Chapter 4 Junie
Junie
When Junie wakes on Saturday morning, the first thing she does is smile. Georgia’s coming home today, and that means everything
will be one step closer to being ok. She doesn’t usually have Saturdays off, so she slept in, swimming in the natural depth
Georgia is certainly already on the road, a creature of habit and routine and peak morning performance.
Junie stretches and the daily shuffling of the dog along the side of the bed begins. A snout appears and a tail whacks the
bed frame in an enthusiastic beat.
“Mornin’, Puds,” Junie says, dangling a hand over the side of the bed for her golden retriever.
Junie grabs her phone and sees the missed calls and text from Georgia. She must’ve seen the post Junie scheduled on Instagram.
Honestly, it was mostly for Meddling Misty Prince, whose nosiness extends to every social media site, to prod June’s off her
radar. There weren’t actually any appointments scheduled for today or tomorrow, and the plan is still a go for Tina’s Tuesday
appointments.
Georgia’s seeing the post before she got the full explanation was simply an oversight. Junie checks the notifications and figures her sister will be here in the flesh soon enough, and it’ll be better to discuss it all then when Georgia’s not speeding down the highway.
Junie gets to her feet, makes a quick stop in the bathroom, shakes out her red waves, and heads to the kitchen, where she
lets Puds into the backyard. She slips her feet into her garden clogs and follows him out.
The garden isn’t big compared to many of the locals’, but Junie adores it and keeps it weeded. She has two square raised beds,
edged in railroad ties dug up from old tracks that ran through town. Tomatoes of several varieties sprawl up and across a
trellis—miniature ones that pop on her tongue like delight, bigger ones she slices and uses for sandwiches, and other big
varieties that she batters and fries. The zucchini has blossomed and burst out of control, and she is often seen around town
peddling free zucchini to any interested party. The second bed is zinnias and sunflowers that have sprouted and climbed sky
high, and now Junie greets her rainbow of blooms every morning.
“Look at us, we made a rainbow,” she whispers to the flowers as she runs her fingers over them delicately.
This garden was once an overgrown yard. Junie herself cut back the shrubs at the side, pulled the weeds, and called for help
to cart in the railroad ties and extra soil. It wasn’t much, but she’d made it, and she was proud of it.
And that was Junie’s philosophy on life: Most if not all of it can be made into a rainbow. If people just stop long enough
to see it or find it or—her favorite of all—create it.
Satisfied that her plants and blooms have survived another night, Junie leaves Puds to do his business and greet the birds, and she heads back inside.
After slipping off her clogs, she goes to the stove to brew her medicinal tea.
Junie pops the lid off the canister and gives it a tentative sniff, hoping it’s mellowed overnight, but she coughs and chokes, then sets it down.
She fills the kettle and sets it atop a burner she ignites.
This tea is an Eastern remedy—or that’s what the woman at the farmers market told her—and Junie’s never been one to overthink
a promise made by a friendly stranger. Especially now that she’s Sick with a big S.
There’s a scratch at the door, and Junie lets Puds back in and pours him a bowl of kibble. She sets it down and pats him on
the head. “You’re the bestest boy I’ve ever known,” she says. Junie giggles to herself at the accuracy of her statement. She’s
been perennially single and entirely unbothered by it. Sure, she’s dated, and in fact, to this day, she’s asked out frequently;
it’s just that no one has ever sparked her interest and kept it. Junie believes life should be Technicolor every day, all
day, and something about being tethered to another person, co-living, feels stifling.
The kettle whistles quietly, and Junie turns, flips off the heat, and makes the tea. While it brews, nerves rumble in her
belly as she thinks about the state of the shop; perhaps it’s also partially the promise of the hideous tea. Georgia will
probably be fine about this whole thing. Right? She’s so used to stepping in when things get dicey. Really, she would probably
be well-suited to a crisis response job if she weren’t so busy bossing people around and making her company stacks and stacks
of money. Junie smiles at the idea of her big sister, Whitetail figurehead, family superstar with everything she ever wanted
in hand.
When the tea is ready, Junie grips the warm mug and carries it to her favorite spot on the sofa, one that’s worn and dips a little, remembering her shape.
Puds joins her, curling up on the floor at her feet.
She looks around at the house, the Clementine House, and notices every way she’s done right by it.
The new wallpaper. Tile in the kitchen. The thrifted art, the discount rugs that only look expensive.
The floors that are old but kept and mopped routinely with love.
Hopefully Georgia notices. The house belongs to her, and Junie hopes to be a worthy tenant.
The deed to the house was a card their great-aunt Clementine, their grandmother’s sister, played to try to settle the score
for Georgia. Every firstborn daughter in the family is supposed to be named June—like it’s a law or something, or at least that’s what Junie and Georgia understood since they were girls.
At some point in the family tree, the name became quite the stir. Even so, Mama wanted something different for Georgia, and
she chose to give her another name and a bright future, exactly like the one she’s living out. Junie was the backup June,
the second choice, second string, and her appointment as such came with a mixed response from Clementine.
Junie tries to act like it doesn’t bother her, the fact that she’s second best. The fact that for whatever reason, Mama didn’t
decide she, too, was owed a life of her own choosing, and that instead Junie would be the one to take over the shop and continue
the legacy. Because Georgia is, and always was, more special. Junie loves the shop just like the rest of the women do, but
her personality isn’t particularly well-suited to the responsibility. She wants to do her part for June’s Beauty Shop, the
favorite June of all to this family, because she loves it. It’s just that Junie wonders if it requires denying part of herself
too, growing up and possibly out of the youthful spontaneity that is like a second heartbeat inside her.
She shrugs off the thought. Even if she is mostly unremarkable, most certainly simple, she can still choose to be happy.
Nevertheless—the house. Great-Aunt Clementine lived in this house by herself for the entirety of her adult life.
Clementine believed Georgia got shorted with the naming, and on her way out of this world, in one final act of rebellion, Clementine willed Georgia the house.
Though perhaps in a twist of fate, it was Junie, a fellow single lady, who was the natural choice to take up residence.
Georgia was off being a shiny up-and-coming star in Atlanta.
What would she have done with it anyway?
In truth, the house has been a project for all of them, both Cece and Tina pitching in and leading the way when Junie first
moved in while she attended beauty school. It wasn’t quite like she could manage an actual house at eighteen.
Junie blows on the steam rolling off the mug, making sure not to inhale at risk of gagging. She sips the brew, squinting and
grunting her way through it. She sets it aside and once it’s cool enough, she sucks in a breath and drinks in deep gulps until
she’s chugging the dregs.
“Yuck.” The sound is throaty and heartfelt. She carries the mug to the kitchen and deposits it in the sink, opens the fridge and
pulls out an icy Diet Coke.
Junie smiles at the silver can of deliciousness and does a happy dance all the way across her house, out the front door, and
onto the porch, where she will sip in delight and wait for her big sister to pull up in her rich-person car.