop around a few times, and he sets the shelves back. “Thanks.”

  “Welcome.”

  “You okay?” he asks as I walk back out to the front.

  “Fine.”

  I get home, and neither Jen nor her mother is there. I’m breathing a sigh of relief at that last part but still worried about Jen. Calvin greets me at the door with a happy doggy shake.

  It’s dark outside and chilly, but I need the endorphins. Legally Blonde was right: They do make you happy. “We’re going for a quick run,” I announce to my little beagle.

  “Roo! Roo!” he answers excitedly, lunging for his leash.

  I change into workout pants and a T-shirt. As I tie back my hair, I grab a sticky note.

  Reasons I Love My Mother:

  1. She is motherly.

  2. She cares about me as a person and what I like.

  3. She never tries to make me be anything but me.

  4. She is not necessarily in fashion all the time.

  5. She not only uses contractions, she also uses fragments.

  Then I send Jen one more text: Your mom is in town. She’s going to try to break up you and Travis. Just a friendly warning. Love you.

  “Ready, Cal?” I ask. I decide his hopping means yes, and we start for the door. I open it and see Mrs. Mitchell standing there getting ready to knock.

  “Oh!” I say, startled.

  “That is no way to greet a guest,” she rebukes.

  “Sorry. I just didn’t expect to see you,” I say. My whole body is shriveling up like one of those month-old apples in the fridge. Which reminds me that I need to clean those out.

  “Well, are you going to make me stand outside, or are you inviting me in?” she snaps.

  “Uh — ”

  She steps inside.

  “I’m actually on my way out,” I say. Calvin is cowering behind my right calf. “We’re going on a run.”

  She stares at me. “Dressed like that?”

  I look down. Black stretchy yoga pants, a plain white T-shirt, black hoodie, and running shoes. I’m not sure how this outfit can go wrong.

  Apparently it can.

  I can feel Calvin shuddering behind me, and I wince. Mrs. Mitchell stares down the little beagle. “What is wrong with your dog? Does he have a nervous-system disorder?”