COOL BEANS, Page 4

  “Yay!” I say for the both of us, since Jack is now sleepily staring into his coffee mug.

  We talk income for a few minutes, and she gathers everyone’s time cards for the last week.

  “Have a good day, guys. Call if you need anything,” she says, as is her custom, and slides her shades back on as she leaves.Three o’clock, and I’m officially done for the day. I untie my apron, hang it on my hook inside the kitchen, and grab my bag.

  Jack’s leaving too. Our replacements, Carmen and Lisa, are already here and in place behind the counter, giggling over something Lisa did yesterday.

  “Bye!” I wave at them as I leave, holding the door for poor, exhausted Jack.

  “Bye, Pattertwig.” He yawns. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Sleep well, Jackie.”

  He gives me a hug before I get in my car.

  Calvin is yipping excitedly as I walk in the door. “Hi, boy!” I pick him up and rub his big ears. “How are you?”

  It’s a gorgeous day, and I decide Calvin and I are going on a walk. I change into my jogging pants and a T-shirt. I have one arm in the armhole and the other is trying to find the opening for my head and other arm.

  Right then, of course, the phone rings.

  “Calvin, can you get that?”

  I yank the shirt on and answer my cell, my left eye involuntarily winking because some fuzz from my shirt is in my eye.

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, hi; hello to you too.”

  “Hi, Mom. Sorry, I couldn’t see.” Still can’t. I rush for the bathroom, wondering if people can go blind by T-shirt fuzz. I don’t think this shirt is 100 percent cotton. That’s bad, right? According to the Style Network, that’s very bad.

  I think it’s because people are into the all-natural stuff now. You know, green is the new black and all that. If you want my opinion, I think “going green” sounds like someone’s either very jealous or on the verge of being awfully seasick.

  Mom asks, “What are you up to?”

  “Is polyester bad for your eyes?”

  “Probably,” my mother says, all cheerfully, apparently not having that whole mother’s intuition thing to know that her daughter is going blind.

  “Oh.” I start splashing water in my eye. I’m still holding the phone with my right hand and my aim is bad to begin with, but I find out it’s a lot worse with my left hand.

  Water drenches the front of my pants.

  Swell.

  “What is going on there?” Mom asks.

  “I had fuzz in my eye, so I was trying to get it out before I got polyester poisoning of the retina or something, but now I have water all over my front like I couldn’t hold it long enough.”

  “Pleasant, Maya.”

  “You asked!” I blink, and the fuzz leaves my eye. So easy now that I’m soaking wet, of course.

  “Well, I was actually calling for a reason.”

  “Beyond just concern for your favorite daughter?”

  “With a daughter like you, I’ve learned just to live with concern.”

  I grab a towel for my pants, sit on the toilet-seat cover, and start dabbing. “Gee, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Now. About Sunday.”

  Calvin and I drive two hours roundtrip every Sunday to eat dinner with my parents in San Diego. With gas prices what they are, I believe I deserve the Daughter of the Year award. Calvin doesn’t get anything. He’s just a dog, and he likes the wind in his face. It’s a treat for him.

  “Zach and Kate are coming to town.”

  My brother, Zach, is four years older than me and married to Kate. They don’t have children, and they’re like the worst communicators on the planet.

  Obviously.

  I can barely contain my joy. Right. “They’re in town?”

  “Well, they will be tomorrow. So, they’ll be here on Sunday, and Dad thinks we should go out to dinner. I was calling to see if you’ll meet us at The Cheesecake Factory in Fashion Valley Mall.”

  Well, if Zach’s here, then yeah. Bring out the fatted calf.

  I squint my eyes shut and pause with the towel. Sorry, Lord. That wasn’t a good thought at all.

  Here’s the thing about my brother, Zachary Robert Davis: He’s pretty much brilliant. He made straight As from kindergarten to graduating from med school. He’s a doctor in Phoenix. For sick little children in the largest children’s hospital in Arizona.

  I’m a barista in Hudson. The difference, needless to say, is glaring.

  “Sure. What time?” I say. Short answers are best here.

  I can almost hear Mom looking at the clock and thinking. “Maybe around five? That will give you enough time after church, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Wonderful. See you in a couple days, sweetheart!”

  Mom hangs up, and I set the phone on the counter. I keep working on the wet spot.

  Don’t get me wrong; I love my brother. I really do. He’s usually a good brother, especially now that puberty is long past for both of us.

  I just have self-esteem problems after a family dinner involving him. He’s always talking about some child he cured of a deadly disease, and what am I supposed to say? “Oh yeah? Well, without me, some poor lady would have had a horrible caffeine headache all day long!”

  Kind of loses something.

  It’s hard being the sister to a genius. It was hard in grade school when we had the same teachers and they’d all say the same thing at the beginning of the year: “Oh, wonderful! Another Davis child!” You know, expecting another straight-A student. By the end of the year, they were like, “Oh. We thought you were related to Zachary Davis.”

  It never gets easier.

  I abandon the towel and head to my room. Calvin follows me, curious about when exactly this walk will happen. “Just a second, kiddo.”

  I grab a sticky note from my bedside table.

  Reasons It’s Okay to Be Me:

  1. This is exactly how God wanted me to be.

  2. We don’t all have to be doctors!

  3. If everyone were a genius, we would have no normal people, and then geniusness would be normality. Without me, Zach is not a genius.

  4. Even though it is for Zach, I still get Cheesecake Factory too! Yay!

  Between Zach and Travis, the walk turns into a jog, the jog into a run, and the run into crashing on the sofa, sweaty, worn out, and holding a package of Oreos and a jar of marshmallow creme.

  Calvin falls with a huff on the floor beside the couch, tucking his head between his paws.

  “Sorry, bud. Guess I pushed us kind of hard today.”

  He sighs his agreement.

  I think one of the best, albeit most disgusting-sounding, desserts ever is Oreos dipped in marshmallow creme. It’s amazing. I always feel sorry for people who don’t know of this remarkable combination.

  I flick the TV on and rise off the couch for a brief second to pop in While You Were Sleeping, probably my most favorite Sandra Bullock movie of all time.

  It’s Calvin’s, too. I know this because usually he sleeps through movies, but anytime I watch this one, he perks up and stays awake through the whole thing.

  Jen walks in right when Lucy and Jack have their first kiss under the mistletoe. “Oh!” she sighs, drops her purse and coat on the floor, kicks off her heels, and falls to the couch. “I love this movie.”

  “Hi, Jen.”

  “Hey.” She reaches for the Oreos, bypassing the marshmal-low creme. “So, is this the grand plan for tonight?”

  “What?”

  “Oreos. Squished-down marshmallows in a jar. Bill Pullman.”

  I lick the crumbs from my thumb. “I’m putting in Elf next.”

  “Maya, it’s October.”

  “Jen, it’s funny.”

  She giggles and pulls her hose-shrouded legs up underneath her on the cushions. “You’re right. Can I watch it with you?”

  “Yep.” I watch her tie her hair up in a sloppy bun on top of her head. “What should
we have for dinner?”

  “Wayne gave me a gift card to Macaroni Grill today. We could have pasta.”

  “I don’t feel like showering.”

  She nods. “I don’t feel like putting those heels back on. Honestly, Maya. You should be thankful your career actually encourages good podiatric support.”

  “Speaking of podiatric and doctors and stuff, Zach’s back in town.” I pop another marshmallow-covered Oreo in my mouth and watch the screen in crunching silence.

  Jen looks at me. “Thus the cookies and the comedies.”

  Jen knows all about my sibling rivalry with Zach.

  “Well …”

  She reaches over and rubs my arm. “I’m sorry. It’ll be fine, you know.”

  “Yeah. Let’s make tortellini for dinner.”

  “I thought you just said you didn’t want pasta.”

  My mouth is watering. “I said I didn’t want to shower.” And by make tortellini, I really mean dump one of those frozen bags of pasta into a boiling pot of water.

  “Oh.”

  I look over at her. “Hey, why did you get a gift card anyway?”

  She blushes lightly. “Well, Travis is a big client, and he sent flowers to the office today. Wayne was proud of me, so he gave me a gift card.”

  I’m frowning. “Wayne was proud you got flowers, so he gave you dinner for you and you alone?”

  She shakes her head. “I never claimed he was brilliant, Maya.”

  “This is true.”

  We watch the movie for a few minutes. Jack and Lucy are dancing around the “I like you” issue, and it’s pretty adorable. This is how Jen and I watch movies: We talk until we get to a scene we love; then we shut up and watch it.

  Travis sent Jen flowers.

  I chomp another Oreo and glance over at her profile. She’s concentrating on the movie, mindlessly nibbling on a cookie.

  I know exactly what flowers he gave her: tulips. It’s Travis’s favorite flower, and he gave me tulips the whole time we were dating. Even though I specifically mentioned on multiple occasions that I love daisies.

  Especially the happy little white ones.

  This will work out nicely for Jen, though.

  “He even brought me my favorite flowers,” she says quietly after the scene ends.

  “Really?”

  “Mm-hmm. A huge bouquet of tulips.” She sighs. This is the second time, and she’s only been home for fifteen minutes. “I really like him, Maya.”

  I have to laugh at her dismal tone, even though my stomach suddenly starts cramping. “So why the depression?”

  “I don’t want to get my heart involved so fast. You know?” She rubs her face. “Things were good. It was me and God, and I didn’t need anyone else.”

  “And now?”

  She finally meets my eyes. “Now …” Her voice trails off, and she looks back at the TV.

  Bill Pullman is paying his toll with a ring. I know what Jen’s thinking.

  “It’d be nice, huh?” I say.

  “Yeah.”

  I nod and stand as the happy couple kisses. I walk into our tiny, nonfunctional kitchen. “Okay. No tortellini. We’re going the extra mile tonight.”

  Especially since we’re both dealing with issues involving the same guy.

  Awkward. Awkward!

  “What are we having?” Jen calls from the couch, looking at me over the high counter that’s directly over the sink.

  I open the cabinet that serves as a pantry. “Pie.”

  “Pie? Like pot pie?”

  Ah, Jen. Ever the nutritional optimist.

  “Like apple pie. Or cherry.” I have canned fillings for both. Never as good as my grandmother’s homemade apple pie, of course, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

  And I can’t cook to save my tush.

  “Maya.” She comes into the kitchen, her white collared shirt and skirt looking rumpled after lounging on the couch. “We can’t have pie for dinner.”

  “Why not? We’re young. We exercise. And besides, this is the highest our metabolism will ever be. We should be taking advantage of this.” I’m waving the cans at her as I talk.

  Jen works with a lawyer all day. She recognizes logical thinking when she sees it. “Okay, you win. But I’m fixing a salad.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “Sugar nut.”

  “Don’t say that in front of Jack; it’ll give him another nickname.”

  She grins as she pulls a packaged salad from the fridge.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ten o’clock Sunday morning. I’m slouched in one of the very uncomfortable folding chairs in a freezing-cold classroom inside Grace Bible Church. I’m cradling my coffee with both hands, slumped over, and my left eye is half open like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

  Jen’s sitting next to me, but unlike me, she’s sitting straight-backed, smiling, eyes wide open, her long, shiny blond hair in perfect place. She’s wearing a skirt and a subtle pink top and looks like Miss Teen California all grown up.

  Ugh.

  Definitely not a good idea to start the A&E Pride and Prejudice at ten thirty last night. It’s downright impossible to stop that movie in the middle!

  So, there I was at two thirty at night, cuddled up with Calvin on my bed, sighing over Mr. Darcy’s faltering speech and dripping wet hair. “Beg your pardon, your family is in good health?”

  How come nobody talks like that anymore? If I could time travel anywhere, I’d jump to England in that exact year. Bring a basket of deodorant, a pair of blue jeans, and Bath & Body Works soap, and I’d be a happy camper.

  By the time I turned the TV off and fell asleep, it was after three thirty in the morning.

  Our singles pastor, Andrew Townsend, stops in front of me and pokes me in the forehead.

  “Mmpgh.”

  Andrew is way too much of a morning person. “Harken! She speaks!”

  This is what I say: “Leave me alone.”

  This is how it comes out: “Leefmaown.”

  Andrew just laughs and moves on, greeting the people sitting in a half circle around the classroom. There are about twenty or so people here; most of them come to our Wednesday-night Bible study as well.

  Andrew Townsend is twenty-nine, single, used to play hockey but still has all his teeth. I find this a big perk for an ex-hockey star. I heard he could’ve gone pro, but he decided not to because he wanted to be a pastor.

  Anyway, he’s this big broad-shouldered guy with tons of thick, beautiful, sandy blond hair that he keeps on the longish side. It makes him look like a modern-day Viking. I’ve told him this before, and he said, “Arg!”

  Which is actually more pirate-sounding than Viking, but what the heck.

  Jack drops into the seat on my right. “You okay?”

  “Mmm.”

  Jen leans around me. “She watched Pride and Prejudice last night.”

  Jack frowns. “So she’s depressed?”

  “When did you finish it, Maya?” Jen asks.

  “’Bout three or so.”

  “Last night?”

  Jack is grinning. “They invented a Stop button, you know.”

  “But good things came from this,” I say around a mouthful of coffee.

  “Like what? Poorer posture? You can win in the Hudson County Fair Slumped Shoulders Contest?”

  I blink at Jack. “They have that?”

  “No, Nutkin.”

  “Oh. No, I discovered I do not under any circumstances want to be a newspaper delivery guy. I heard him at three thirty this morning, and I think that’s a form of punishment. What did he ever do to deserve that?” I ask.

  “They get paid really well,” Jen says. “So, I’ve heard it’s worth it.”

  “Okay, everyone, chatter needs to cease,” Andrew says, pulling a little stool under him and sitting in the middle of the half circle.

  It always is a little humorous to see big, stocky Andrew on the little, rickety stool. One day, I swear it will break.

&
nbsp; It’ll be funny in a morbid kind of way.

  He’s balancing a huge ceramic coffee mug on one knee that says: Donate Blood. Play Hockey. It’s filled to the brim with dark, rich coffee, and this is where Andrew and I have a connection. He’s a major coffee nut, too. He comes into Cool Beans on a regular basis.

  “Today, lads and ladies, I want us to discuss your thoughts on how aggressive Christians should be in today’s culture.”

  “You mean, like, evangelism?” Natalie, one of the girls in the class, asks.

  Andrew shrugs. “Sure. In every area of life.”

  Jack leans back in his chair. This means he’s going to speak. “I would say it’s enough to stand up for what you believe, not so far as to beat them over the head with it,” he offers.

  “Explain that,” Andrew prompts.

  “Well.” Jack adjusts his pant legs now. This means he’s not sure how to put his thoughts into words. “I’m not sure how to describe it. Like stating what I believe in a way that is loving, I guess.” Then he exhales. This means Jack is done talking for the rest of the class.

  I smirk into my coffee.

  “Very good, Jack.” Andrew nods and continues. We spend the next thirty minutes in discussion, and then Andrew tells us we’re going to read through the book of James. “This is such a great book on not backing down. So, get ready, strap your helmets on, and aim for the puck because this book is one of my favorites.”

  Andrew sometimes forgets he’s a pastor and not a hockey player, I think.

  He prays, and we all stand and start folding up the aforementioned uncomfortable chairs like we do every Sunday. I’m still freezing cold, and now I get to waste three and a half hours before I start the drive to San Diego.

  “Jen, want to go to Kohl’s?”

  This is sort of like asking a demolition crew if they want goggles. The answer is fairly obvious.

  “No thanks,” she says sweetly.

  At least I thought it was. I don’t even hear her answer at first; I’m so convinced I know what she’ll say. “Okay, we can go before — wait. What?” I sputter.

  “Um. Not today.” She fidgets and smoothes her skirt. Jack is grinning. “Got something else to do, Jenny?”

  She winces, blushes, and smiles all in about three and a half seconds. “Maybe.”

  Travis.

  I sigh. “Okay. Well, maybe another time.” I sling my purse over my shoulder, trying not to be depressed. Especially after such a great lesson. Great lessons by Andrew usually perk me up for the rest of the day, enough that Calvin and I usually discuss it on the way to Mom and Dad’s.