COOL BEANS (12 page)

“You’re grouchy,” Jack says to me.

“Sorry.” I sigh.

“If either of us deserves to be grouchy, it’s me.” He points to his chest. “I called Polly’s owners thirty-seven times last night before I finally got ahold of them, and you want to know what they said?”

“You get to keep her?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t sound so excited.”

“A nocturnal
Amazona aestiva.
I have a Lab/pointer cross and a blue-fronted Amazon parrot. Does this sound like a future zoologist?” he rants. “No, I might as well have a goldfish.”

“Sorry, Jack.”

“I mean, one of my classmates last year had a capuchin monkey named Felix. A
Cebus apella.
Can you imagine?” “Not really.”

Jack is off in his own world. “He’s learning so much about the primates; it’s ridiculous. Capuchins are the most intelligent monkeys on the planet.”

“You can probably find someone who wants a parrot,” I say.

“I’ve talked to everyone.”

I frown. “Don’t get mad at me. You’re grouchy, too.”

“Sorry.”

We both stand there.

“So,” I say after a minute. “I actually need to go. Zach and Kate are moving in today.”

“Sorry for getting mad, Maya.”

“Me, too.” I wave and give him a small smile. “See ya.”

There’s a huge Mayflower truck parked in front of a cute redbrick ranch-style house on the street Mom gave me directions to, so I’m assuming that’s Zach and Kate’s new house.

Calvin’s curled up in a little ball on the passenger seat. Raindrops are pattering down on the windshield; my wipers are making a rhythmic
swish-swash
sound; and I’m fighting sleep myself.

Mom’s standing in the landscaped front lawn in her obnoxiously bright orange raincoat. I can’t help the grin. Zach and I have ragged on Mom about that coat since we were in high school. It makes her look like she’s either working a crosswalk or blocking a construction zone, but for some reason Mom loves the jacket.

She waves as I pull up and park behind the truck. I shrug on my royal blue coat and pull up the hood. Calvin wakes up when the wipers turn off.

“Rise and shine, bud,” I say, opening my door to the chilly, wet day.

“Hi, honey!” Mom yells.

“Hi, Mom.” I wave and wait for Calvin to drag his lazy body out of the car. He squints at the rain and pauses. “Get out, Calvin.”

He huffs his breath out but does as I ask. We walk over to see Mom.

“What are you doing?” I ask her.

She starts walking back to the garage. “I saw you driving up. I just helped Dad, Zach, and the movers take in the entertainment center. I’m waiting for them to come back outside.”

“By ‘help’ she means told us what to do,” Dad says coming into the garage in a black-hooded jacket and pulling on a pair of wet leather gloves.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hey, honey, how’s it going?” He gives me a light side hug and looks down at my dripping beagle. “Hi, Calvin!”

My dog loves Dad. Calvin immediately starts wriggling all over, running for Dad.

“Where are Zach and Kate?” I ask.

“Inside,” Mom says, pointing to the door leading into a huge
laundry room. I nod and walk inside.

The house is gorgeous. Vaulted ceilings, creamy beige paint, white trim, and where there’s not beautiful hardwood, there’s plush carpet.

I hear Kate before I see her.

“Oh, be careful with that,” she says, right before I hear a loud bang and an “oops” in a voice I don’t recognize.

I follow the voices into the gargantuan living room. Kate’s wringing her hands in frustration while Zach and three movers are muscling their very large, very ornate entertainment center into place.

I walk over and smile at her. “You okay, Kate?”

“Hi, Maya,” Kate says. And then she shocks me so much I almost lose control of my jaw muscles. She leans down and wraps me in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m losing my mind.”

I pull it together quickly and hug her back. The only other time I’ve hugged Kate was on her wedding day, and that was awkward because she was wearing yards and yards of white lace.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She leaves her arm over my shoulders. She’s five foot eight and at five two, I guess I make a good armrest. “I hate moving. I hate it so much.”

I’ve never seen Kate this unraveled. Her long, shiny chocolate-brown hair is in a ponytail; her jeans are worn around the edges; and she’s wearing a T-shirt. She has on mascara but no other makeup.

I can’t remember ever seeing Kate in a T-shirt, much less in hardly any makeup.

Zach grunts as he straightens from where he had his grip on the bottom edge of the entertainment center. “Hey, sis,” he mumbles. He’s wearing a sweatshirt and dirty jeans, and he rubs
his rumpled hair, arching his back. “I’m too old for this.”

Dad comes in then, hefting a matching end table. “You’re too old for this?” he says, laughing. “Wait until it’s your kid you’re helping move in.”

“I like the house, guys,” I say, still admiring the paint job and the ceilings.

Kate looks around, relaxing for a minute. “Isn’t it cute?”

I nod. “Very cute.”

“Have you seen the kitchen yet?” she asks me. I shake my head. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

I follow her mutely. Who is this? Kate is not huggy nor is she chatty.

She should get stressed out more often.

She leads me into a good-sized kitchen with lots of beautiful, white-painted wood cabinets and light-colored granite counter-tops. All of the appliances are stainless steel, which contrasts nicely.

“I want to paint that wall a cranberry color,” Kate says, pointing to the wall behind the cooktop. “I think it will add just the right amount of color to this room. What do you think?”

I nod. “I think that would look really nice.”

“And I want to change our breakfast table out for a more bistro-style table in here.” She nods to the little nook area. “You don’t need a table, do you?”

“No, but my friend Jack just eats at his coffee table every night.”

Kate grins. “Well, let him know he can have a real table if he wants one.”

We rejoin the others, and I glance at Kate. That has to be the longest conversation I’ve ever had with her.

“Couches go there and there,” Kate says to the perspiring movers, pointing.

“Katie, where do you want the bookcases?” Zach asks. “Which ones? Medical books or fun books?” “Medical.”

She thinks for a second. “In the study against the east wall.”

I have to hand it to my brother: He’s got the whole Let-the-Woman-Design-the-House thing down.

I go back out to the moving truck and find Calvin nosing around the garage. “Are you all dirty now?” I ask him, looking him over.

“Roo!”

“Apparently.” I shake my head. “Go play outside so you get cleaned off.”

I climb up the ramp into the truck and look for something I can carry. While I have spent many years running, I haven’t spent that much time working on my upper-body strength.

Mental note: Begin lifting weights.

I find a box of towels and carry that in.

Zach and Dad are setting up the mahogany bookcases in the study. “Maya, can you grab me a level? There’s one on the fireplace mantel,” Zach says to me.

“Sure. Towels?”

“Anything you don’t know what to do with, put it in the guest room.”

“Okay.”

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.

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.

“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 back, 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.

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?”

“I don’t think so.”

Right then, of course, Calvin gets so panicked under her
glower that he makes a little puddle on the floor.

“Oh my gosh!” Mrs. Mitchell cries, like he just did his business in her lap or something. “What a horrible, disgusting dog! Why do you keep him in this apartment?”

I pick up my trembling puppy and carry him to the kitchen, setting him on the kitchen mat in front of the oven and rubbing his ears. “Shhh,” I whisper. “The wicked witch can’t hurt you, Toto.”

I grab the antibacterial spray from under the sink and a bunch of paper towels. It’s been about a year since Calvin made a puddle on the floor. Want to guess when the last time was?

Yup. When Mrs. Mitchell last visited.

“Are you waiting for Jen?” I ask timidly, sopping up the mess and spraying it down with Lysol.

“Is that not obvious? You might offer me something to eat or drink while I wait.”

I sigh and straighten. “Did you want something to — ”

“Ice water.” She cuts me off and sits straight-backed on our squishy, slouch-only sofa. “And something decently nutritious to eat. I never ate this evening, and here it is, ten fifteen at night. My daughter has apparently forgotten every manner I ever taught her and never called to inform me where dinner was. And be sure to properly scrub your hands, young lady, before you touch anything edible in nature.” She’s scowling deeper than prebenevolent Scrooge but oddly has no wrinkles.