It Started with a Dog, page 22
God help her, but she didn’t want to lose him.
She didn’t realize she was on the floor in her living room until she pressed her face into the couch so that Bob wouldn’t see her tears.
It was too late. Bob had finished his inspection of her small apartment. He fit his body half on her legs and half on the floor, licked her arm, then with a snort, lay his head against her belly.
He stayed there, allowing Harper to stroke his half-ear, until Harper had cried all the tears she needed to expend.
That night, she and Bob ignored his throne dog bed. He slept with her, his body pressed reassuringly against her side.
Twenty-One
It was a bad day when you woke up still in love with someone but so mad you couldn’t think clearly. And Jonah couldn’t think clearly because he couldn’t figure out why he was so mad at Harper.
Yes, she was confident in what she was doing. But he’d called her arrogant. Yes, she’d been a little insensitive about the differences between her shop and his. But that didn’t mean she was wrong. Hadn’t he told his family the same thing? They needed to update? To stay in touch with what was popular right now?
He was mad in general, at a life that was not his, that seemed to belong to his family when he wanted it to belong to his career and to Harper, and none of those things—none of them—were compatible. They were a Venn diagram, and in that tiny part in the middle, the only intersection between his career, the Lucky Star, and Harper was him.
So what was he going to do about it? Mope? Remain angry for reasons he couldn’t even state?
He hoped not, but this morning he was moving in something of a fog. He wandered into the kitchen for coffee, feeling a little like he’d been mowed down. He hated fighting, hated being at odds with Harper. He wanted to laugh with her and talk about their lives. He wanted to hypothesize with her as to why Bob was grumpy and Truck such a goof. He wanted to come home to her and wake up to her and solve work problems with her and share what they’d been like as seventh graders and college students and how they envisioned themselves when they grew old.
She was the first woman about whom he’d ever actively imagined those mundane things in a life spent together. He wanted that . . . but the reality was she was trying to get a promotion that would take her to another city. And he was hoping to turn the Lucky Star around so he could be in Spain for six months. Their souls were compatible, but their lives were not. Could they survive this weird competition between them, and then live separate lives?
Not knowing the answer made him angrier.
He felt uncharacteristically angry at everything this morning. Angry that his parents needed him like they did. Angry that Harper didn’t need him. Angry that he was having to make choices about his life because of all that oppressive need juxtaposed against the desire to be needed but then resenting the need, and dammit, what was the matter with him? He leaned his head against a cabinet and closed his eyes.
What was the matter with him was that he had fallen in love and there wasn’t room for that in his life right now. He could design a satellite to launch into space for years, but he couldn’t figure out how to maneuver through his personal life.
One thing was certain—he was not going to let the Lucky Star go down without more of a fight. That was at the center of all his troubles. If he could just turn it around, half his problems would be solved. One circle removed from that fucking Venn diagram.
He looked at Truck. “Listen, buddy. We’re going to make a couple of changes around here.” And he told Truck what they were. Truck listened with rapt attention, and if the wag of his tail was any indication, he was very excited about the changes.
* * *
The rain was gone, but north winds made it bitterly cold when Truck and Jonah drove to the Star for the standing Sunday afternoon weekly meeting with the family.
As usual, his family was gathered in the private dining room, bundled up in the thick, cable-knit sweaters that came out once or twice a year.
“Joe, my wonderful son,” his mother called in greeting as Truck raced around the table, looking for fallen morsels, moving furniture with his tail and his unwieldy frame. “Come and sit. Belinda made King Ranch chicken for us today.”
Jonah took a seat at the head of the table, shrugged out of his coat, and tossed aside his knit hat. He ran his fingers through hair that badly needed a trim.
Amy was seated to his left, her feet propped up on the chair beside her, her nose in a book. His dad was at the end of the table with a cup of tea and his phone. He looked a little gray. “How are you today, Dad?”
His dad grimaced. “I wish everyone would stop asking me how I am. I’m fine.” Roy Rogers never liked anyone to fuss over him. He yanked up the Sunday edition of the Austin American-Statesman so he didn’t have to look at anyone.
Uncle Marty looked up from the new jigsaw puzzle they had working on the table and nodded at Jonah.
“Where’s Burt?” Jonah asked.
“He said he was going to Wheatsville Co-op to pick up a few things.” Amy turned a page in her book. “Italian tomatoes or something.”
He would have to proceed without Burt, then, but he’d catch him up. “We need to talk about last night.”
“That sounds like we had a fight. Did we have a fight?” his mother asked, looking up from her needlework. From where Jonah sat, it looked like a leprechaun.
Before he could answer, his aunt swirled in with a casserole dish. “There’s my favorite nephew! Ooh, sweetie, did you just roll out of bed? You need a shave.” She put the casserole dish in the middle of the table. “Hey, everyone, I thought, given how cold it is, I would make some hot toddies. Anyone interested?”
“I am!” Amy’s arm shot straight up.
“Me,” Marty said.
“Well, don’t leave out me and Roy,” Jonah’s mother said. “Joe?”
“No thanks. Belinda, can it wait a minute?”
“Why?”
“I would like to discuss last night with everyone.”
“We all know what you’re going to say, Joe,” Marty said, and fit a piece of the puzzle into place. “You’re going to tell us there is no way we can compete with Tiny Pies and we need to sell more coffee. It’s not rocket science. That’s your other job.”
“I wasn’t going—”
“I don’t think we have to compete with Tiny Pies,” his aunt interrupted. “Darlene has cornered the pie market on this street. I think it’s more about those silly foo-foo drinks. We aren’t a foo-foo drinks place, especially if there isn’t a shot of vodka in them. We’re more meat and potatoes here.”
“There is not one item on our menu that is meat and potatoes,” Marty countered.
“Burger and fries,” Amy said.
“Besides that.”
“And there was the time we did the roast beef and potato special—”
“Okay, Amy, sometimes we are meat and potatoes,” Marty said impatiently. “I’m trying to say that we are a cross between a coffee shop and a diner.”
“Call it what you want, Marty, but we don’t do the foo-foo thing, and that seems to be what all these young people want,” Jonah’s mother said. “I like it. Those frappes were delicious. But I agree with Belinda, a little bit of vodka would have gone a long way.”
“What are you saying, Darlene? You think we ought to sell?” Marty asked. “Or we ought to sell frappes?”
“That’s not what I am saying at all, but I’ll be honest, I’m beginning to wonder if Jonah wasn’t right to begin with.”
“Wait,” Jonah said, putting up both hands. This had gotten away from him fast. “That’s not what I am going to say. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I was wrong.”
“What?” Amy’s feet came down from the chair where she’d stacked them with a bang. “You’ve been telling us to get ready to sell for months!”
He suddenly had everyone’s attention. Belinda slid into a seat beside him, her eyes wide with alarm.
“I know,” Jonah said. “Trust me, if you spent fifteen minutes with our books, you’d recommend the same thing. But last night, I had an epiphany.” He looked around at them. “We are the home team here,” he said, jabbing his finger into the table. “We are the ones who have been up and operating in Austin since before Austin was cool. Are we going to let a bunch of newcomers chase us out? Are we going to allow people who move to Austin in droves tell us this isn’t Austin anymore? That we have to look like that?” he asked, swinging his arm out and pointing in the direction of Deja Brew.
“No?” Amy answered uncertainly. She looked around at the other four. “Are you all hearing what I am hearing? Or is this a dream?”
“It’s not a dream. I’ve been looking at this wrong. We are the legacy,” Jonah said. “And we need to act like it. If Deja Brew thinks they can sweep in here and take all the coffee business, we should show them what we’re made of. We’re Austin. Not them.”
His proclamation was met with silence. Once again, Amy was the only one to speak up. “No offense, Jonah, but does this change of heart have anything to do with you dating the chick from Deja Brew?”
“The chick’s name is Harper Thompson, and no, it does not.”
Amy’s eyes narrowed.
“Not directly,” he said, giving in. “Okay, yes—but hear me out. We know we haven’t been doing so well for a year, and we’ve tried things . . . but we haven’t gone full-out attack on the problem. We haven’t really changed things up, or tried advertising, or challenged our business model. I’m starting to think we’ve been looking at this all wrong. I was trying to think of ways to get people in the door, but I wasn’t really thinking big picture. I look at what they’ve done, and I think we can do that and then some.”
“Well.” Belinda leaned back and folded her hands on her stomach. “I’m not going vegan, I’ll tell you that right now.”
“I’m not suggesting we go vegan. That is definitely not us.”
“It certainly isn’t,” his mother scoffed. “My grandmother taught me how to make pie and I’m not about to change now.”
Marty leaned forward, folding his arms on top of the puzzle. “So what are we talking about here?”
“Just off the top of my head, better signage,” Jonah suggested. “Maybe instead of snowmen in the window, we put up something that says what we have with some excellent prices. I think a two-dollar cup of coffee might look pretty good compared to the prices across the street. We get some new signs made, something like, Our pies aren’t tiny and they’re free.”
“They’re free?” his father asked. “I thought you said it wasn’t cost-effective.”
“It’s not. Not yet anyway. But Mom was right—it gets people in the door. The only reason we had any sales this week to speak of is because of that offer of a free slice of pie. So maybe it’s costing us a little more right now, but in the long run, if it gets people in the door, they’ll come back for food and coffee. And I think it one-ups the frappe station across the street. I say we run with it, see if we can build on it. If it doesn’t work out after a month, fine, we go another route. If it does work out, great.”
“Fine with me,” Aunt Belinda said. “If it will help us save the Star, I’m all for it.”
Jonah could feel Truck’s hip against his foot. “And I think we get a dog.”
Truck’s tail thumped against the floor.
“We have a dog,” his mother said.
Truck’s tail wapped louder.
“I’m talking about the King Mutt competition. Listen, I know that bulldog across the street, and he doesn’t have the personality to win this contest. But he’s going to be a draw. For every person that goes to see that bulldog, we ought to have a cuter, friendlier dog over here.”
“But Truck—”
“Definitely not Truck. I’m talking about sponsoring a rescue from the ACC in the actual King Mutt competition. We refresh our menu, we invest in better signage, we take the crossword down, we study the situation, get a dog, and plan our attack.”
Again, no one spoke. He wondered if he’d made his case too well for selling the Star, because he could feel the reluctance around the table. “Come on, guys,” Jonah said. “You want to save the Lucky Star, don’t you?”
“Yes.” That yes was uttered by Jonah’s dad and earned everyone’s attention.
“I thought you of all people would be against it,” Marty said.
“I’m all for it, since I’m the reason we’re in this mess.”
“That’s not true, Roy,” Jonah’s mother said.
“Look, back when I was getting chemo, I thought we ought to sell and take our money and go. But I don’t like that upstart pushing us out. So I say we listen to Jonah and try again.”
“Well, I agree, and for purely selfish reasons,” Amy said. “Who else is going to hire me full time and then make me an honorary member of the family?”
“No one,” Jonah said with a wink.
“Exactly. And what other option do I have? Get a job at Deja Brew and make frappes all day?” She visibly shuddered. “No thank you.”
“I’m in,” Jonah’s mother said. “But we need to talk about the menu. Burt doesn’t like change, but you know what’s popular right now? Tapas. They’re all over this town! Even the food trucks are selling tapas. We should tapas the hell out of our dessert menu.”
Jonah didn’t know how one could “tapas the hell” out of anything, but he would give anything a try. “You mean like a dessert sampler.”
“Yes, except that we call them tapas,” his mother said. “We don’t need Tiny Pies! We need tiny cakes and brownies and cinnamon rolls to go with our pies.”
“You know what else?” Marty asked, sitting up. “Those frozen coffee drinks are good, but they take forever to make. What if we had an express line over here? Guaranteed coffee in two minutes, including lattes and cappuccinos. You want to wait in line, go across the street.”
“I have an idea,” Amy said. “We don’t have swinging baskets, but we could do some rocking chairs. You can get them cheap from Wayfair. And I think they are more comfortable than those baskets.”
“What about a giveaway?” Belinda asked. “Our book club has been taking a ceramics class and they have been bringing in their own coffee cups. We could get them to make some for giveaways and pay them for the materials. They would be thrilled to be asked. And they’re very creative.”
Jonah got out his phone and started to make a list. “These are all great ideas. Why didn’t we think of this before?”
“Because now it’s a competition,” his dad said. “Sometimes you have to feel the fire to get inspired.”
“One more thing,” Amy said. She sat up, setting her book on the table. “I listen to the radio on my way into work. Deja Brew is advertising on the air. How do we get the word out?”
Jonah rubbed his chin. “I had an idea about that. I think we need to take something from savings and put it toward a publicity plan. We’re going to have to compete on a level playing field.”
“Our savings?” His dad snorted. “What savings? We’re surviving on fumes as it is.”
“Then the five of us pitch in,” Jonah’s mom said, gesturing to everyone but Amy.
“Point at me, too!” Amy insisted. “I’m in. Plus, my brother works as a printer and makes big signs. He can get us signs at cost.”
“Wait just a minute. Our personal savings?” Marty looked around at them with an expression of horror. “We need our personal savings to live. Belinda, we’re retiring in a couple of months.”
“No gain without risk,” Belinda said. “We’re up against Goliath here. It’s going to hurt to tighten our belts, but what choice do we have? I think we should ask the boys to chip in. They have a stake in this, too.”
“What has gotten into all of you?” Marty demanded.
“Marty.” Roy drew his brother’s attention back to him. “You said just last week you didn’t want to lose this place.”
“Well, I don’t. I don’t want to lose what Belinda and I have saved, either.” He scratched the top of his semibald head.
“Marty, we have to be all in,” Belinda said. She put her hand on her husband’s knee and squeezed. “We’ve got enough money.”
“You always said the Rogers family is made up of winners,” Jonah’s mom pointed out.
“I never said that,” Marty scoffed.
“Well, maybe someone else said it, but the point is, we are,” his mother sniffed.
“Darlene is right,” Jonah’s father said. “Haven’t we always been in it to win it?”
“What about your health?” Marty asked. “You haven’t been feeling up to snuff.”
“Maybe this will get me there.” He grinned. “I’m not going without a fight, either.”
Marty sighed. “Okay.”
“Okay what?” Jonah’s dad pressed.
“Okay, I’m in it to win it,” Marty muttered.
“But not you, Joe.”
Jonah laughed. “What?”
“We try these things, but then you go back to work. I want your word that you will step down as soon as we get these things underway.”
“Dad, I—”
“No argument.” His father had mustered the voice that he’d used when Jonah was a kid and wasn’t listening.
“Okay,” Jonah said, for the sake of argument.
There was a beat or two as everyone looked around at one another, and then all of them burst out into cheers. In the years that would follow, the Rogers family would point to this day as the reason a black three-legged dachshund named Lulu came into their lives.
