Don't Go There || Eddie Munson

Bean Hollow

       It would be almost ten years when you'd finally return to the small town you were raised in. You'd spent the last near-decade growing up in Maine, having turned 18 a couple months ago. You did what you were supposed to: went to school, made a few fleeting friendships, dated here and there, got your first job... but nothing felt important or real. You didn't feel important or real. With any friend group, you were the third wheel. With any short-lived romantic relationship, you were always the one more invested. Even your own parents treated you like an unimportant pet that burdened them with its need for things like shelter and food. To expect an actual connection with either of them would be like expecting snow in July. Life felt like a constant 'just gotta get through this day.' The highlights of your life in Maine had to be the weeks that Aunt Juniper would fly out for a visit: she was your mother's youngest sibling, and while they got along okay, you and her were like sisters.

So it was no surprise that when you got the awful news that great aunt Clara had passed away, Aunt Juniper immediately offered for you to stay at her place while funeral and memorial arrangements were made. You were between odd jobs after graduation -- taking some variation of a gap year that would last far less than a year -- so your emotionally absent parents quickly accepted when Aunt Juniper offered for you to stay thirty whole days with her. Though aunt Clara had actually been your mother's aunt, she didn't care for her nearly enough to attend her funeral. What difference would it make? she'd asked. It's not like she'd know if I was there or not.
You were a confusing mix of saddened by the passing of your great aunt Clara and the excitement of a month long sleepover with Aunt Juniper.

"You sure you're gonna be able to put up with me for a month?" you lazily joked, pulling your enormous rolling suitcase up your aunt's paved driveway. You were exhausted from the long travel day itself, let alone all the anxiety you had around plane rides, but you didn't want to seem unenthusiastic or ungrateful.

"Girl," your aunt side eyed you as she fumbled with her key ring which was entirely too full. "I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't love the idea. I'm here all by yourself all the time; the only time I see other people is at work, and I don't even like them."

You laughed through your nose as she finally found the right key and jiggled the knob of her front door until it swung open. She did a rotating gesture with her wrist and a playful bow to allow you in first, and you of course returned an exaggerated curtsy.
Her one floor, two bed, one bath rental was cozy, but not too small. You noted that you especially liked the sliding glass doors that led to the small back deck, and the huge bay window in the living room. It was a pretty open floor plan: you could stand in the middle of the dining room and see into every room in the house. Somehow, it didn't feel cramped though. It was just enough for two people. You noticed a cat-patterned fuzzy blanket in the living room window sill, and though your aunt didn't have a cat yet, she'd been claiming for a year that she'd be getting one soon.

"You look totally beat," she noted aloud, sympathy in her voice. "Do you need a nap? Or to grab a coffee?" She must've noticed you weighing your options, so she added, "There's a cute, kind of new little coffee shop a few blocks away. You might remember it as the building with a Coming Soon sign on it from years ago-- or maybe you were too young. Anyway, it's up and running now if you want to check it out."

There was no way you were about to be so rude as to come in her house and immediately sleep or drink up all her coffee, so you decided, why not? It might be nice to get some fresh air and finally not be shoved in a plane or car for hours. Given that it was December though, and in the Midwest no less, you did have to drive over. But as aunt Juniper promised, it was a short ride and the cafe was an easy find. Bean Hollow it was called; whimsical. The double doors of the entrance were rounded at the top, carved of real or fake wood you couldn't distinguish, but they were painted maroon nonetheless. The trim ran around them a deep green, and the handles looked a rustic gold.

Inside, the smell of freshly ground coffee beans and sweet baked goods overwhelmed you in the best way possible. Everything was some nude shade: lots of browns, beiges, tans and off whites. There was a small group of people scrolling through their phones underneath a sign that read Pickup Area; you averted your gaze so as not to seem nosy or rude, and approached the exasperated barista once it was your turn. You ordered a simple iced chai latte, something that was sweet and would kick in fast. You paid, and crept down to the pickup area trying to attract as little attention to yourself as possible: you were in no mood to socialize.

Less than a minute later, a barista called out, "Iced chai latte!"

A new text appeared from your mom the moment you went to grab your drink, and you almost knocked the cup over by bumping hands with someone else. "Oh, sorry," you stammered, "I ordered the chai latte."

"So did I," a masculine but polite voice replied. You could hear his smile.

You'd tried to avoid looking directly at anyone, but finally you did at him, wondering if this guy was trying to mess with you or not. You looked up from your phone to see a beautiful boy with deep brown eyes and long, dark curls that lay over his shoulder. He had a playful grin accented by charming dimples, and his hand still on the latte. You weren't sure what to say, you knew it was yours, but you weren't about to stand and argue. A second before you could relent and let him have the drink, a second barista called out, "Another chai!" and slid over a replica of your drink only with Betty scribbled onto the side.

"Again?" the guy released your drink and picked up the new one, a defeated look about him. "Do I look like a Betty? I said Eddie."