Chapter 6
How could something smell so good yet taste so disgusting?
As I scooped another spoonful of coffee and dumped it into the filter, I inhaled deeply.
I liked just about anything but coffee. That and celery, which used to be my go-to food for crunch until burning myself out on it.
When stressed out, I had the bad habit of clenching and grinding my teeth.
Used to be, a stiff cocktail or a Xanax kept my anxiety at bay but always brought along other problems. Like blackouts, hangovers, and burned bridges.
Since sobering up, I had to find crunchy food to relieve the ache in my jaw.
“Shut up!” I growled at the room. The thing about being sober was that I felt everything, painfully so. My skin crawled with it.
I pushed the brew button on the coffeepot and took a moment to wipe down the marble countertops.
The faint gray veining reminded me of bare tree branches in winter.
The design sparked a sudden need to draw, but I’d have to wait to do that until after Gilbert’s coffee assignment.
Speaking of, I headed next door to get it over with.
Henry was on his front porch again, a book in one hand while shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth with the other.
“Uh, hi.” I waved at him like a doofus as he looked up at me with a perplexed expression. “I’m Junie, your neighbor. Remember?”
He nodded his head while chewing away. “Of course I remember.”
I peeked inside his bowl. “Is that Frosted Flakes?”
“They’re great.” Henry saluted me with his spoon. The phrase and spoon salute were straight from a familiar commercial but he delivered it in such a matter-of-fact tone instead of mimicking Tony the Tiger, making it even more funny.
I huffed a faint laugh. “So I’ve heard.”
Henry closed the book and placed it on the table, giving me his full attention. “What happened to your lip?”
“A boxing lesson gone awry.” I waved it off and glanced at the book beside his bowl. “I just read that one not too long ago.” I tipped my head toward the bestselling suspense novel. I’d devoured H. M. Rossi’s entire backlist while in rehab after Lana sent me his first two.
Henry tilted his head to the side. “What’d you think?”
“Rossi’s other books were much better. This one was a little slow for my liking and the romance was all but missing. Not his best.” I lifted my gaze and was surprised by the frown on his face. “Oops. Did I spoil it for you? The pacing picks up eventually. Just stick with it.”
“No. I’ve already finished it.” He sat back in his chair and rubbed his scruffy jaw. “But I agree with your critique.”
It sure doesn’t sound like it.
Clearing my throat, I motioned toward my house. “I just made a pot of coffee and was wondering if you’d like a cup or . . . two?”
From his expression, I fully expected Henry to decline my offer, but he rose to his feet and said, “I’d love a cup . . . or two.”
“Oh, okay then.” Begrudgingly, I turned around and led the way. Neither of us said a word until we reached the kitchen. I pointed to a stool. “Have a seat.”
I expected him to begin a conversation or perhaps he expected me to since I was the hostess, but that had never been my strong suit.
I gathered a carton of milk and a small bag of sugar and set it in front of him.
I opened the cabinet and my eyes landed briefly on the hand-painted cup covered in purple and fuchsia hydrangeas.
Grandma Olla’s cup. Skipping hers, I selected a plain blue one, filled it with steaming coffee, placed it on the counter, and stood across from Henry while he doctored it.
“What do you do for a living?” I asked, attempting the small talk against my better judgment.
Henry stirred a good amount of sugar into his coffee. “I’m a math professor at the College of Charleston.”
“No way.”
“Yep.” He said, making the p pop.
“My brother is a math professor at the University of South Carolina.”
“Go Gamecocks!” He faux toasted me with his cup. With the coffee raised to his lips, Henry gave me a confused look. “You’re not having any?”
I shook my head. “Nah. I hate coffee.”
Without tasting it, he set the cup down and adjusted his glasses. “Then why make it?”
“My—” I caught the words probation officer just before they spilled from my busted lips. “Uh, life coach challenged me to invite you over for coffee.”
Henry fixed his glasses once again, making me wonder if it was a tic instead of necessity, because the frames seemed to have a favorite angle to sit and reverted back to it as soon as he stopped fiddling with them. “Are you talking about Gilbert?”
“Uh . . . yes.” I fidgeted with the stack of bracelets on my wrist.
Henry’s eyes narrowed. “I thought he was your personal trainer.”
“Well, he sucked at that, so we’ve given him a new job.”
Lips twitching, Henry finally picked up the cup and took a sip. “And why exactly did he present you with this coffee challenge?”
I settled my fingertips on one of the bracelets and began tracing the tiny seed beads. “Because I don’t have any friends.”
Head nodding, as if that was a completely acceptable answer, Henry brought the cup to his lips for another sip. I liked that he didn’t slurp it like my brother always did. Seemed this guy did everything in a quiet, mild-mannered fashion. “And what is it you do for a living?”
“I umm . . .” I looked around the kitchen and decided to go with honesty. “I’m still trying to figure that out, but I want to work toward opening a custom hat and accessory boutique.”
“That sounds interesting.”
I hummed and lifted a shoulder.
Small talk complete, we grew quiet again.
While Henry worked his way through the cup of coffee, I stole a glance at the microwave clock. How long did this coffee thing need to last, anyway? As soon as the cup was empty, I quickly refilled it like a good hostess. To make the two-cup maximum clear, I dumped the rest of the pot down the sink.
With my back to Henry, I said, “I’m not looking for friends, so don’t think you’re obligated to offer your friendship.
Just like you said when you introduced yourself about probably not having sugar or such, I’m like that with friendship.
I just want my pro—life coach to see that I’m making an effort. ”
Henry didn’t respond, just kept drinking his coffee as if I hadn’t babbled a bunch of bull.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket. “Speaking of my life coach. You mind me taking a picture to prove you were here?”
Henry studied me. He owned a set of eyes that saw more than what was before them. It made me nervous. “I guess.”
“Great.” I held the phone up and centered him on the screen. “Say cheese.”
His expression remained neutral as he muttered, “Cheese.”
I assessed the photo, figuring he didn’t look too miserable, and sent it to Gilbert while Henry went back to drinking his coffee. The man was basically guzzling it like it was his life’s mission to reach the bottom of that mug.
Henry kept staring at my lip. “What really happened to your face?”
I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth and tested the scab with the tip of my tongue. It didn’t hurt so bad anymore. “I got into a brawl at an AA meeting.”
Henry blinked slowly, his brows puckering. “Come again?”
“Just kidding.” I coughed a laugh and tucked my hair behind my ears.
“About the brawl, not the meeting. I’m in recovery.
And well, there was an argument between these two guys at the meeting.
I was minding my own business but my face got in the way of an elbow.
” I shrugged as if saying, It happens. What can ya do?
Once the cup was empty, Henry slid it toward me. “May I leave now?”
“Absolutely.” Straightening, I grabbed the cup and washed it out, wishing I could wash down the drain and escape my own weirdness.
By the time I turned from the sink Henry was gone. Poor guy. That had to have been the oddest coffee date he’d ever had.
Staring at his empty stool, I shook my head and sighed. “No wonder I have no friends.”
More pressing issues needed my attention than me dwelling on the fact that I was an embarrassment to myself, so I climbed the stairs up to the third-floor attic.
As soon as I opened the door, a strong whiff of drywall dust and patchouli hit me, followed by a memory of Olla standing in the middle of the room with her arms out wide while she explained her vision for the space.
This can be your creative space, Junie Bug. You can set up your paints and canvases over by the space in front of the dormer windows. It has good light.
This came after a season of tumultuous mistakes at the ripe old age of nineteen.
I’d left Arlo and was staying with Grandma Olla, one of many on-again-off-again moments in our short marriage.
Wanting to blow off some steam and just forget for a little while, I went to a beach party.
My friend Lizzy offered me what she called a chill pill.
Yeah, it chilled me out alright. So much so I went into cardiac arrest. I all but threw my life away for a high.
After the paramedics brought me back to life, I went to rehab.
And when I was released, Olla was there, offering me this space and another chance.
I walked farther into the room, shutting the door on those awful memories.
We’d only gotten as far as drywalling the room and priming the walls before I made the asinine decision to go back to Arlo.
I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d stayed and accepted this gift she tried giving me, how different things could have been.
But then there’d be no Fern and I just couldn’t fathom a world without her.
A blank canvas, a fresh start. That’s what Grandma called this room. Too bad she wouldn’t be here to finally see me accept her gift.
Various cans of paint and supplies lined the wall to the right. I wasn’t all that sure how long paint kept. “Only one way to find out.”
As the white primed walls began transforming, I imagined each stroke of the paintbrush covering the humiliating parts of my past and creating a new future I could be proud of.
If only it were that easy.