The Solid Grounds Coffee Company

by Carla Laureano

  “Anyway,” Mari said, “this is going to be small by our standards. The kids and their significant others, a few of Mom and Dad’s siblings, and some family friends. Which still means fifty or sixty people, but you should see the family’s wedding receptions. Jackie had ten bridesmaids.”

  “That’s because she’s a Kappa Alpha Theta.” Ana turned to speak to Bryan over her shoulder. “Both Jackie and I went to USC, but I was never the sorority type.”

  “Really? I’m surprised. I’d think you would have joined and ended up president of your chapter.”

  “He’s not wrong,” Mari said.

  “I was just focused on getting through school,” she said. “Jackie and Helena have always been the social ones. Well, and Edward. Did he really take two girls to prom this year?”

  “Yep. Little Casanova. Smack him upside the head while you’re here, will you? He’s insufferable.”

  Bryan smiled as he listened to the banter between the sisters. This was something he’d never experienced himself, given the fact he was an only child, even though he often thought of Alex as a brother. Ana might think her big family was going to scare him off, but if they were anything like Mari, he had a feeling he was going to enjoy today.

  He watched the city slide by his window—wide streets, newer strip malls in desert colors of creams and browns and pale oranges, palm trees pretty much everywhere. Mari turned into a nice neighborhood filled with modest midcentury houses, tucked among lush greenery. She pulled into the driveway of a low-slung one-story set back behind a white iron fence, the street on both sides of the driveway filled with cars.

  “Here we are. Casa Sanchez.” She put the car into park and threw Bryan a grin. “Sure you’re ready for this?”

  “Couldn’t be readier.” He levered open the back door and climbed out, smoothing down his shirt, then opened Ana’s door for her. She sat there for a second, breathing in and out, and then took his hand to step out.

  He took the chance to pull her close and whisper in her ear, “Why do you look so nervous? Afraid I’ll embarrass you?”

  “What? No!” She dropped her head and muttered, “I’m afraid they’ll embarrass me.”

  “I’ll remember to ask your mom to pull out the baby pictures and get it out of the way then.” He squeezed her hand. “Relax. How bad could it be?”

  She laughed and stretched up for a kiss. “I’m going to remember you said that.”

  It wouldn’t make the right impression to arrive wearing Ana’s lipstick, so he bypassed her mouth and instead kissed her jaw just under her ear.

  She shot him a wry smile. “Come on. It’s now or never.”

  He followed the sisters up the cement driveway to a perfectly ordinary entryway, flanked by painted brick and featuring a polished oak door with a stained-glass insert. Mari walked in without knocking and announced, “They’re here!”

  Immediately, he could hear voices, and he trailed Ana inside. The smell of soy sauce and vinegar and cooking meat wafted from the kitchen, or maybe it was brought by the rush of people into the front room. He wasn’t sure where to look first, at the family members who were greeting Ana in a mix of English and Tagalog or at the house, which was simultaneously pristine and a time capsule of 1980s decor, complete with ivory sofas and rose-colored swag draperies.

  A petite woman, even shorter than Ana, pushed her way through the group and regarded him through her glasses with a frown. And then her face broke into a smile. “You must be Bryan. Welcome. I’m Ana’s mom, Flora.” She gestured for him to bend down and kissed him soundly on the cheek, enveloping him in rose-scented perfume.

  “I am. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Sanchez.”

  She linked arms with him and began to drag him toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Have you had Filipino food before? You’re going to love it. You’re not one of those trendy boys who doesn’t eat rice or soy or any of those things, are you?”

  “No, I eat everything.”

  “Oh, good.” She patted his arm. “Ana, your dad is in the back with Tito Orly and Carding. Ask him when he wants to turn on the barbecue.”

  Bryan threw her a helpless look, but Ana just grinned at him and headed for a side door, which he guessed was the exit to the backyard.

  The kitchen was as dated as the rest of the house, though it was just as impeccably clean and smelled even more strongly of soy sauce. An elegant-looking woman with her dark hair in a knot carefully fried chicken in a pan with a pair of steel tongs, a frilly apron tied over her slacks and blouse.

  “This is Ana’s boyfriend, Bryan,” Mrs. Sanchez said. “These are Ana’s aunts: Macaria, Marguerite, Marisol—yes, Mari is named after her—and Dolores.”

  Bryan smiled and nodded to each of the aunts in turn, though he was already wondering how he would remember them all. Then a tall, dark-haired Caucasian man came in through the sliding-glass door, holding a plastic tumbler. He went straight to Mrs. Sanchez. “Do we have any more Pepsi? Dad said there might be some in the garage.”

  “I’ll check,” she said. “John, meet Ana’s boyfriend, Bryan.”

  His expression turned briefly appraising and he shook Bryan’s hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, Bryan. I’m Mari’s husband.”

  He could have guessed that much, but he just nodded. “A pleasure.”

  “Come on, you can help me with the drinks.” He looked at the assembled ladies. “Mind if I borrow him for a bit?”

  “No, no, you go,” Macaria—at least he thought it was Macaria—said, not looking up from her chicken. Bryan followed John out of the room, down the hall, and then made a sharp left through a door into an empty garage where a large refrigerator was plugged in at the back.

  “A bit overwhelming, isn’t it?” John said, opening the refrigerator and pulling two-liter bottles of pop from the door.

  “They all seem nice.” Not that he would know in the thirty seconds he’d been there.

  “They are. They’re determined to be welcoming.” John chuckled. “This is the first English I’ve heard out of them all day.”

  “I appreciate that. Ana said you don’t speak much Tagalog?”

  “I’ve picked up bits and pieces, but you’ll notice Ana and her sisters rarely speak it unless they don’t want anyone to know what they’re saying.”

  “So if I hear my name and a bunch of Tagalog, I should worry?”

  “That just depends. You don’t have to understand the words to get the context. Here, take these.” He handed several bottles to Bryan and went back for more. “How long have you and Ana been together? Sounded like you were a bit of a surprise to everyone.”

  “Not that long, even though we’ve known each other for a couple of years. Her best friend is marrying my best friend.”

  “Ah.” John shut the door and adjusted his hold on the pop. “Don’t worry, the family is great. I don’t have any relatives here in California so they pretty much adopted me.”

  “How long have you and Mari been married?” Bryan asked.

  “Eight years. We met in school.”

  “You’re a nurse too?”

  “Physician’s assistant. Here, we can go out this side door to the backyard and bypass the auntie gauntlet.”

  Bryan followed John out the door, around the stuccoed side of the house, to the backyard. And stopped. He would never have guessed from the front, but it was something of a tropical paradise—large swaths of grass and a huge sparkling-blue kidney-shaped swimming pool. Mature foliage hid it from the neighbors, a cluster of palm trees in one corner, a pergola in the other. It was beneath the pergola that the men were hanging out, one of whom he could only guess was Ana’s dad. Ana was nowhere to be seen.

  John took it upon himself to make the introduction. “This is Ana’s boyfriend, Bryan. Bryan, this is Ana’s cousin Carding—um, Ricardo—and her father, Mr. Sanchez. Her uncle Orlando was just here a second ago . . .”

  Ana’s dad rose from his chair, not challenging but not exactly warm either. He was considerably
taller than Ana or her mother, just a shade shorter than Bryan, with a full head of black hair and a trim physique. He held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Bryan.” Ana’s dad had only a trace of an accent, his English bearing a clear American stamp. Bryan shouldn’t be surprised; Ana had said they’d moved to the US decades ago.

  “It’s my pleasure, sir. Thank you for letting me come along for your big day.”

  Mr. Sanchez smiled then, but it was an assessing sort of smile. He nodded toward an empty chair, which one of the other men had pulled up. “Have a seat.”

  Bryan did as he was invited. “It’s a beautiful day to sit by the pool. Believe it or not, there’s snow in the forecast in Denver next week.”

  “Are you from Denver?” Mr. Sanchez asked.

  “Born and raised. But I’ve traveled a fair amount.”

  “Have you ever been to the Philippines?”

  “I have, actually. In my former life, I was a rock climber.” He was loath to pull out his climbing career so soon, but there was no way to answer the question without doing so. “I climbed in Iloilo and Cebu for about two weeks, and then we went on to Thailand. I’ve been wanting to get back for years now.”

  “Well, maybe you will. Talk Ana into going back and seeing her extended family. Then again, we barely see her and she only lives a two-hour plane ride away.”

  Bryan wasn’t going to make the mistake of taking sides on this one. “She is pretty busy. She’s quite successful.”

  “Yes, she is. If you’re no longer a climber, what is it that you do?”

  So Bryan found himself telling Ana’s dad about the coffee farm and the roastery and what he wanted to do with the business long-term.

  “You know, Carding’s wife’s family owns a coffee plantation in Mindanao.”

  “Yes,” Carding broke in, “but they grow robusta, which isn’t in great demand for export. Mostly used locally.”

  “That’s interesting,” Bryan said. “As I understand it, farmers went away from the traditional variety and planted robusta because it was rust-resistant. But there’s a resurgence of interest in kapeng barako. . . . Any thoughts about maybe switching back?”

  Carding blinked at him, clearly surprised that he knew the Tagalog name. Thank goodness he’d been flipping through one of his coffee references a few days ago. “I’ll have to ask her if they have. I don’t know.”

  “There’s also the problem of direct export,” Mr. Sanchez said.

  “If you’re interested, I might be able to connect you with the exporter I work with in Colombia. They came out of a missionary organization, and there may be some interest in Mindanao.”

  That’s where Ana found him what could have been minutes or hours later, talking about coffee and farms and managing workers and the difficulty of import-export. Far from being unfriendly, Ana’s father and cousin were knowledgeable and eager to share their experience with him. But when Ana appeared, all the conversation broke off.

  “Happy birthday, Daddy,” she said, hugging him.

  He beamed. “I’m so glad you came. Sit down. Bryan was just telling us about his farm. He says you’re working with him.”

  “Just part-time to help him out,” she said. “Can I borrow him? Mom wanted help with the decorations. We still need to put the lights up on the patio.”

  Her dad waved a hand. “Leave them. I don’t need lights.”

  “Yes, but Mom wants lights.”

  Mr. Sanchez gestured with his head to Bryan. “You better go then. What my girls want, they get.”

  “And don’t forget it,” Ana said with a smile. She slid her hands into the crook of Bryan’s elbow and pulled him away. As soon as they were out of earshot, she said, “So that looked like it was going well.”

  “Why do you sound so surprised?”

  She shrugged. “It’s been so long since I brought anyone home, I didn’t know what he’d do.”

  “They were both really helpful. I came away with some new ideas and a possible new coffee supplier.”

  “Wow, you work fast. I’m sure you impressed him. My dad was a bank president. He knows more about commodities than I could possibly learn in a lifetime. He could probably quote you prices on coffee futures from memory.” She stopped before several large plastic bins, one of which contained a mess of twinkle lights. “My mom wants these strung up on the patio cover.”

  Bryan squinted at the lattice overhead. “Okay. I can do that. Do we have a ladder or a step stool?”

  “Nope.”

  “That might be slightly more difficult, then.” He looked around and found a patio chair that didn’t look like it would break under his weight. “What are you going to do?”

  “Tiki torches to keep away the bugs.” She picked up one from a bundle on the ground along with a small mallet. “It was either that or cooking, and trust me, you don’t want me to cook.”

  “Surely you can’t be that bad.”

  She fixed him with a look. “If you’re dating me thinking I’m ever going to feed you anything that didn’t start out frozen or pre-marinated, you’re after the wrong woman. You should have taken your chance with Rachel while you could.”

  Bryan laughed. “I never had a chance with Rachel.” There went that look again, this time with more heat, and he held up his hands. “Don’t worry, I’m dating you for your brains.”

  “Sure you are.”

  Bryan took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, then pulled her against him and gave her a brief kiss. “And your family coffee connections.”

  “Oh, is that right?” One more kiss, this time lingering a bit longer.

  The sliding-glass door rattled open and Mrs. Sanchez’s voice rang out. “Ana, can you come in here for a second, please?” The door slid closed again.

  Ana sighed and tipped her head against his chest. “This is her version of flicking the porch lights.”

  “It’s all starting to make sense now.”

  She chuckled and pulled away. “I better go. If I don’t look suitably abashed for smooching on the patio, she might not let us sit together.”

  Bryan laughed, but when Ana didn’t so much as crack a smile, he sobered. “Really?”

  “Don’t want to find out. Chop-chop with the lights.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He bent over the box and pulled out a jumbled string, which was going to take longer to untangle than it would to hang. When he straightened up, Ana’s dad was watching him with an unreadable expression.

  Back to best behavior. Definitely.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  HER MOTHER’S EMERGENCY turned out to be picking candles for her dad’s cake, or so she claimed. As soon as Ana dug out a pack of sparklers from the pantry, Flora started with a casual, “So, Ana . . . Bryan seems nice. Why haven’t we heard about him before?”

  Ana glanced around, looking for some distraction, but her aunts had everything well in hand. She wasn’t getting out of this. “We haven’t been dating for very long, Mom.”

  “But you brought him here, so you must like him.”

  She knew better than to volunteer anything that had not already been entered into evidence. “Yes, I do like him.”

  A little smile surfaced on her mother’s lips. “Does your father need to have the talk with him?”

  Tita Marguerite stopped wrapping a Pyrex dish with tinfoil and looked between them, suddenly interested. “Ano ‘talk’?”

  Ana jumped on the distraction. “You mean she never told you about the talk? Any time one of the girls gets serious with someone, Daddy sits the guy down and gives him a lecture on how he expects his daughters to be treated. And then gives him the third degree on every aspect of his life. I heard he practically wanted John fingerprinted and background-checked.”

  “Absolutely true,” Mari called from across the room.

  Flora looked over her glasses. “Well, you know, Ana, that was because of you. After . . . you know . . .”

  “Yeah, Mom, I know.” She sighed. It had only b
een a matter of time before her past came up, though in this case, she couldn’t help but think it might be warranted. “In answer to your question, though, no. I don’t think we’re at talk status yet. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Her mom shrugged, but it was clear she had hoped for something more. Some sign her eldest daughter was settling down. She’d just have to settle for the fact that Ana had brought someone home. By anyone’s standards, that was progress.

  Ana wandered back to the sliding-glass door, where she could watch Bryan untangle twinkle lights with a surprising amount of patience. She had no idea what she’d been so nervous about. Bryan charmed everyone, from her mother to her aunts to her dad, even if they weren’t about to allow them to be alone together.

  “What’s the deal with him?” Mari asked quietly at her shoulder, watching him too. “You haven’t mentioned anything about a boyfriend.”

  “You think I hired an escort for the weekend or something?”

  Mari shrugged. “The thought did cross my mind.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “No, but really . . . where did you meet him?”

  “Mutual friends. We’ve known each other for almost two years, and we’ve been dancing around it for a while, but things just finally . . . happened.”

  “Well, I like him. And I like the way you look at him.”

  “How’s that exactly?”

  Mari smiled. “I don’t know. You’ve always been so busy. But you get this kind of soft look and just stop and watch him. I have to believe he’s good for you.”

  Ana blushed, actually blushed. “I like him. He’s . . . himself. No pretension. What you see is what you get.”

  Mari looked doubtful. “No guy wants to be called simple, Ana.”

  “I didn’t say he was simple.” Anything but, actually. Every day she spent with him, she learned some new and surprising fact. “I just deal with image and perception all day, so it’s nice when someone is exactly who he seems to be.”