“No,” Todd said. “Not even on special occasions.”
Her own mother had worn little makeup throughout her life, but Bryony could think of few women who never added a dab of color here or there. She used a bit of concealer every day. If women did, why not men? “You look fantastic. Lillian will love it.”
“I was afraid it wasn’t professional enough.”
“It’s perfect for the coffee shop.”
“Mister Forster helped me pick out the clothes.”
“He did?” she asked.
Cal had been in the coffee shop several times since their mutual mud bath, but he and Bryony had interacted very little, she being too busy with work tasks, he chatting with whoever waited in line with him or sat at the table beside him. She’d rarely met a more friendly, social person. Come to think of it, she’d never met anyone as engaging as Cal Forster.
Together, she and Todd turned on lights, prepped sandwiches, set up the coffee, and placed napkins on every table.
As they finished the usual start up tasks, Todd turned to her and said, “My brother’s in prison. He broke into the restaurant he worked at to steal money and accidentally started a fire. A firefighter was killed when he fell through the roof while trying to put out the fire.”
The sentences had come out one on top of the other, a scramble of imagined action evoked by the telling of his story. “I’m so sorry,” Bryony said, unsure if that was an adequate response.
“I wanted you to know. Mister Forster encouraged me to not keep it a secret, to tell people I can trust, and I think I can trust you.”
“Thank you, Todd.” Bryony gently laid her hand on Todd’s arm. “Your trust is a gift to me.”
Lillian arrived, dropping her purse on the counter. “What did I miss?” She gave Bryony a sideways hug and hit the start button on the coffee makers.
“Nothing,” Bryony answered.
Todd mouthed, “Thank you,” from behind Lillian’s back.
Lillian, too, praised Todd for his new look. He tried to brush off the compliment, but Bryony could see the delight in his face.
This boy had a future, no matter what Mitch said, and Mitch had said plenty on a phone call the night before. Watch your back, Bryony. He can’t cut school work. And there have been family troubles, really serious troubles. Don’t let your guard down.
Lillian would have scolded him, saying something like, Everything came too easy for you, Mitch, but Bryony had remained silent, unwilling to challenge the big brother who coached her to excel only to belittle her when she tried. He demonstrated no empathy for his own sister. Why would she expect anything different from him when it came to boys like Todd?
The morning rush commenced and ended like clockwork. Cal, as usual, made his daily witty remarks, added a compliment about Bryony’s smile, stayed a bit longer than usual, and gave his customary wave goodbye before he walked out the door.
Todd stayed longer than usual, too. He said a teacher’s meeting had pre-empted classes for the day. Midmorning, he and Bryony sat together at a table near the counter, taste testing a new line of teas Lillian wanted to offer.
“This one hurts my stomach,” Bryony said. “Too spicy.”
“Try this one.” Todd pushed a small cup across the table.
Bryony sipped. “Lemony, I like it.” She sipped again.
“Have you ever talked to Mister Parker over there?” Todd asked. “He’s like the smartest guy I ever met. I sat with him one day last week. We talked about an assignment I have for U.S. Government. He could reel off dates and names and tell stories without using his smart phone!”
“I’m impressed.” Bryony had never had a conversation with Mister Parker lasting longer than the time it took to fill his order or refill his cup. Todd’s attention to the retired gentleman further validated her perception about the boy’s character.
They made their way through the other flavors, debating the qualities of this line of tea products versus the line they were already selling. Bryony wanted to revisit Todd’s morning pronouncement, but didn’t want to push. She would wait for him to bring up the topic again. In the meantime, she fell into asking the same question she was asked too many times as a senior in high school. “What do you want to do when you graduate?”
“I have no idea,” Todd said. “Maybe college, something with computers, or something in the food business. I like working here. I do not want to be a firefighter.”
She knew he must be referring to the brief confession from earlier in the day, but when he failed to say more about that, she asked, “What do you like about working here?”
“The people mainly,” Todd answered. “Being forced to be friendly at seven a.m. changes the rest of my day. I’ve made a few new friends at school because I started treating my classmates like customers, you know, smiling first and asking them about their days.”
Bryony smiled. “A great life lesson.” And one she, too, had learned from working at BeanHereNow. Small talk came easier to her these days, as well as initiating a greeting when passing someone on the sidewalk, or at least offering a smile.
“What did you want to be when you were in high school?” Todd asked.
The question startled her. High school had ended so long ago. But she liked being asked because in asking, Todd had put them on equal footing, and in some ways that made sense.
“I wanted to make pies,” Bryony answered. “I wanted to make every kind of pie ever made anywhere on Earth. I remember going to the library after school and searching for information about pies all over the world. It took months—we didn’t have the internet then, you know—but I compiled a list of one hundred and thirty-seven pies. My goal was to make one pie every Saturday until I completed the entire list.”
“Did you?” Todd asked. “Did you make all those pies?”
“No.” Bryony finished off the last tea sample. “My dad didn’t mind as I worked my way through the common fruit pies—apple, cherry, peach—you know, the standards. But when I moved on to the savory pies and requested a moderate financial investment from my parents to buy pigeon meat, Dad put his foot down. He said I was spending too much time in the kitchen.”
“That was mean.”
“I blame myself,” Bryony said. “I should have started with something less exotic, a shepherd’s pie, minced meat.”
“So you gave up?” Todd asked.
“Something like that.” After her father exploded, she had run to her room in tears. Her mother followed close behind promising secret support, begging Bryony to not give up, but unwilling to stand up to the man who would ultimately be funding the project. In the end, Bryony vowed to make her own money and pay for the ingredients herself. She couldn’t remember why or when she gave up. The dream just slipped away without any further fuss.
“I like the teas we already have.” She gathered the cups and put them back on the tray. “What do you think?” she asked as she rose from her seat.
