COOL BEANS (16 page)

“Thanks, Dad!” I smile. “I was planning on going by Jiffy Lube later… .”

He shakes his head. “Those guys just don’t do as good of a job.”

I grin.

He finishes on his hands and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Things are going okay?”

I shrug. “Yeah.”

He nods. “Good. I know I’m not the most attentive, but how are you doing with Zach back in town?”

I give him a small smile. “You’re observant.”

He squeezes my shoulders. “Well, I did watch you two grow up together.”

“That you did.”

“And I just want you to know that even though he’s back in town, we’ll try our best to keep Sunday nights the way they were.”

I wrap my arm around his waist. “So, can we play Cranium tonight?”

He laughs. “Think it’s time Kate saw the real Davis family?”

“I think she can handle it. Besides, she’s married now. There’s no turning back.”

He walks inside with me. “Sounds good to me then.”

I get home at ten thirty. I park in front of the apartment complex, grab my purse, and nudge a sleeping Calvin. “Wake up, bud. We’re home.”

He sleepily follows me out of the car and up the stairs. Right as I get to the top of our stairs, Jen’s car pulls into her spot. I wave and leave the door open for her.

She walks in as I dump my purse on the kitchen table and turn on the lights.

“Hi, Maya.” She smiles. She takes off her long overcoat and hangs it in the closet. She’s wearing a cranberry lacy dress and gold heels. Her hair is falling over her shoulders in beautiful curls.

“Dang, girl,” I say, nodding in appreciation. “You are dressed to kill.”

She curtsies. “Why, thank you.” She frowns at my jeans and navy blue sweater that I still have on from church. “I thought you went to your parents?”

“I did.”

“Dressed like that?”

“Zach and Kate are in town now.”

“Oh,” she says in understanding. “Got it.”

“How was your date?”

She sighs. “Amazing.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Maya, he’s so wonderful. He’s charming and funny and handsome and generous. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

I force a smile and sit on the couch, preparing for another Travis dish. I have to get up in about seven hours to open at Cool Beans, so my day tomorrow is looking less and less cheerful.

Jen plops on the opposite end of the couch. “But we’ve already gone over this before,” she says, surprising me. “What did you do today?”

“Well, after church, I went golfing with Jack and then — ”

“Wait a second,” she interrupts, waving her hands. “You went
golfing?
With Jack?” A very annoying smile spreads across her face. “Oh.”

“Okay, first off, it was miniature golf, and I kicked the daylights out of him; I won so bad. And second, what’s the big deal? Jack’s one of my best friends.”

“Nothing, nothing. No big deal,” she sing-songs.

I sigh and rub my cheek. Apparently, we are still in the “Why Can’t Everyone Be as Happy as Us?” stage but at a much higher level. I’d rather be set up with another no-personality package than have Jen start trying to match me up with Jack.

Match me up with Jack? I bite back a laugh. Even the thought is ridiculous. He’s my best friend and one of the greatest guys I know.

“Jenny,” I say in a barely disguised friendly warning. “Don’t even go there.”

“Why not? Jack’s fun and kind and already understands all of your weird quirks.”

“Weird quirks? What weird quirks? I don’t have any quirks.”

Jen rolls her eyes. “Please, Maya. What about getting a bowl of ice cream at one fifteen in the morning? Or writing every single thing possible down on a sticky note that you’ll probably never read again because there’s a layer of notes as thick as my hand all over your desk?”

“Those aren’t weird.”

“We haven’t even gotten to your dog. He howls every single Wednesday night; he does Pilates, for goodness’ sake.” She shakes her head. “See, Jack knows these things, and he still likes you!”

I hold up both hands. “Okay, stop. I love Jack. But I don’t love him like
that
. At all. Got it? He’s a terrific person, and I’m sure that God has someone amazingly special picked out for him. But it’s not me.” I sigh. “I want to feel something like you feel with Travis. Jack is one of my favorite people, but I don’t feel all squishy inside like I” — I cough — “like
you
do with Travis.”

“Well, if that’s how you feel.”

“It is.”

“Then I’ll leave you alone. But Maya,” she says, leaning closer, “think about everything that Jack means to you. You tell him everything. Just don’t take it for granted.”

“I don’t.” Suddenly I have the worst craving for ice cream. I get up and head for the freezer. “I just don’t think it’s anything more than friendship.” I grab the new container of caramel-fudge ice cream and start shoveling it into a bowl.

Jen watches me in silence from the couch. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset.” I grab the chocolate syrup.

“Yes, you are.”

“Jenny, I’m not.”

She sighs. “Maya, what’s wrong? For the last month you’ve been sulking around all depressed. You hardly smile half as much as you used to. It’s like you’re …” She looks away.

“Like I’m what?”

“Like you’re not telling me something. What’s wrong?”

I nearly wince as she nails the truth.

“I know you’re not dealing with Zach moving back very
well, and you never talk to me about it. Is that it?”

I shrug.

She rubs her hands through her hair. “I know I’ve been preoccupied with Travis, and I’m sorry. I haven’t been a good friend.”

The guilt is coating my throat so thick I can barely muscle the ice cream down. I sit back down on the couch and shake my head. “Don’t be sorry. You’re a great friend.”

She scoots closer to me. “What’s going on? I watched you this morning at church. You barely heard two words Andrew said.”

“I heard more than two words,” I say defensively.

“Yeah? What did he teach on?”

“James.”

“What in James?”

I look at her. “So I was a little distracted.”

“Maya, I recognize that you and Zach have this whole sibling rivalry going on, but his moving back cannot be the end of your walk with God. I mean, have you ever thought maybe that’s why you’re not happy?”

Irritated, I lick my spoon. What gives Jen the authority to tell me what’s wrong with my life? Everything was just fine before she had to go and start dating Travis. Even though I barely see him, I still have to hear her dish about him all the time and picture him falling in love with her blond adorable self.

Not that I blame Travis entirely. Jen is an amazing, wonderful person. She’s funny; she’s smart; and she’s head over heels in love with God. She’s beautiful.

A far cry from weird, quirky me, right? Me, who can barely make it through a day without my bowl of frozen creamy sugar. Me, who spent how many years trying to be the perfect girl for
Travis Clayton, only to find out right after Christmas five years ago that not only was I
not
the perfect girl, but no matter what I did, I could
never
be her. Me, who had finally,
finally
moved on … And then God had to go and make Travis fall in love with my very own perfect roommate.

I freeze, spoon halfway in my mouth.

Oh, God. She’s right.

Not about Zach, obviously, but about the end of my walk with God. I’m so angry and I never even really confessed to it … until just now.

Seriously, God, why?

I was head over heels in love with Travis. When we broke up, I thought it would be okay. He was at Stanford; I was in Hudson. We’d never have to see each other again. You would think that an all-loving God would be sensitive to this and not allow him to start dating Jen.

Jen pats my leg. “Just think about it, Maya. You’ve got an early morning, so I won’t keep you up. Good night. I love you.” She leans over to give me a hug. I smell her flowery perfume.

“Night. Love you, too.”

She goes into her bedroom and shuts the door. Calvin is dead asleep next to the love seat. The apartment is quiet. The only light is the one over the kitchen table.

I sit there quietly for a long time.

Monday morning does not start well.

It’s another rainy, overcast day. I ended up getting about four hours of sleep because I couldn’t fall asleep for a while.

I block a yawn and push through the door of Cool Beans. The lights are already on, and Jack’s whistling by the coffee grinder.

I pull off my hood and wince at the frizzy curls that are exploding out of my head.

“Good morning, Pattertwig.” Jack smiles from behind the counter. “You look a little tired.”

“Mmm.” I sit on one of the bar stools and lay my forehead on my arms. “I didn’t sleep very well.”

He slides a mocha across the counter. “Here. Drink up.”

I take it and hold it between both hands. He turns and keeps working on the coffee, still whistling. I think it’s a Chris Tomlin song.

“Thanks,” I say, sipping. The mocha is the perfect blend of espresso, smooth chocolate, and cream. He even added a touch of cinnamon. “This is great.”

“Well, I am a professional.” He grins at me. “Why didn’t you sleep well?”

“I don’t know.” I rub my face. Yet another lie. I sigh. “Okay, I do know.”

He gives me an understanding look. “You don’t have to tell me, Nutkin.”

“It’s this whole thing with Travis and Jen. I feel so guilty that I can’t even think about anything else.” I rub my forehead.

He finishes with the coffee and turns to look at me. “Maya,” he says, one of his rare uses of my name, “this is probably too personal, but …” He rubs the back of his neck.

“What?”

“Well, when was the last time you had a good long talk with God about it?” He winces. “That’s really personal. Don’t answer that.”

I smile. “You’re one of my best friends. You’re allowed to ask.” I take another sip of my mocha and stand, going over to toss my purse and coat in the cabinet and get my apron. I’m stalling, trying to figure out how to answer his question.

On the one hand, I just got mad at God last night about all this. On the other hand, I haven’t been able to have a good devotion since any of this happened.

Andrew always says that a good devotional time is not God’s responsibility, it’s ours.

“So, did you recover from the miniature-golf embarrassment?” I ask Jack, pulling on my apron and changing the subject for a few minutes.

He looks at me as I come back to the front and sticks out his tongue. “There was no recovery period needed, Nutkin. You got lucky.”

“Right.” I roll my eyes. “You got creamed.”

He just sighs. “You know, I thought you were joking about the hole-in-one thing.”

“Well, I wasn’t. My dad is a golf nut.” I smile at him, kneel on the floor, and start checking the inventory in the small fridge out front. Alisha will be by sometime today or tomorrow for the list, so it’s best to have a head start on that for her.

He finishes with the dark roast and moves on to grinding the medium roast, our house blend. If I weren’t such a fan of dark coffee, I’d love this blend. It’s super smooth and has these subtle nutty overtones. It’s a great dessert coffee.

“Hey, Jack?”

“Hey, Pattertwig.”

“Have you ever had to tell someone the truth after a long time of keeping it from them?” I ask slowly.

He gives me a weird look. “I’m sure I have.”

“Did they take it okay?”

“You mean, do I think Jen will take it okay?” He smiles gently. “Just tell her, Nutkin. You’re going crazy.” “I just don’t want to hurt her.”

“I know. But hasn’t it been worse with her not knowing?”

“Well. Kind of.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Kind of? Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Well, yeah, it’s been harder for me, but it’s been easier for her. You know Jen. If she knew I had dated Travis, she never would have kept going out with him.” I shrug, checking the expiration date on the milk.

“Lame excuse.”

I look up at him.

“Nutkin, if Jen liked Travis so much and had known you’d dated, don’t you think she would have just cleared it with you and moved on?”

“Well …”

“I think you’re just scared to tell her now.” He turns the grinder on. “Why are you so scared anyway?” he asks over the chomping noise.

I look through the heavy-whipping-cream containers, checking dates.

I tried for four years to be the most perfect girl out there for Travis. Then I found out, as much as I had tried, his ideas apparently changed, and I wasn’t the perfect girl anymore.

I pick up an expired cream container and straighten up.

I guess Jack notices I didn’t answer his last question because he suddenly grins at me. “Oh, did I tell you the good news?”

“Finally heard back from your application to be a backup singer for the Temptations, huh?”

He grins wider, recognizing the reference to his secret wish in the second grade. “No,” he says. “Polly found a new home.”

“Aww, all by herself?”

He ignores me. “A guy called yesterday and wanted to give Polly to his wife as an anniversary present.” He sighs. “I’m just praying it won’t be the last anniversary present he gives her.”

“Jack!”

“What? She’s a nocturnal parrot, Pattertwig.
Nocturnal.
As in, not a whole lot of romance is going to be happening after dark. I’m thinking this doesn’t make for a happy marriage.”

I laugh for the first time that day. “Did you tell the man that?”

“Yeah. Well, not the part about ruining marital bliss. Just the part about her talking through the whole night. He thought it sounded endearing.”

“Endearing?” I wrinkle my nose. “Did he actually say that?”

“He did.”

“I haven’t heard that word since the last time I watched
Anne of Green Gables.”

Jack shrugs. “Maybe he’s a fan of Anne.”

“Maybe.” I dig through our five-pound bags of coffee, making notations for each blend we have. “Is it time to turn over the sign?”

Jack looks at the clock. “Yup.”

“I’ll do it.” I set my notepad down on the counter and walk over to the windows. I raise the shades and flip over the Open sign. I stare out the windows for a second. It’s a “blustery” day, as Winnie the Pooh would say.

Jack’s looking out the windows, too. “Lots of lattes today,” he mumbles.

“We’ve been having a major cold spell.” I smile. “Maybe we’ll have snow this year!”

Snow in Hudson is about as likely as finding water in an unopened Coke can.

“Maybe,” Jack says, kindly not destroying my pipe dream.

Our first customer comes in a couple of minutes before seven as I step behind the counter. “Good morning,” I call to the nice-looking lady dressed in a black business suit.

“Good morning,” she says. “Can I get a medium cinnamon soy latte? To-go, please.”

I ring up her total, and Jack starts making it. “And let the day begin.”

I look at our whiteboard as I pull my apron off at two o’clock. Jack and I have kept track of the drinks we’ve made with hash marks up there.

In all, we made thirty-six lattes and fifteen coffees.

“Not bad.” Jack whistles when I tell him. He finishes
running the automatic cleaner on the espresso machine and takes his apron off as well. “No wonder the smell of milk is making my head hurt.”

I grin. “Maybe you could take this zoology in a new direction toward dairies.”

“And maybe I won’t.”

“You could spend your life researching cheese instead of the mating habits of monkeys. I think it’s a good trade. I could be a cheese taster. I like cheese.”

“This is just a guess,” Jack says, clocking out, “but I think there’s more to cheese research than tasting it.”

“I’ll be the taster in charge of Havarti. I like that one.”

We walk out together. I wave at Lisa, who has her apron on and is already helping a customer with yet another latte.

“Bye, guys!” she calls.

“See you, Lisa.” I smile.

We push through the door, and Jack stretches by the driver’s side of his car. “Mmm. I need a nap.”

I squint at the fuzzy gray sky. “It’s a good napping day.”

“I can’t take a nap. I’ve got a fifteen-page paper due tomorrow afternoon on the molecular genetics of the
mammalia
circulatory system.”

“Sounds insanely interesting.”

“It actually is.” He smiles. “And I’m giving Polly to her new owner in an hour, so I should go clean out her cage.” He gives me a light hug across my shoulders. “I’ll see you later, Maya. I’ll be praying for you with this Jen and Travis thing.” He slides into his car.

“Bye, Jack.”

He waits until I get into my car and put it in reverse before he drives away. Jack’s like that though. Always the gentleman.
I get home, and Calvin greets me at the door excitedly.

“Hey, baby,” I say, giving his face a rubdown. “Did you sleep in today?”

“Roo!”

“Good boy!”

It’s about two fifteen and Jen will probably be at work for another three hours. I wander into the kitchen and open the fridge, looking for something to snack on while I start a load of laundry.

I grab an apple and head to my room. I look at my Bible lying on the bedside table and frown while I chew.

It’s my responsibility, not God’s.
Andrew’s words are floating through my brain, and I sit on the edge of my bed. Calvin hops up beside me, greedily eyeing the apple.

“Careful, kid, that’s what caused the Fall,” I say, absently patting his head.

I reach for a sticky note.

“See? There are actual reasons,” I tell Calvin.

I pick up my Bible and thumb through the Psalms. They are supposed to be the comforting chapters, right?

“For my iniquities are gone over my head; as a heavy burden they weigh too much for me.” I blink at Psalm 38:4.

Okay, then.
Apparently David felt the same way I do at one
time. I take another bite of the apple, thinking.

If I tell Jen that I kept something like this from her for the past month, she’ll be very hurt. She’ll be upset that I didn’t feel like I could tell her. She’ll blame me, herself, and Travis, and everything will just be a big, ugly mess.

If I don’t tell Jen, she won’t be hurt; she won’t be mad; she’ll stay happy; and everything will be great.

But, apparently, keeping my mouth shut is causing problems with my relationship with God.

I glance at Calvin. “Doesn’t it say to confess your sins to
God?”

He looks at me and then the apple. Not much help.

I chew quietly. So it stands to reason, then, that if I confess my sin to God, everything will be fine. Jen doesn’t need to know; my conscience will be clear; and we’ll all live happy, healthy lives.

“Lord,” I say, feeling awkward. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell Jen about Travis. I should have told her in the beginning, but I didn’t because …”

I sigh. Why didn’t I just tell her?

Because you didn’t want to share that torch.

“I didn’t tell her because a part of me still wishes I were with Travis.
Wished.
Wished, Lord. Past tense. That part is … uh, over. Please forgive me. And please take away this guilty stuff in my stomach. I promise I’ll always tell the truth from now on. And just so You know I’m serious, I’ll stop watching the Style Network and start having devotions every night again.”

I nod. “Amen.”

There. I breathe a sigh of relief. I confessed; God knows; and I’m not watching the Style Network every night anymore.

Things will all get back to normal now.
“How sweeeet it is to be loooooved by yooou!”

“Jack, please!” I finish squirting a healthy dose of whipped cream over a double-shot large mocha for a tiny teenage girl who needs more calories.

She giggles at Jack’s off-key sing-along with Michael Buble playing over the speakers in the store.

I hand the infatuated sophomore her drink and turn to Jack. He’s been singing for the past two days. I can take Jack’s voice for about two hours before I start digging in my pocket for a bobby pin to scrape out my eardrums.

At my last count, it had been fifteen hours.

Let’s put it this way: Jack Dominguez is not the next American Idol.

“You don’t like my voice?” he asks sadly.

I wince. “Well, compared to what?” If we’re comparing his singing to an air horn, then yeah, I love his voice.

“Michael Bublé?”

“Um.”

He pouts, but I can tell he’s faking.

“Sorry, Jack. Michael wins.”

He grins. “At least tell me I beat him in looks.”

“You beat him in looks.”

“Well, thanks!” He beams.

I shake my head. “It is ridiculous that giving a parrot to some poor unsuspecting couple makes you this happy.”

“She’s no longer my problem. I sent her off with a wave and a song.”

“No, there was no
a
song.
Endless
songs.” I rub my forehead.

“You know, if I didn’t have such a secure self-esteem, you’d be seriously damaging it, Pattertwig.”

“Could you maybe just whistle for a few minutes? Or better
yet, let Michael sing while you make coffee quietly?”

“Ouch.” He rubs his heart. “That stings.”

“Sorry.”

He’s quiet for all of three minutes. Michael’s rendition of the Motown classic “How Sweet It Is” ends, and Frank Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon” begins. There’s the happy chatter of twenty-some-odd people visiting over lattes and MixUps.

“In other wooorrdsssss, please be truuuuee!”

“Jack!”

He starts laughing. Two girls sitting at the bar giggle. A grin slips out in spite of myself.

He grabs my hands and starts whirling me around behind the counter in a fifties-inspired swing dance. “Fill my heart with soonngggg,” he sings, haphazardly twirling me past the espresso machine.

I’m giggling now. The big-band music finishes, and he catches me by the sink. The people sitting at the bar and at the few tables right by the counter start clapping.