His parents and aunt and uncle had just looked at one another, probably marveling at the dumb kid they’d raised. Sometimes, getting them to listen felt a little like flipping tractor tires—they seemed to think that the more things changed, the more things ought to stay the same inside the Lucky Star. Just like the good ol’ days.
That was the crux of the problem—the Star had remained exactly the same for seventy years because the regulars liked it that way. And so did the owners. But many of the regulars were dying or had been pushed out of central Austin by rising costs, and the new people moving in were not coming into the shop to take their place. The new people were young and hip and biked to work and took spin classes and cared about the environment and marched for social causes on weekends. They were used to technological conveniences, they didn’t eat a lot of pie and cake because of the carbs, they refused food that wasn’t free of GMOs, and why would they ever stop in at the Lucky Star for a cup of coffee when they could order ahead to a ubiquitous Starbucks?
Jonah had optimistically believed they could reinvent themselves and remain an Austin institution. That all it took was some understanding of their market. He’d tried different things, like improving the Wi-Fi. He’d tried to get the word out using social media—he and Amy had opened accounts and she tried to keep up with them, but it was hard to do on top of her job. They advertised fun pastries, like their twist on Taco Tuesday—taco-shaped fried pies. Nothing worked. The verdict rolled in every month when he did the books—he had not saved the Lucky Star. Not even close.
Jonah did not see a way out. After the holidays, it was his intention to recommend to the family that they sell. The land they were sitting on was so valuable that they could all live comfortably for the rest of their lives. Why worry about the shop when they didn’t have to?
When Allen asked him how it was going, Jonah thought of the holiday, of the good time he was having, and of the great job offer he’d just gotten, and how he’d really just rather have more wine and forget about it. Unfortunately, he couldn’t forget about it.
He said, “You know Billie Salazar? She owns that vintage clothing store up the block from the Star?”
Allen and Andy nodded in unison.
“She said the new building they are finishing up across the street from our place is a Deja Brew flagship store.”
Allen and Andy dropped their jaws at the same moment.
“I know, right?” Jonah didn’t have to tell them what that meant—the New Age coffeehouse, a Starbucks on steroids, was relatively new in Austin. They had every coffee gadget one could imagine, and even a couple he couldn’t imagine any use for. Even their seating was trendy—instead of the usual setup of bistro tables and chairs, they had egg-shaped basket seating suspended from the ceiling.
They had an actual lending library at each of their stores. They featured the work of local artists on their walls and functioned like a local art gallery. They had garden seating at all locations, strung with lights, dotted with flowers and small Zen garden fountains, and on weekends, they featured local musicians. Their coffee was fair trade, and Jonah couldn’t even think about their pastries—all locally sourced ingredients, no GMOs, gluten free, and keto friendly.
“If a Deja Brew is going in across the street, we’re sunk. No way we can compete with that.”
“We need an order-ahead app,” Andy suggested.
They needed a whole lot more than a single app. “There isn’t any money for that sort of thing. The bottom line is that there is just too much competition for the millennials—every gym and bank has a coffee shop now, and all of them are cooler than the Star.” Jonah paused and looked at his plate. “I think we ought to talk about selling. The land is worth so much, we’d all be set for life.”
“Sell it?” Andy seemed dumbstruck.
“Think about it. Your parents are moving to Chicago to be near you. Dad’s been sick. Mom can’t keep making pies all her life.”
The brothers looked at each other, then at Jonah. “What did Mom and Dad say?” Allen asked.
“I haven’t told them. I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Your parents aren’t going to sell, Joe,” Allen said. “It’s in their blood. Not to mention they associate Jolie with the Star.”
Jonah was on the verge of saying that Jolie had been dead for more than twenty years, but his phone buzzed. “Sorry,” he said, and pulled it out of his pocket as the waiter picked up their plates. It was a text from Harper.
Sorry to be a pain . . .
“I can’t imagine selling it,” Andy said. “That seems too drastic.”
But you got what looks like a very important message from someone in your contacts named . . . Boobs?
“Oh hell,” Jonah muttered.
“What?” Andy asked.
Jonah showed his cousins the text.
Allen stared at the screen. “Boobs? You put a woman in your phone as Boobs?”
“No, she did.” It had been a private joke that he couldn’t remember anymore.
“Where is this Boobs? Why haven’t we ever met her?” Andy wanted to know.
“Because she was no one to me and it was a long time ago. I met her at a party. She was a little drunk, unnaturally endowed, and proud of it. We hung out that night and I told her I’d help her move, and she put her number in my phone like that.”
“Why are you always helping people move, man?” Allen asked.
Jonah ignored him and typed a response to Harper. Well, this is totally embarrassing. What is the message?
A picture of the text in question popped up: a string of purple eggplants and a Hope to see you in the new year tag. Unbelievable. Jonah hadn’t talked to or seen Tamara in a couple of years, and honestly, he’d never done anything but help her move. Well, and help her get her car fixed. And find her cat a new home because the new place wouldn’t take cats. Now he remembered—their very brief acquaintance had been a lot.
Heartwarming. In my defense, she is just an acquaintance, he texted. But the moment he sent it, he knew that made him sound like a jerk. I mean, she entered her contact info into my phone. She thought it was funny.
And now he sounded defensive.
And I thought it wasn’t any big deal because . . . What was he doing? He backed up, deleting that. He sighed and texted, Curious—how deep is the hole I’m digging here?
The balloon with the three dots popped up at the bottom of the screen. I’m going to say about a foot so far. I’m actually more concerned with this. She inserted a smiley face emoji and then forwarded a picture of him from last Halloween that she’d obviously taken off his photo roll. He and Amy had gone to work as the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, complete with crowns and sashes. Only he was the duchess and Amy was the duke, and his enormous dog, Truck, wore a plume like a horse.