by C. L. Ryder
After the lunch rush died down, Bethany and Jackson grilled up three turkey pesto melts for their and Marcos’s lunch, and the three of them ate them behind the counter. Bethany looked out over the mostly empty café and thought back to when they had a full daily staff, and everyone took a full lunch break to themselves. These days it sometimes felt like the breaks lasted longer than the business day.
She let out a slow sigh and took a bite of the sandwich. It was a difficult reality to swallow, but Bethany knew that although they were still making enough business to stay in operation, she couldn’t expect it to continue. They were teetering on the edge, and if things slowed down even more…
“Felt like normal, didn’t it?” Jackson said cheerfully. “Hyper-tasking, getting into the zone. People still love our coffee, and the spicy chicken melts sell as well as they ever did.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Bethany said absently, staring out the big front windows that looked out at the street. Their single customer sat in the corner, hunched over a laptop as he sipped on an iced tea, and Bethany could only think about when every single one of the seats and two couches would’ve been filled during this time of the day.
Jackson shrugged, Bethany’s sober demeanor ricocheting off his peppy disposition. “Okay, but people still come here just for them, right? Your recipes are still killing it with the regulars. I’ve been watching Yelp too, and we still get new reviews about both our coffee and our sandwiches.”
“As long as that place is there,” Marcos said, jerking his head in the direction of their competition, “it feels like things will keep getting worse. Hate to say it, you know?”
Bethany took an irritated chomp of her sandwich. “What is up with this ‘artisanal’ coffee hoo-hah anyway? Good coffee, good food, that’s all that should matter. People shouldn’t have to be bashed over the head with details and flavor profiles and things that they can’t even taste anyway.”
“You’re right,” Jackson said, nodding. “That is all that should matter. But I guess people do really enjoy that kind of thing. Makes it seem like they’re getting more for their money, maybe. And they’re willing to spend more.”
Marcos laughed. “So what you’re saying is that we should slap some labels on our coffee telling people what it tastes like and then we can charge more for it?”
“We are not doing that,” Bethany said solidly. “We can let the coffee speak for itself.”
Having worked with the LeFlorettes for so many years, Marcos was as entirely old school in his thoughts towards the café as Bethany was. Good food, good coffee, and a warm and homey environment, just as Mr. and Mrs. LeFlorette had done when he’d first started there. He nodded with staunch agreement; the shop was perfect how it was.
Jackson looked back and forth between the two of them. “I don’t think we should charge more either, but The Standard’s coffee is actually really good! I went and tried—what? What is it?” Both Bethany and Marcos were staring at him.
“You went to The Standard? Into enemy territory?” asked Marcos flatly.
“I didn’t realize it was forbidden,” he replied, and turned to Bethany. “You’ve been, right?”
Bethany looked offended. “No, something about them stealing all my customers kind of put me off of them.”
Marcos chuckled.
“Well,” Jackson said, “I’m not happy about it either. But I had to know what the hype was about, so I went in.”
“Was it as stuffy as I imagined? Do all their coffees have ridiculous and exotic names?” Bethany wiggled her fingers in the air for emphasis.
“Are all the baristas tatted-up hipsters with gauged earrings and an overinflated sense of self-importance?” Marcos asked, grinning.
“No! I don’t know. What’s wrong with tatted up hipsters with gauge earrings? You’re a tatted-up hipster, Marcos.”
“I’m too old to be a hipster,” he said quietly, almost as if he was trying to reassure himself as he crossed his tattooed arms across his chest.
“The place was cozy in its own way,” Jackson continued. “It’s not like our store, it doesn’t really have that at-home feel, but I can see why people are attracted to it. I think people like being in a place that’s comfortable, but feels… I don’t know. Better than home? Sleek, modern. Filled with things that they couldn’t normally have.”
Bethany shrugged. “Okay. And the coffee? How was that?”
“It was good. You know, Bethany, you should really check it out for yourself.” He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a look. “I mean, our business is suffering. Wouldn’t it help to check out the competition?”
Bethany let out a little snort. “There’s nothing wrong with the way we do things here. People want quality coffee brewed by talented baristas and delicious homemade food. We have that. The things we serve are here only; you can’t get it anywhere else.” She spoke with stubborn confidence that completely clashed with how she was feeling inside.
Why haven’t I gone to check them out? she thought. There’s nothing wrong with the way we do things here, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a look at the competition. Am I just…scared of seeing just how badly we’re outgunned here?
“Well, their food is for sure not their strong point,” Jackson said. “I didn’t order any, but it didn’t look like they cook fresh to order. But people were still buying it.”
“People settling for less or not caring. Or not knowing the difference,” Marcos grumbled. “Figures.” He took their empty plates and went into the back to wash them.
The little golden bell hanging above the front door chimed as a group of customers strolled inside, and Bethany and Jackson, both stewing in their own thoughts about the fate of the café, perked up.
Keep pushing on, Bethany thought. That’s all I can do.
The April sun made its way down towards the rooftops of the neighborhood, throwing shadows and golden light across the asphalt. Bethany was outside, and she stuffed her key into the brass lock of the café’s forest-green front door and turned it. A mourning dove called from its perch on the power lines hanging above, just loud enough to be heard over the steady bustle of early evening road traffic.
Bethany’s house was just south from the coffee shop, the same quaint two-bedroom place Mom and Dad had purchased when they got married. She turned down the sidewalk to walk home, when her stride slowed. She stood as still as a statue, and a dog going on a walk took a moment to sniff at her ankle before his owner tugged him away.
Fuck it, Bethany thought, and turned heel, walking north up the street away from home.
The Standard was just a ten-minute walk up from the café, and from a block away, Bethany could already see the tables out in front still occupied with patrons. She jammed her hands into her pockets as a slow burning sensation of annoyance bubbled up inside of her. Not too long ago her place would’ve still been bustling at this hour, but ever since the decline in business she’d made the decision to close two hours earlier every day except weekends.
A group of college students filed into the shop as Bethany crossed the street. She could hear the bustle coming from inside the store, emphasized as a party of chattering sorority types opened the front door to leave. She neared the entrance, came close to reaching the door… and then passed by. Her legs kept her going and she continued down the street without as much as a glance into the window.
What am I doing?
She stopped amongst a small group of people waiting to cross the street at the end of the sidewalk, and awkwardly fumbled with her cell phone in her pocket.
Just go inside. Order a drink, check out the place, leave. That’s all I need to do.
The crosswalk sign changed, and the group began to push around Bethany to cross. She sucked in a breath, turned around and walked back down the street towards The Standard. She reached the front of the shop and stood a few feet away from the door, watching as people continued to go in and out. Every time the door opened, the warm aroma of freshl
y ground coffee beans washed over her.
“It definitely smells excellent,” she mumbled to himself.
The sun cast a sharp reflection on the windows of the coffee shop, preventing her from getting a good look inside. The front door continued its beckoning routine, breathing out its fragrant, inviting breath, but Bethany stayed locked in place. She hated the idea of confirming everything she suspected about The Standard—that it was newer, fresher, more desirable than LeFlorette’s and there’d be nothing she could do about it other than abandoning all of her family’s philosophies. Even then, it was probably too late.
She slowly exhaled and moved towards the door, reached out to grasp the vertical chrome pull bar—and stopped. It was as if her fingers were repelled away, and she was unable to bring herself to go in. This feeling had paralyzed her from coming for all the months that The Standard had been here, and it wouldn’t let her enter now.
Back home, Bethany tossed her keys onto the worn wood countertop that sat at the end of the compact foyer and flicked on the lights. She pulled herself into the kitchen, brought out a bottle of 12 Year Yamazaki whiskey she’d received from one of her regular customers as a Christmas gift from Japan, and poured a glass. Bethany needed to be in a specific mood to drink straight whiskey—very good or very bad—and right now Bethany’s spirits were teetering southward.
She brought the glass into the living room and plunged onto the sofa, sinking into the cushions. She felt like shit. It wasn’t just the inability to bring herself to do the simplest thing and investigate the shop that was killing her business, it was the culmination of everything she’d been had to go through over the past few months. Letting go of her employees—some of which her parents had hired when she was young—watching the shop’s decline, and knowing that the thing she loved the most was slowly slipping away.
She took a sip, but found the whiskey’s usual rich and delicious body to be overpowering and harsh. Even the typically enjoyable warmth that spread through her stomach didn’t bring any comfort. She set the glass down on the coffee table and sat back into the cushions.
The house hadn’t changed much since the time she and Mom shared it. She still had all the old furniture and most of the old decorations, not having the desire to get rid of anything or the money to replace them. Having reminders of Mom and Dad brought comfort.
Memories of Mom came flooding back to her, and for the first time in a very long time, Bethany thought about what she’d told her three years ago.
The world can be a lonely place.
That evening was the first time that Bethany truly understood what she’d meant.
Two
It’d been about a week since Jane Pumpkin had moved back down to San Diego, and even after the decade she’d spent in the bay area, the city hadn’t lost its feeling of home. She’d always missed her hometown, but hadn’t realized just how much until she’d returned. When she’d opened The Standard up north, Jane had maintained a healthy level of realistic expectations for the success of the business. Hopeful and optimistic, but deep down she was fully prepared to pack her bags and move back home if it failed.
But it hadn’t. Far from it.
It’d blossomed beyond her wildest expectations. If at the beginning of it all someone had told her that someday she’d be opening a second location in her home city, she wouldn’t have believed them. But here she was. The shop was being called the next Starbucks, she was readying to open a third and fourth location in LA and New York, and was setting up to transition her offices down to the city she loved the most.
Jane strolled into the shop, taking a moment to do a quick scan of the place. There was a healthy line of people waiting for their morning coffee, and customers filled the tables and counters. At the front counter, a rushed looking man in a dress shirt and tie was collecting a carrier loaded up with cups of coffee.
“Thank you, thank you,” the man said to Lyle, the store manager. Jane caught Lyle’s eye and nodded a greeting to him before the man turned around and brushed shoulders with her, almost dropping his carrier to the floor.
“Excuse me,” Jane said, but the man didn’t even break his stride and hurried on out of the shop.
“’Morning,” Lyle said as Jane slipped behind the counter. He extended a hand and Jane shook it with a bright smile. “That customer just now? He comes in here twice every day. Once to get coffee for his coworkers, and again in the evening to treat himself. Always gets our premium roast. I think he’s probably our best customer. Would’ve lost his shit if he knew he’d just run into the CEO.”
“Good morning, Ms. Pumpkin,” the two baristas piped up as they went about filling their orders. Jane gave them a little wave. Kelly and Caleb. Jane knew the names of all of her hires.
“Just Jane, please, guys. You all holding up okay?”
“Doing great,” one of them said as they purged the milk frother with a burst of steam. The other had turned back to the register and was taking orders. Another employee, Patrick, hurried out from the back with a tray of freshly washed mugs and got a little start when he saw Jane standing there.
“Hey! Ma’am—I mean, Jane. Good to see you again.”
“Good morning, Patrick,” Jane smiled, giving him a friendly clap on the shoulder. Back at the flagship store, most of the workers had been with her since the very beginning, and they all knew each other as friends. Lyle had been her assistant manager and friend from college, so he’d been the most obvious choice to run the new San Diego location, but everyone else here were new hires. They didn’t have the same rapport with her as all the old employees did, and it felt weird to be greeted with that tense “the big boss is here” energy whenever she walked into the room. She was thirty-three years old. She didn’t want to be a “Ms. Pumpkin” or a “ma’am” quite yet.
Jane went into the back office with Lyle following behind him. “You know,” Lyle said, “you wearing that blazer and heels whenever you come in probably doesn’t help wipe the ‘ma’ams’ from their vocab. You look hella CEO-ish.”
“Probably,” Jane smiled. “It’s one habit I don’t think I can break. My mother always told me to come to work dressed for the job I wanted. And you know what? It really helped me. Plus, I gotta say, I look fucking fantastic.”
Lyle stroked his beard with thoughtful appreciation. “Can’t argue with that, dude.”
Jane sat down on the edge of the desk. “So. How’s Angie? She just started school, right?”
“Oh, man. She loves preschool. Vivian and I were worried she’d freak out. You know how attached she is. But she’s thriving there.”
Jane smiled. “That’s great, man. She and Vivian are adjusting to the move?”
“Well, Angie had no problem. Everything is a big adventure for her. Vivian is finding it more difficult to settle in, especially being a stay-at-home mom. No friends down here, you know?”
“Mm.”
“How about you, Jane? How are you settling in?”
“Oh, I’m settled,” she smiled, tapping the edge of the desk. “I’m happy to be here. I’m happy to be back.”
“Right,” Lyle grinned. “The Standard is all you need to keep you satisfied.”
“Hey, not true,” she said punching Lyle’s arm. “I’ve you got you.”
Lyle laughed. “You know, Vivian said that we see each other more than she sees me. She’s right. How messed up is that?”
They shared a laugh. “So, talk to me,” she’s said. “How’s the team functioning?”
“Great,” Lyle nodded. “We picked a great group. They’re all really good at what they do, they got the knowhow. Business has been fantastic, as you’ve seen from the numbers.”
“And what’s the word?”
Lyle knew that when Jane asked what the word was, she wanted know about things the numbers couldn’t say: insight from customer and employee comments, local news, that sort of thing.
“Well. The word seems to be that we got in here at the right time. People have been
wanting a new place to chill at, and coffee aficionados in the area are tired of driving all the way downtown or to North Park to satisfy their craving. It seems like the only other decent place to quality coffee around here is from an old mom and pop place just down the street, but they don’t do a spread. One roast, no choices. Seems like they’ll probably be gone soon.”
“That’s really a shame,” Jane said, shaking her head. “Do you know what the place is called?”
“Um… La-something. No, Le-something. I really should know; I pass by there on the way in every morning. It’s south a few blocks.”