COOL BEANS (6 page)

“Hi, Maya.” Zach smiles. “You look good. I like your hair.”

“Thanks. You look good, too.” And he does. He’s wearing Dockers (of course) and a white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone, showing his white undershirt. He’s letting his sandy blond hair grow beyond his normal nearly shaved look, and it’s slightly gelled to a sticky-up preppy style. Zach looks identical to Mom — blond, green eyes, tall and lean, the whole package.

I look exactly like Dad’s mother, Nana. Short, average weight (meaning I have to run to stay lean), blue eyes, and hair as close to black as brown can get.

It’s kind of a funny sight when my whole family is together. Mom, Dad, Zach, and now Kate are all above five foot seven, and then there’s me.

I like being short though. I even wrote a sticky note why:

So, it’s all good.

“Maya, your hair looks really cute,” Kate says, giving me an awkward half-wave. Kate’s not big on physical affection. So we wave. Or do the little elbow-squeeze thing.

How very unlike me. The more hugs I get, the happier I am.

“Thanks, it’s really good to see you,” I return.

Dad’s buzzer starts going off for the table. “Davis, party of five,” he tells one of the hostesses.

She looks us over to make sure none of us is going to attack her like the impatient mob in the front will and then nods. “Right this way.”

We’re seated in a booth in the corner of the restaurant, and everyone settles in.

“How’s airline mechanics?” Kate asks Dad.

“Good. How’s doctoring?” Dad asks Zach.

“Big caseload but fine. How’s teaching?” Zach asks Mom.

“Same as before. How’s the coffeehouse?” Mom asks me.

“Busy but good. How’s the lawyer thing going?” I ask Kate.

“Slow time of the year, so it’s going well,” she answers.

And then the table falls into complete silence. Out of sheer boredom, I open my menu, even though I already know what I’m going to get.

Sunday evenings when Zach isn’t home aren’t like this. Usually, I wear my pajama pants over to my parents’ house. We
play games or talk in front of their huge, gorgeous fireplace. Mom always makes a killer meal, like steaks and mashed potatoes or chicken fried chicken and creamy gravy, and sometimes we roast marshmallows over the fire and make s’mores or pop them in a cup full of hot chocolate. There’s nothing like it. Then Calvin and I drive home all warm and full, content to live another week on instant freezer meals.

I haven’t figured out if it’s Zach or Kate or both who put such a damper on the conversation. But ever since they got married, it’s as if talking is too personal.

Dad gives me a pained look over his bifocals and his menu.

“So, um,” I start, clearing my throat, “the, uh, funniest thing happened the other day. Um, you remember Travis Clayton?”

Ignoring my second rule, I might as well lay myself on the sacrificial altar for the sake of discussion. I gulp half the glass of iced lemon water our skinny, emo-ish server brings.

Mom immediately perks up. “He was adorable!”

“Who’s Travis Clayton?” Kate asks.

“Maya’s high school sweetheart.” Zach looks across the table at me. “Didn’t you two even discuss marriage at one point?”

“Right before we broke up, right before sophomore year.” I nod.

“In
high school?”
Kate is incredulous.

“College. I was at Cal-Hudson by then.”

“He was a sweet boy.” Mom’s still gushing. “I never understood why you two broke up. You were the cutest couple ever!”

“He played football,” Dad tells Kate. “He got a scholarship to Stanford as a running back.”

“Impressive,” Kate says.

“He tore his knee last game of freshman year. Never went back.” Dad finishes his little tale, and then everyone looks at me.

“Anyway …” I finish my story quietly. “Jen met him, and now they’re dating, and she doesn’t know that we dated because we hadn’t met yet when Travis and I were together, and now Travis doesn’t recognize me. Has anyone seen the server? I’m starving.”

“Didn’t he get some high honors senior year at Stanford?” Mom asks. “I seem to remember Gloria saying something about that.”

Apparently, Mom is the only one who didn’t hear me because Dad, Zach, and Kate are all staring at me like I’m holding a betta fish in my mouth like Giselle on
Enchanted.

“What?” Zach asks. “How could he not recognize you? He was going to marry you, for Pete’s sake.”

“Who doesn’t recognize you?” Mom asks.

“He’s dating Jen? Weird.” Dad shakes his head. “Is that weird for you?”

“Who’s dating Jen?” Mom asks.

“I think … I think you might want to tell her … um, soon,” Kate stutters.

“You haven’t told who what?” Mom asks.

“That’s — wow.” Zach sits back against the bench and looks at me, eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry, kid. That’s got to be awkward — Jen and Travis dating.”

“What?” Mom gasps. “Travis is dating your roommate?”

I just sigh.

I am so full that I don’t think I’ll be able to eat for a good week, maybe two. I puff my cheeks out and look at Calvin, who’s happily sticking his head out the window as we drive to Mom and Dad’s after dinner.

“No more eating. Ever again,” I tell him.

Based on his expression of sheer joy, he doesn’t believe me. Either that, or he knows where we’re going. Calvin loves Mom and Dad’s house. Dad lets him on the couches, while Jen and I have a strict “no dogs on anything resembling furniture” rule. He’s a spoiled granddog.

I pull up beside their mailbox and let an ecstatic beagle out of the car. He half-runs, half-hops a dog dance to the front door.

“Hi, Calvin!” Mom says in a high-pitched voice as I open the door.

“Roo! Roo!”

She laughs as he tucks his tail under him and runs to her like she’s his longlost best friend. “Wow. Okay. Easy boy.”

“Calvin,” I call, with warning in my tone, as I pull off my jacket. “No jumping.”

He immediately falls to the floor, and Mom starts giving him a deep-tissue back rub. “Is you a good wittle puppy? Yes, you is!” She baby talks to him. He just moans like a cat.

No wonder my dog loves this place so much.

Zach watches the whole thing, arms crossed. “Huh. How come when I run to you, you never give me a back rub?” he asks Kate.

She smiles. “Your ears aren’t as cute.”

“Well, thanks.”

After another hour of sitting straight-backed on the sofa and making awkward small talk, I decide to go home. “Come on, Cal,” I call. He gives me a grudging look from Dad’s lap, where he’s now getting a tummy rub.

“Leaving already, sweetheart?” Mom asks from the recliner.

“I have to open at Cool Beans this week,” I explain, finding my coat and purse.

“What time do you open?” Zach asks.

“Seven, but that means I’m there by about six thirty.”

He waves his hand. “That’s nothing. My early surgeries are all scheduled for six o’clock in the morning. Consider yourself lucky you’re not operating on someone when you get to work all tired.”

I bite back a sigh. “Right, right.” I know he’s not trying to point out the vast difference in our careers, but it sure feels like it.

“It was nice seeing you again, Maya,” Kate says politely. It looks like she’s debating giving me a hug, but then squeezes my elbows instead.

“Yeah, you too.”

Zach waves from the sofa. “See you later, Maya.”

“Bye, Zach. Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad.” I snap my fingers at Calvin and he moves in slow motion off Dad’s lap, soaking in every last minute.

“Bye, sweetie,” Dad says to me. “Bye, Calvin!”

“Roo.” This little yodel is more like a sigh of depression. I shake my head, watching my dog sulk to the front door.

It’s going to be a boring ride home. Anytime Calvin feels like I’m making him leave before he’s good and ready, he ignores me the whole way home.

I pull into my space in front of our apartment and yawn as I look at the dashboard clock. It’s nearly midnight, so already I’m looking at five and a half hours of sleep if I were to get in bed and be immediately asleep this very minute.

Jack is not going to like me very much tomorrow. I’m not a nice person to be around when I’m tired.

I nudge Calvin, who is curled into a little ball on the passenger seat. “Wake up, bud. We’re home.” He crawls across the seats and snuggles into my lap.

Awww!

I have a cute dog. Granted, he’s probably just not wanting to walk upstairs, but he’s so cute I can’t resist. I pick him up, climb out of the car, and carry him up the stairs.

The light from the TV is flickering in the windows, and I frown. Jen’s never up this late.

I open the door.

“You’re finally home!” she nearly yells, making Calvin jump.

I start a little bit too. “Hi,” I say.

She hops off the couch and starts bubbling. “Oh, Maya, it was so wonderful! After church, he took me to this picnic spot that was so beautiful because all of the trees were changing, and he’d packed this whole lunch with sandwiches and cheese and fruit and sparkling cider, and then we just sat and talked for, like, hours, and then when it was time to go, we decided to go get coffee, so we sat and talked for hours there, and then we went and saw a movie at the theater, and then we had dinner, and oh — !” She finally takes a breath. My lungs are hurting just watching her. She falls back on the couch. “It was the perfect day.”

No accusing “Hey, you never told me you dated him,” so I’m assuming Travis did not recognize me last night. Travis is nothing but honest. If he knew who I was, he’d tell Jen as soon as he could.

I set Calvin down, and he slumps to my room to go to bed. I watch him longingly but recognize the hopeful look on
Jen’s face and sit on the couch.

So sorry, Jack.

He’s really not going to like me in the morning. But every girl knows that half the fun of going on a date is dishing about it later.

This isn’t the first time Jen’s told me about a date, but it is the first time she’s told me about one without using periods. Normally, it goes something like this: “So, we went to dinner. Then we went to a movie. It was fun.” The end.

I try to ignore the tightening in my stomach. Maybe if I just pretend I never dated Travis … maybe that could work.

There’s a prominent new display of tulips on the coffee table. “He brought a gift, I see.” I point to the flowers.

She sighs. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

“They’re pretty.”

“Oh, Maya, he’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met.”

Jen, we dated. All through high school and the first year of college. I thought you should know. And it’s late. I’m going to bed.

It sounds good in my head. I open my mouth.

She beats me to it. “And we have
so
much in common!” she exclaims. “We both love movies and hiking and Italian food, and he tells the funniest stories!”

“Jen,” I start as soon as she takes a breath.

“Oh! And the dinner! I’ll tell you what, Maya, he does not scrimp on taking me out. Flowers, nice restaurants, he always asks if I want dessert….”

She’s got this dreamy soft look in her eyes, and the light from the TV is making them sparkle even more.

Oh boy.

“Jen,” I try again.

“Oh gosh!” She jumps and looks at the clock. “Work! We
both have to work tomorrow! You have to open!” She yanks me to my feet. “Go to bed! I’m sorry for keeping you up for so long.” She pulls me into a long hug. “You are the best friend ever for listening to me.” She leans back and smiles. “I love you, Maya.”

“Love you, too.” Which is why I keep my mouth shut and do what the woman says: Go to bed.

Monday morning, I get to Cool Beans tired, cranky, and with a headache because Jen and I are out of coffee. (Mental note: Buy more today.) To add insult to injury, I’m opening today. Which means it’s 6:25 a.m.

“What’s eating you, Pattertwig?” Jack greets me at the door, pulling his keys out of his dark-rinsed, straight-legged jeans. I shrug. He unlocks the front door, and we walk into the cold, dark coffee shop.

I hate Cool Beans when no one is here and no lights are on. You can almost smell the vacancy. It’s chilly and dead and clammy.

Jack sighs. “I love being the first one here. It’s like this place gets excited to be opened.”

Jack is weird.

He pockets his keys and looks over at me. “So, seriously, what’s wrong?”

“No coffee at home.”

“Sit. I’ll make you a cup.”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I flick the switch for the gas fireplace and then plop on one of the couches.

“Don’t go to sleep, Maya. You do have to work eventually.”
Jack’s smiling at me from behind the counter.

I block a yawn and lie down, tucking my feet up underneath me. “I won’t.” I stare at the fireplace, watching the flames lick around the fake wood. “What’s the fake wood in fireplaces made from?”

“I don’t know. Ceramic, maybe?” Jack measures the grounds into the ten-gallon basket.

“Do you think there are people whose whole job is making the fake wood for fireplaces?”

“Probably.”

“Huh.” My cheek is pressing so hard against the couch that I can feel the corduroy fabric indenting into my face.

“Okay, time to get up.” Jack comes over and tosses my cherry red apron over my head.

I sit up, rubbing my curly hair, and tie my apron around my waist.

“How’s Polly?” I ask Jack.

“She’s still nocturnal.” Jack closes his eyes.

“You look more rested, though.”

He grins at me. “She sleeps on the porch.”

“Jack!”

“What? She’s the one making all the noise. It’s not so cold out that she needs to be inside.”

I join him behind the counter and get the decaf started. At exactly seven, about ten regulars will run in on their way to work. And while I’ve never seen the reason for decaf coffee before noon, apparently other people do.

“How was dinner last night?” Jack asks.

“Not that bad,” I concede. Zach was really decent last night. I think it’s because he remembers when Travis and I broke up. It was tough, to say the least. “I think the distance is
good for me and Zach,” I say.

“Good.” Jack smiles.

“Seeing each other only once every eight months has been helpful. Any more than that, and we’d kill each other.”

He just laughs.

I pour a cup of the freshly made French roast and inhale it. It’s 6:56 a.m. By the time I had listened to Jen, brushed my teeth, and cleared my bed of all the outfits that didn’t make the cut for dinner, it was well past one in the morning.

Ugh.

I sip my coffee, thinking about Jen. She was still snoozing when I left this morning. On my way out, I passed by the tulips on the kitchen counter, the coffee table … and I know she’s got a vase of them in her room that she brought home from work.

Honestly, three bouquets of tulips? They’ve been dating for what? Three days?

“Do you think romance can be overdone?” I ask Jack.

He gives me a weird look and opens his mouth, probably to say something smart-alecky, but right then the door opens and our first regular, Leonard, comes in.

Leonard is a mystery to me. He comes in every Monday morning at 7:01 and orders a french vanilla MixUp (our version of the Frappucino). No coffee, no caffeine, no stimulants at all, save for the couple hundred calories and a bunch of sugar.

Then he sits at the same table, stares out the same window, waits for the shake to melt, and drinks the whole thing in one long gulp. After that, he stands, throws the empty cup away, and leaves.

Every single Monday morning.

Some people would say he’s a man of habit. I say he’s just strange.

“Morning, Leonard,” I say cheerfully.

“Good morning. One french vanilla MixUp.”

Jack’s already halfway done making it. “Yes, sir,” I say over the high-pitched drone of the blender. “Anything else?”

“No.” Leonard hands me his MasterCard.

“Scone? Cookie? Cinnamon roll?”

Now Leonard just gives me a weird look. I never probe, so this is out of the ordinary. “No, just the drink.”

Boorrring.
I swipe the card but frown. I, for one, think Leonard should follow the title of his favorite drink and mix it up a little.

“Add a shot,” I whisper to Jack while Leonard sits at his table to wait for his drink.

“What? No, Nutkin, I will not,” he hisses back.

“Please? Add some spice to that poor man’s life.”

There’s hoppy fifties music playing, so Leonard can’t overhear us. I give Jack my best Bambi expression, but instead of dumping a highly addictive yet very legal substance into Leonard’s drink, Jack just raises an eyebrow.

“You look like that cat on
Alice in Wonderland”

“Thanks.” My Bambi impression must need work.

“Leonard, your drink is ready!” Jack calls.

“To answer your question, yes,” Jack says to me at ten thirty when we’re in the midst of a brief lull.

“What?”

“Romance being overdone? I definitely would say yes, it can be.” He looks up at me from a big bowl of frosting he’s mixing for the cinnamon rolls I just pulled from the oven. Cool Beans is renowned for its inventive coffee flavors and homemade
cinnamon rolls. Kendra Lee is our chef, and she comes in every night after closing and whips up another batch that rises in the fridge all night, so all I have to do is bake them.

I’m really good at pulling something from the fridge and putting it right in the oven. Pillsbury and me? We’re buds.

“Yeah?” I nod and set the hot pan on the counter. “I agree.”

“Why were you asking?”

“Three bouquets of tulips. Three days.”

“See? That’s almost to the point of creepy.” Jack frowns. “This guy is trying too hard. You didn’t break up with him because he just got out of prison, did you?”

I giggle. “No.”

He grins and looks at the frosting again. “Hey, why did you guys break up?” he asks, not looking at me because he knows this is a very personal question. Don’t get me wrong — he’s one of my best friends, but there are still things we don’t talk about.

My chest clenches. “I don’t remember,” I lie. “A few things.”

He’s looking at me again. I’m an awful liar, and Jack has always been able to read me like a Little Golden Book.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” He picks up the frosting bowl to pour it on the rolls. “Just wanted to make sure he hadn’t knocked off a florist in a horrific high-speed car chase or something.”

I grin again. “That’s it, Jackie. You’re really weird. Have I told you that lately?”

He starts laughing. “Would that be like putting the
petal
to the metal?”

“Oh my gosh,” I groan, but I start laughing.

“Like if he — ”

“Ugh!” I scream as Jack loses his hold on the frosting bowl and the whole thing dumps right on my shoes.

All eight customers stare at us, and one tentatively claps.

Jack’s alternating between snorting and apologizing. “Oh, Maya, I’m so sorry. I — “ He half-laughs and mashes his fist against his mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … uh …”

Now he’s doubled over, gripping the counter in a full-out wheezing laugh. I stand there, arms crossed over my chest, sugary stickiness saturating my shoes and seeping into my socks.

“Jaaack.”

He straightens. “Nutkin.” He’s still trying hard to hide a grin. His brown-brown-brown eyes are sparkling like crazy and crinkling up on the sides, and his dimple is showing.

I sigh and shake my head. “Nothing.” I half-walk, half-slide to the back room to take off my shoes, and I finally start giggling.

“Yuck!” I yell, for Jack’s benefit.

He comes in, all apologetic now. “I’m really, really sorry, Maya. I’ll pay for new shoes and socks.” Then he sees me laughing. “Hey!”

“Do you think this counts as a sugar scrub, Jack?”

He gives me a look. “A what?”

“Sugar scrub. Like an exfoliating thing.”

“I’m male,” he reminds me, shaking his head and leaving.

“Sorry!” he yells over his shoulder.

I get home at two thirty. The perk of working the morning shift is you’re finished ridiculously early.

I had rinsed out my socks with the hose out back, and they dried in the afternoon sun. My shoes are toast, though. I’m not too disappointed. They were my ugly work shoes, and Alisha said she’d replace them.

There’s yet another bouquet on our porch. I roll my eyes and
pick it up as I walk in the apartment. Daisies and cranberry red roses this time. Swell. How come Travis can get daisies now, when it seemed like an impossible feat when
we
were dating?

Calvin is dancing around my feet in a happy doggy four-step. “Hi, baby!” I greet him, still carrying the flowers. “Let me put these in the kitchen, okay?”

The card is popping out of the bouquet, and it catches me off guard when I read my name on the envelope:
Maya Elise Davis.

They’re for me?

I rip open the card, my heart starting to beat a little faster. Hey, I’m a girl. It’s allowed.

Jack. I grin and shove my face in the bouquet to inhale their spicy, sweet scent. “Good thing you’re going into animal-behavioral biology and not poetry,” I mutter, still grinning.

I grab my cell and send him a text:

Mustard is yellow;

Dill pickles are okay.

Thank you for the flowers.

They made my day!:)

Now I turn my attention to Calvin, who decided I hate him and is moping around, tail lackluster.

“Dude, don’t be so sensitive,” I tell him, rubbing his ears until he perks up again. He gives me a lick on the chin and then trots behind me as I go to my room to change out of my dirty work clothes.

“Work out or veg on couch?” I ask Calvin.

He plops his butt on the ground, and I’d swear he shrugs, but then people would tell me I spend too much time alone and need to get more eccentric friends.

I finger my sweats and my yoga pants.

I did have Cheesecake Factory last night.

Work out.

Tossing my work clothes in the hamper, I pull on my yoga pants and a blue T-shirt that I got in Florida with my family. It says:
Who cares about Prince Charming? My heart belongs to a Mouse.
There’s a silhouette of Mickey Mouse behind the words.

I pop a Pilates DVD in the player and push the coffee table out of the way. Calvin stretches out on the floor next to me, where I sit back on my knees and stretch, face against the floor, in what’s called “Child’s Pose.”

He sticks his nose in my ear, and I yelp.

“Ugh! Calvin!”

“Roo! Roo!”

I send him a look and stare at the carpet fibers again. Our carpet really needs to be cleaned.

“Up to Up Dog,” the perky little instructor chirps.

Now Calvin’s hopping around on all fours. “Roo! Roooo!”

“Not you, Calvin.”

“And down to Down Dog.”

Calvin immediately falls to the floor, head on his paws.

I disobey the ninety-pound, beyond-humanly-flexible instructor and sit up, staring at my dog. “How come you’ll lie down for the lady with the most annoying voice on the planet, but you won’t for me?”

“Back to Up Dog …” I can tell the instructor is aiming for a soothing voice, but she hits squeaky instead.

Calvin smoothly sits up.

I just stare, open mouthed.

My cell phone rings right then.

“Yes?”

“Honestly, Maya, it’s like I never taught you any manners for answering the phone.”

“Mom, the weirdest thing is going on! I’m doing Pilates and — ”

“Don’t tell me. You got fuzz in your eye again.”

“No! I — ”

“Your mouth? Your nose?”

“Mom, listen to me for a second!”

“Okay, what?”

“Calvin is doing Pilates! He’s doing exactly what the lady says to do!”

Long silence. “Maya …”

“Yes, Mom?”

Again, silence.

Finally, I hear her sigh. “It’s not worth it. Listen, Maya, I was calling for a reason, actually.”

I pause the Pilates. “Go ahead,” I tell her.

“Roo!” Calvin protests from the Down Dog position.

“Hush,” I hiss at him.

“I’m calling to tell you some of Zach’s news, actually,” Mom says. “One of the reasons he was here this week was for an interview at the San Diego Children’s Hospital. And he just found out he got the job. I guess both he and Kate were ready to come back to California. He starts in two weeks.”

I am having trouble wrapping my brain around this fact.

Did I or did I not just tell Jack this morning how great it was
that Zach and I were getting along and how I thought it was due to the distance?