Sure, he knew he made Aunt Cara uncomfortable. He could see it every time she looked at him—or rather, all the times she didn’t. But this past week, she’d been nice. She filled his plates with heaping portions and always asked how his day was, even though he hadn’t once had any interest in telling her. And she was his aunt, his blood relative. Didn’t that have to count for something?
Apparently not, Ethan thought, remembering the pained smile on her face as her friends had comforted her. She didn’t want him here at all.
Aunt Cara came home a few minutes later, or maybe a few hours—he couldn’t tell. But at some point, through his fury, he heard the front door creak open, the radio volume go down, and his aunt murmur something to his uncle in a hushed voice. He saw her through his cracked bedroom door, grocery bags in arm, and felt her betrayal like a fist to the stomach.
Sensing his gaze, Aunt Cara turned sharply and met his eyes through the sliver of space between the door and the wall. Ethan shifted his glare to the floor with such intensity that he didn’t even hear her approach until she was already at his door.
“Ethan,” she pleaded. “Can I come in?”
Ethan nodded tightly, unable to keep his emotions from appearing in the furrow of his brows and set of his jaw. Aunt Cara slipped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. With one hand on her stomach, she lowered herself onto the desk chair.
“I saw you leaving the general store,” she said after a moment, her eyes on the floor. “I suppose—I suppose you heard what the ladies and I were saying.”
Ethan nodded again. He opened his mouth, ready to shout, but surprised himself when tears welled up instead. “Do you hate me, Aunt Cara?” he asked, voice wavering. “Does everyone here hate me?”
Aunt Cara’s face crumbled as Ethan turned away and swiped angrily at his eyes. She pressed her lips together and stared at the wall for a long moment before replying. When she did, her voice was shaky and almost imperceptible.
“I don’t hate you, Ethan,” she said. “Of course I don’t. But this—this is a complicated place. These are complicated times. The people here don’t know what to make of someone like you.”
Someone like you. Ethan looked up, meeting his own eyes in the mirror on his closet door. He took it all in: the curls on his head, the brown of his skin, the fullness of his lips, the wideness of his eyes. It seemed impossible that Aunt Cara, with her fair skin and golden hair, could be related to him in any way. He wished, suddenly and vehemently, that she wasn’t.
“If you don’t hate me,” he said slowly, “then why didn’t you say anything to them?”
Aunt Cara stared at the floor. “That’s complicated too.”
Ethan didn’t understand what was so complicated about telling those women off; he was no stranger to dealing with bullies. But he didn’t press his aunt. Instead, he hunched his shoulders and stared down at his knees. He still felt angry and sad, but tired most of all. Exhausted.
“I don’t like it here,” he said after a moment. “I don’t understand why I have to be here.”
“I know, sweetie.” Aunt Cara shook her head. “I know. And I’m so sorry. I wish I could make it different for you.”
You could have, Ethan thought, if you’d just told your friends that they were wrong. He said, “Wishing doesn’t change things.”
Aunt Cara looked him in the eyes for once, her eyebrows knit. “You’re right, I suppose. And I am sorry. For everything you heard. Sad to say, that’s just the way it is around here.”
Ethan was taken aback by her easy complicity but didn’t voice it. Instead, he shrugged. He didn’t speak again until Aunt Cara stood and asked if he’d like a chicken sandwich for lunch. Then he said, “Sure.”
As she left the room, Ethan called after her, “Aunt Cara? I’m sorry you’re stuck with me.”
She looked quickly over her shoulder, her expression so sorrowful that Ethan had to look away. “Oh, sweetie, no,” she murmured, fingers rising to her lips. Then she released the door handle, letting it swing quietly shut.
Four
True to her word from that first day in the Malt, Juniper Jones did, in fact, see Ethan soon. She strolled into the shop that Monday morning in a flourish of checkered fabric that startled Ethan from his sleepy reverie. He hadn’t slept well the night before, tossing and turning as he ran Aunt Cara’s words over and over in his head. That’s just the way it is around here. And yet this, here, was where his dad sent him to learn the consequences of his actions. This, in his father’s eyes, was what he deserved.
Shame and fear had weighed heavy on him all night, and now as Juniper approached, he could hardly manage a smile. She didn’t notice—she seemingly started talking before she even walked through the door. By the time she reached the counter, she had finished her sentence. She stared expectantly at Ethan.
“Come on, Ethan Charlie Harper,” she said, after a second passed without his response. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already.”
This, despite everything, drew a laugh out of him. Ethan already knew that Juniper Jones would be impossible to forget. He shook his head. “You were talking too fast. What’d you ask?”
Juniper sighed theatrically. “I asked,” she said, “what the special of the day is.”
Ethan blinked at her. “Special of the day?”
“Yeah, you know—the hot new flavor, one day only, get it before it’s gone.” She shaped her voice into that of a radio-commercial broadcaster, throwing out her arms for emphasis.
“We don’t really do that here.” He pointed up at the menu on the wall behind him. “Those are your options.”
He was sure that she, a loyal customer, knew this well. Still, she was unfazed. “Sure you do that here,” she insisted. “Look at all these ingredients you’ve got. You could make the best special of the day the world has ever seen.”
“I don’t really know how I would—”
Juniper reached across the counter, cutting him off with a hand to his arm. “Try. Please?”
She looked at him so kindly, so imploringly, that Ethan wondered if she saw through his tired gaze, and knew, somehow, what he had heard in the general store the day before. It was this gentleness that compelled him to nod and murmur, “Yeah, sure.”
Juniper spun away from him, grinning. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with,” she said.
Ethan turned to the ingredients behind the counter—the ice cream in frozen tubs, the sprinkles and candy toppings, the soda fountain with its sugary flavors. He glanced once at Juniper, who had moved to examine the jukebox, and shook his head.