Friendzoned (The Busy Bean)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “You sure you’re okay?” Zara asked from behind me.

  When I nodded and turned around, she handed me a Bean T-shirt and told me to change in the back. It was the first shift I’d worked without wearing one of my out-of-place expensive aprons.

  Roderick and Zara let me be for my shift, giving me the space I needed to work mindlessly with my hands. Every so often I caught a weird glance from a customer or a pitying look from Zara, but I ignored it all.

  Until now, when I walked in the door of my place after Roderick came to the rescue and dropped me off at home.

  Moving automatically, I made sure to shut all the blinds and leave the lights off, wanting to sob in peace. I couldn’t even look at myself. Smelling like coffee grinds and Chanel No. 5, I burrowed into my pillow, allowing hot tears to flow for the first time since Ben stoically walked out of the inn the night before.

  Of course there wasn’t an emergency. Even I knew that. He left because he despised my parents and me. Why wouldn’t he? We were a selfish, self-centered bunch, and he was the most selfless person I knew.

  I’d texted him this morning as soon as I woke up. With one eye open and before having any coffee after a mostly sleepless night, I sent two words.

  I’m sorry.

  Not that I expected a response from him, but my heart ached at the lack of one. No text, no call, no pop-in at the Bean, nothing. Not that I expected any of it.

  My tears drenched the pillow beneath my head, and I let them continue to fall. I didn’t even care what I looked like, sure that my eye makeup was smeared all over my face, and my skin was probably blotchy.

  I wasn’t sure how long I lay there like that, but when my phone rang, I jolted up, hoping it was Ben, but wasn’t surprised to see it was my mom. I considered screening the call, but she’d only call back.

  “Mom?” I said tentatively.

  “Murphy, I only have a minute,” she said, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Dad and I have to leave now. We thought we’d be able to stay one more night, but it looks like he needs to meet with a donor in the morning, back in the city. Well, we didn’t mention we were coming here. We thought it would make bringing you home even sweeter.”

  What she didn’t say was it would be the ultimate feel-good story for the press.

  “It’s okay,” I murmured, my voice hoarse and strained.

  “You should be coming back with us,” she said.

  I’d told them over breakfast I wasn’t interested in the trust position or coming back to New York. Not now, or ever. “I’m paving my own way,” I’d said.

  This announcement was met with a series of objections, followed by, of course, pronouncements about Ben being a bad choice for me. In fact, his being a doctor was a negative in their eyes because he’d constantly be called away for emergencies. “You need someone who’s available to you,” they’d said.

  “I can’t, Mom. Like I told you, I have commitments here. I like it here.” It was the first time I’d said it aloud, and it was true. I liked Vermont and all its small-town hippie-dippyness.

  “What? Making coffee? Running book clubs? That’s what you like?”

  Breathing a sigh of relief that there wasn’t a book club until next Friday, I said, “Safe travels,” to my mom and disconnected the call. I was a disappointment to them, and now I’d lost Ben.

  Curled into a ball on my bed, I continued to cry, feeling like the worst kind of failure.

  The phrase too little, too late kept running through my head. I’d made fun of Vermont and then put Ben in the back corner when it came to my parents. After all, I was well-practiced at putting Ben in his place after Pressman.

  Still clutching my phone, I typed another text to Ben, feeling awkward because I’d never begged someone for forgiveness before.

  I’m sorry. I was wrong. You planned something special for my birthday, and I acted like a small child. Please, Ben, call me.

  Ben’s absence hurt so much, it felt like my heart was stuck in the coffee-bean grinder at work. I needed him to call me, but somehow I knew he wouldn’t. Pride would keep him from coming to me.

  A while later, I fell asleep with my palm massaging my chest where my heart lived, and my head pounding over Ben’s silence.

  Monday, I pulled up to Hunnie’s shed, a constant punishing pain in my gut. I’d worked Saturday and Sunday, hoping for a glimpse of Ben, but he never showed his face.

  Roderick bombarded me with questions about where I came from, what my parents did, and what life in New York City was like . . . until he noticed I wasn’t up for small talk. It might have been the death glare I gave him while slicing a piece of pound cake for a customer.

  “You’re here bright and early,” Hunnie said, greeting me from her tiny porch. Funny how her she-shed was small in size but big on personality, just like she was.

  I was wondering if there was anything notable about me when Hunnie shouted, “Wait until you taste this honey with rose petals. It’s going to go perfect with the pale pink cupcakes. That book cover was so much fun to work with.”

  Approaching, I tried to smile. “It was a great book. Layton worked so hard to get Charli to like him just for himself, but then he realized he couldn’t force it.” I recounted part of the story To See You, leaving out how the characters finally got their happily ever after.

  I crossed the threshold into Hunnie’s and collapsed in my favorite velvet chair.

  “Here,” she said, spinning around from the counter. With a spoon of honey in hand, she walked toward me. “What do you think?”

  Taking the spoon, I tasted it with a lump in my throat and tears threatening to fall. Thankfully, Hunnie was as talkative as ever.

  “Colleen said Cosette’s is booked solid for Thursday. I ran into her at the Kwikshop yesterday. Everyone wants watercolor nails like Bubble Bath from Essie, and some shade of pale blue and mint green, specifically.”

  I smiled, but it didn’t feel as natural as it normally would. I’d ordered some nail polish samples for Colleen of pale watercolor shades but never imagined it would explode like it had. I didn’t think Colebury had ever seen a manicure revolution like this.

  “Hey.” Hunnie stood directly in front of my chair, hovering over me.

  “What?” I looked up, swallowing the tidal wave of emotion about to pour from me.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, still towering over me.

  I waved her off. “Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

  Clearing my throat, I tried to channel the emotional stifling my mom had drilled into me, but there was nothing there. Even in my reserves.

  “Ben . . . it’s over,” I managed to choke out.

  “What?”

  “Stop saying what. We were bound to end. It wasn’t going to work.”

  “Murphy, don’t say that,” Hunnie said, pulling her legs underneath her and throwing her braid to one side.

  “We were—are—too different. I’m from a world so different from this one, a world I don’t even understand. There are spoken and unspoken rules, and no matter how hard I try to let them go, I can’t. Keep in mind, they’re stupid and ridiculous rules, yet I still feel like I need to follow them.” I paused to sniff back tears. “And Ben, he’s too real. Too good, too . . . too . . . too better for it,” I said, rambling. “I’m not even making sense, but you get what I’m saying. I’m part of one world, and Ben is too special for that world.”

  “Zara mentioned your folks coming in,” Hunnie said with a frown. “I should have assumed it meant disaster. You didn’t say they were coming, and Zara said it felt like a surprise, even though she stressed she was trying to mind her own business. I thought maybe when I texted you a happy birthday, you would have mentioned their visit or what happened, or the cake Gigi made for Ben. She’s been waiting like a pig in heat to hear.”

  “It was awful.” I proceeded to explain the whole debacle to Hunnie, ending with, “Now you see why I didn’t mention anything over text? It was better for me to say I w
as busy with work or whatever, because opening my mouth is a land mine of awfulness. Oh, and we never had the cake.”

  I pulled the blanket out from underneath the coffee table and wrapped myself against the emotional chill.

  Hunnie patted the blanket over my arm. “Oh, sweetie. That’s horrible, but your mom and dad, they’re something otherworldly. You’re nothing like them, and I’m sorry you need to deal with that. You shouldn’t. My advice is to break away. It sounds harsh, but my grandma, the one who called me Hunnie, was a wise woman.”

  She gave me a wink, trying to make me laugh.

  “Grandma used to say you need to evaluate what’s sweet in your life and hold on to it extra hard, even if it’s slippery. And when something is bitter, you toss it away like a spoiled lemon. I know they’re your parents but they’re bitter for you. As for you and Ben, I’ve never been in love, so I’ve got nothing for you other than he’s sweet, so you need to hold on to him.”

  This actually made me laugh out loud. “Oh God.” I grabbed my temples, trying to massage away the tension. “I can’t believe you’re my boss.”

  “Boss-ish,” Hunnie said. “After all, you’re only an intern.”

  “Either way, this discussion is silly because we’re not in love. Ben likes me and I like him, but it’s just a thing. A fling for old times’ sake.”

  “Huh-uh. You’re in love, honey. Like golden honey infused with lemon basil, you two go perfectly together. Absolutely perfect.”

  I shook my head, but maybe . . . could we be? “Maybe that’s why this hurts so much?”

  “That’s likely, honey bear,” she said, moving to the arm of the chair where I was sitting so she could run her hand down my back. “Look, it’s not your parents’ actions Ben’s blaming you for. That much I know about him. He doesn’t judge people about where they come from.”

  “I know that all too well,” I said.

  “Sounds to me like it’s your problem to solve. Ben believes in the good in all people, especially you. Maybe he doesn’t get why you can’t see all the best parts of you and break away? I know I can’t understand it. You’re amazing, Murphy—giving, caring, warm, and real. You need to see the good in yourself and stand up to your parents, which it sounds like you did.”

  Fresh tears broke out at her words. “All my life . . . my family, the other kids at Pressman, college friends and coworkers at Columbia, nobody made me feel like I was filled with good. Thank you, Hunnie.”

  She pulled me in for a giant hug—something else no one ever did for me—and held me tight.

  “Now, you need to strategize how you’re going to get your guy back. Maybe some honey and a paint brush and no clothes?” She winked again, adding, “Gigi can give you some tips.”

  I smacked Hunnie playfully on the shoulder and stood. “Let’s get through book club before you dive into all your sexual suggestions. I need some time to think about this. Obviously, it’s my responsibility to make things right.” I sniffed back snot and salty tears, trying to compose myself. There was no question my skin was blotchy as hell.

  “Attagirl. Now, something came to mind when I mentioned lemon-basil honey. You know what that is?”

  With Hunnie, I had zero ideas. “Should I be afraid?”

  “No way, girl, you should be happy. I was thinking hot toddies made with lemon-basil honey.” She stood and was whipping up a batch of her creation within moments of mentioning it. “By the way, what did you think of the rose-petal honey?”

  And that was Hunnie, right back to business as if I hadn’t just had an emotional meltdown. I needed to catch a dose of her joie de vivre.

  “It’s perfect,” I said, “and you know it.”

  This made her laugh and give me a bow.

  “Keep mixing,” I barked at her from the velvet chair. “I’m going to need several hot toddies for the liquid courage to even think about getting Ben back.”

  32

  Murphy

  With the next book club on the horizon and opening at the Bean with Roderick all week, the days passed in a haze of busyness while I constantly thought about Ben.

  He hadn’t stopped into the Bean for an Americano, or texted or called. There had been nothing from him. His face, his palm running down my arm sending shivers up my spine, his breath hot on my neck—so many memories of him were on repeat in my mind.

  My pulse beat at a frantic pace as I worried if he was okay with all of this. I assumed he was done with me, which hurt more than being cast out from my social circles in New York, or my parents turning their noses up at me.

  By Friday, I was so upset, I decided not to go home between my shift and the book club. I sat in the back of the Bean, moping and going over last-minute details. My hand shook so much while I was applying pale pink eyeshadow in the back room of the Bean, Roderick told me, “Snap out of it, Murph. Go get your guy. Period. Stop drowning in your own misery.”

  This made me laugh. At the very least, opening with Roderick granted me some much-needed laughter and a lot of home-baked sweets. I had a little extra curviness to my hips.

  “I have to get through this first. Apparently, reps from Essie and one of the big publishing houses checked out our posts on the blog from the last time, and they want to sponsor a book club.”

  Plopping into a chair, Roderick sighed. Wow, that’s big-time. You’re really doing it. You may not fly private, but you’re still making it big,” he teased.

  I shook my hairbrush in his face. “Quit it.”

  Looking down at my hands, I was pleased that my pale pink and blue nail polish had survived my coffee shift. I was ready to tackle book club.

  But stopping thinking about Ben, not so much.

  Walking out into the Bean, I spotted a crowd gathering in the corner. Everyone was dressed in watercolor shades of pink, blue, and lavender with copies of the book To See You tucked in their arms.

  Gigi had arranged the special cupcakes on one of the tables, and even Zara had gotten in on the fun, making pink-foamed lattes behind the bar. It was hard not to absorb the positive vibes filling the Bean, but then I saw Brenna, and my mood dropped like an elevator in a shaft.

  It had been over a week since I’d seen or heard from Ben, and almost two weeks since I had dinner with the Rooneys. Seeing Brenna hurt like losing a toenail right before wearing high heels. I know, because I lost one once before attending a fundraiser.

  “Hi, Murphy.” Brenna bopped over to me, smiling like nothing was wrong.

  “Hi,” I managed to choke out.

  She beamed at me. “This is so cool. Just like you said, but better. Way better. I’m so glad I came.”

  “Thanks. It’s something. A little twist on the mundane. A break from reality.”

  “This might be the most fun Colebury has ever seen,” Brenna said, swinging her arm out around her. “Usually on Fridays, I lay on the couch, exhausted from the week, mentally preparing myself for working on the weekends. But Branson deserves it. I need to work for him, you know?”

  I nodded, not sure what she was driving at. “He’s a good kid, and you’re a good mom. Seriously, one of the best I know.” I felt uncomfortable, not knowing what good could come of this conversation, but I needed to get back to the book club.

  “He gets into some trouble. It’s expected, but he’s a good kid. But I don’t want to talk about Branson. I really did come here to check this out, but I also wanted to chat about Ben.”

  Lowering her voice, she stepped closer. “I need him to let go of this obsession he has about taking care of Branson. It makes me feel like I can’t do it, and I’m his mom. Plus, Ben’s done enough. For the last month, since he started seeing you, he’s been happier and seemed to be finally living his own life, giving me some space. The last week, though, I’ve seen and heard from him too much. All his opinions on Branson and what he should do, where he should be aiming to go to college, what he shouldn’t do. Ugh, I can’t take it.”

  Brenna grabbed her forehead and met my gaze. “I’m so
rry. You don’t need me to dump this on you while you’ve got an event going on. But know this—you need to call Ben and try. He needs you. And honestly, without you, he’s going to run himself ragged trying to run my life. So, please, from the bottom of my heart, please go talk with him.”

  The words clogged in my throat. “I’ve tried, but he won’t talk with me. Ben is such a good guy, one of the best, but he doesn’t want me.”

  I knew she believed in her brother, but she was right. Ben needed his own life, so she could have hers. But there wasn’t much I could do about it.

  Brenna gave me a fierce look. “You need to fight for him. This is Ben we’re talking about. He’s always been a bit unsure of where he stood with people, at prep school and Harvard and then back here. He’s always been an outsider, and when he feels that way, he makes himself more of an outsider by stepping back.”

  I nodded. “Surprisingly, I understand this because . . . well, never mind. We have history, Ben and me. Also, you should know that I’ve been nearly squeezed to death by family before, and not for all the right reasons like Ben is doing to you. But either way, it hurts like a bitch. Pardon my French. Ben means well,” I said, defending the guy who hadn’t talked to me in over a week.

  “It does, though. Being squeezed hurts like a bitch. And I know Ben has a good heart, but sometimes it’s too good. Now, come on. Let’s go eat cupcakes and talk about romance books. That’s way better than this, but promise you’ll go see him.”

  I didn’t promise anything, but I felt my head nod.

  Then Brenna looped her arm through mine, and I noticed how skinny she was, her bony arms hidden under a silky lavender blouse. She needed to take care of herself. I imagined life was hard for a single mom to a teenage boy in rural Vermont, but Brenna didn’t strike me as the type who complained. I took all of her in with her chocolate-brown leggings, tan ankle boots that were scuffed and worn yet stylish, and her hair in soft waves.