Eclipse Beginnings

**trigger warning: vulgar language, mention of death of family members by drunk driver**

I adjusted the box of solar eclipse glasses one more time, switching it with the display of individually wrapped biscotti. The impending solar eclipse was taking our city by storm for the past four days since we were located on the path of totality, with a 100% solar eclipse late this afternoon. 

“Callie, didn’t you already switch those twice already?” Monroe asked. Mo had been with me the longest. She was the first person I hired when I decided to expand our pastry menu and I never regretted the decision once. 

“I may have. . .but I can’t decide which side of the register has better visibility.” I pressed my fingers into my temples, knowing I was overthinking the placement. It was 4:30 in the morning, and we were getting ready to open in an hour and a half. Technically, I wasn’t even supposed to be here yet, but I woke up with so much nervous energy, there was no way I was going to be able to sleep. 

So, here we were. Me, a ball of anxious energy, and Mo a fortress of calm, directing her morning crew of sleepy college kids with ease. 

I closed my eyes, directing my focus on the gratitude I felt for my priceless pastry chef, then stepped away from the counter displays. Today was important, but pissing Mo and the rest of the team off was definitely not how I wanted to start the day.

Even if I hadn’t chosen to accept the invitation for The Brave Bean Coffee Company to be in the official eclipse tour guide, the location of my coffee shop alone would have brought tons of foot traffic. The shop was on a corner lot, with a quaint patio framed with wrought iron railing, and featured a brand new rooftop deck that debuted this weekend. 

Our offerings included eclipse-themed hot and iced lattes and various treats in addition to our standard menu. We adapted board games for a celestial-themed game night, had a themed open mic night called “From Darkness to Light,” and the musicians and poets outdid themselves. Finally, tickets for the patio and rooftop for the hour before and after the time of totality were sold in advance. Ticket holders received their choice of one drink, a curated box of treats, and swag bags with shop merch and coffee. 

“Everything is going to be fine,” Mo assured me. “All the food is prepped for the day, the machines are running well. Swag bags are packed and labeled, including extras in case of mishaps. We are well stocked in every area. None of the staff have called out. We have contingency plans for our contingency plans. Need I go on?”

I pressed my lips together and reeled in the desire to roll my eyes. 

“No, I know we’re in good shape,” I replied. Looking around to see if staff was nearby, I stepped closer to Mo and lowered my voice. “We just really need today to be a success.”

“Are things that bad?” she asked softly, worry etched across her brow. 

Monroe was my closest friend, and while I knew she was too observant not to have suspicions, she never probed me on the details of how the shop was doing financially. She accepted the generic speeches I gave the rest of the staff with grace, giving unspoken support despite the questions I knew she was dying to ask. Seeing the concern in her eyes now, I didn’t have it in me to not be honest with her.

“Yes and no,” I answered truthfully. “We were doing fine before the reno, but we wouldn’t have been much longer. Revenue has been plateauing starting last quarter and operating expenses and inflation are steadily rising. The shop needs greater profit margins in order to afford to stay in the neighborhood. We need additional streams of revenue giving customers more opportunities to linger beyond a cup of coffee and a single pastry.

“The rooftop deck can be rented out for private parties. We now have electrical outlets and track lighting installed in a corner of the main cafe for open mic nights. We can fill the calendar with special events like this weekend, using holidays and seasons as inspiration. We really need social media exposure to start a buzz that will have a positive ripple effect that goes beyond the weekend. Otherwise, the month that we were closed and my drained savings account won’t matter.”

“I understand.” Mo reached out and gave my hand a comforting squeeze. We both sighed and looked over at the framed picture of my grandparents on the wall, letting the nostalgia wash over us.

Inheriting their moderately successful coffee shop two years ago had been unexpected, but hardly a windfall. The Brave Bean had lived up to its name many times in its lifetime. It had survived three relocations, a handful of recessions, a transition from wholesale coffee purchasing to roasting beans in house, and a global pandemic. 

In a mood to celebrate their 55th wedding anniversary and the first year of roasting their own beans, my beloved grandparents had been on their way to the airport to fly to Florida for a Caribbean cruise when a drunk driver crashed into their Uber. 

All three occupants were killed on impact.

My entire family was confused when I was asked to attend the reading of their will. Confusion morphed into shock when it was announced that I was to inherit the shop. I was the middle child of their middle child - in no way a predictable choice. Before I could decide what it meant to me, chaos descended. Starting that day in the law office parking lot, my family began their campaign to get me to sell. 

I never thought twice about leaving my nomadic travel writer life to take over the shop, but the learning curve was steep. Fortunately, in the wake of such a devastating loss to the community, locals rallied and the shop saw unprecedented profits for several months. Those profits gave some leeway to learn the business. However, the world couldn’t be kept at bay forever. 

“But I also understand what you’re not saying,” Mo continued.

I  turned to her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“If this weekend doesn’t pay off the way you want it to, you believe that it means that your family, most specifically your mother, were right and leaving the shop to you was a mistake.” 

Monroe knew my family well since she and her husband lived next door to my grandparents. We’d met several times, and I knew my grandparents were planning to hire her once she graduated culinary school. 

I groaned at the accuracy of her statement, squeezing my eyes shut in frustration.

“You’re right. . .again. I just know she’s going to show up because she knows how important today is. I’ve been in therapy forever because of her, and no matter how much I prepare, I never walk away from any experience unscathed. I am worried she’s going to cause a scene that will ruin the day. She doesn’t care about the shop. She only wants the money she’d make selling it.”

My mother made no effort to hide the number of agents she spoke to, leaving business cards and fancy letters with nearly every staff member detailing the current estimated market value of the shop, waxing poetic about the uniqueness of the standalone building in the retail district of our eclectic neighborhood. 

Offers from relatives near and far also came through email, texts, and long-winded voicemails every few weeks. There was a time in the early days that I might have sold it if their reasoning was sound, but it wasn’t. Their rationalizations were petty and misogynistic, focusing on me being a 30 year old unmarried woman who didn’t own a house and “didn’t have a real job.” 

The fact that I was an internationally published, award-winning, and steadily self-employed freelance travel writer for the better part of a decade, while none of them owned their own business or worked in food service or hospitality was apparently irrelevant.

What my relatives were unaware of was that I probably had written over a million words inside the walls of The Brave Bean, including three of the five pieces I won prestigious awards for, and two of those three were written on the origin stories of phenomenally successful small businesses in the food and hospitality industry. 

I also owned a condo a few blocks away from the shop but since I wasn’t married, no one was interested where I lived, as though the only reason I was worth visiting was if I had a significant other to visit with as well. The absurdity of their assumption that I didn’t own property simply because I wasn’t married was so outrageous I opted to not correct anyone and allowed them to believe whatever they wanted.

“I actually hate that I’m right,” she said. “I hate that your family can’t be happy for you or proud of you. But I am. All the staff feel that way, too. So, let me worry about your mom, and you go back in the kitchen and finish morning food prep. Put on some Taylor Swift, and go shake it off.” 

“I can do that. Thanks my friend,” I replied and pulled her in for a hug. 

“Yeah, yeah, you love me. I know I’m awesome,” she huffed into my hair. “Now off you go!” Mo turned me by my shoulders and gave me a little push toward the kitchen. 

“Okay, I’m going!” I huffed with a chuckle. Once I got back in the kitchen, I washed my hands, put on a hairnet and my apron, turned up some Tay Tay, and got to work. 

The tinkle of the windchime over the front door announced the first customer of the day and revealed how long I had been at work. Satisfied with the morning preparations, I removed the apron and hairnet. Wiping my hands dry on a paper towel after washing them, I used my hip to open the kitchen door but froze mid-step when I saw who had walked in. 

“You are not welcome here,” I heard Mo essentially growl at the woman. Mo had stopped her just inside the door, and was now standing with her hands on her hips preventing any further advancement, distaste rolling off her in waves. I took a deep breath and stepped slowly from around the counter, walking as regally as I could manage. 

I halted once I reached Mo’s side, keeping my posture aloof despite my racing heart. Facing my mother was always unpredictable. Her unannounced visits often felt like an ambush, since she rarely had anything pleasant to say. 

Holding herself like a bitter Stepford wife in her floral print dress and pearls, clutching her handbag to her chest, wordlessly stared at us, no doubt waiting for an invitation to sit. 

An invitation we were never going to offer. 

“Phyllis, Monroe wasn’t speaking out of turn,” I said to the woman that birthed me. I stopped calling her “Mom” a long time ago, years before her parents died. “You aren’t welcome here. Please say whatever it is you came to say, say it quickly, then be on your way. We have a busy day planned, and don't have much time.”

“I haven’t even said a word, I don’t know why you are being so dramatic,” she sneered at me. “I can never win with you. You always get defensive. You don’t even know why I’m here.” 

“No, I don’t know why you are here, Phyllis. The last time I saw you, you proceeded to berate me and insult every single one of my career choices. I can’t remember the last time you paid me a compliment. So, why don’t you tell me why you’ve come?” Refusing to rise to the bait of the gas lighting was difficult, but I kept to the topic at hand. No customers had arrived yet, but very soon Monday morning commuters would be coming in droves. 

I had to get her out as quickly as possible.

“You are too sensitive. I’m sorry if my constructive criticism hurt your feelings. I was just trying to be honest.” 

“Phyllis, you are so full of shit,” Mo said deadpanned. “That is not an apology. You officially have sixty seconds to tell us why you’re here before we have you removed for trespassing.” It was all I could do not to start laughing when the look of shock overtook my mother’s features. For some reason, it was that look of shock that turned something over inside me. 

I was sick of capitulating to this family by staying silent, keeping my thoughts and feelings tucked away in the darkness of my heart and mind. 

No more. 

“Actually, I’ve had enough. You don’t even get the sixty seconds. You need to leave. Now.” 

My mother took a breath to respond, but I didn’t let her. 

“No, you don’t get to respond. There is nothing else to say. I don’t care why you’re here. For my own mental health and wellbeing, I’m no longer continuing a relationship with any member of this family. I don’t have to explain or justify myself. Every attempt to sabotage my success has been thwarted, every effort to overturn the will failed, and every piece of real estate propaganda left with my staff was immediately thrown away by that staff member without me ever having to ask them to do it because I have taken good care of them.

“The last few years were hard for me. I was grieving too, but none of you cared about that. Gigi and Pop loved me so completely and unconditionally. Losing them cut me deeply but I endured it and kept their dream alive. I worked my ass off to keep it going despite all of my family’s hopes that I would fail. It sickens me to think of all the space I gave you people in my head to live rent free with your petty grievances, turning a cheek time and time again. Well, I’m done turning my cheek, Phyllis.

“From this day forward, you are banned from the shop. Every attempt you personally make to enter the premises will result in you being escorted from the property by law enforcement. My staff and customers do not deserve to be subjected to your behavior. You can spread the word that your ban will extend to any other family member should they choose to take up your mantle. I’m not selling. Not now, not ever. You have nothing left here now. Goodbye, Mother.” 

I didn’t wait for my mother to even blink before I turned on my heel to walk back to the kitchen. As soon as I turned around, I saw my half dozen college staffers standing in a row with thousand watt smiles. Then, they began to clap. 

It was one of the most beautiful sounds I’d ever heard. 

I grinned back at them, and made my way across the cafe. I had to walk by them to get to the kitchen, and I'd be damned if they didn’t hold out their hands for high-fives. So, of course, I raised my hand and high-fived each one of them as I passed. I had just made it through the door when I heard Mo. 

“Well, you heard the lady. Out you go or we’ll call for some assistance to make you go.” 

I couldn’t help but hold my breath and wait to hear what my mother said. But the next thing I heard was the wind chime tinkling again above the door, signaling my mother’s exit from my shop. . .and my life. 

Now that was a beautiful sound.

Later that evening

“Holy shit girl, we did it!”

Mo and I were up on the roof, each stretched out on a part of the large sectional outdoor sofa in a corner. It was sometime after nine o’clock and we were exhausted. The only breaks we had were catnaps on the tiny loveseat in my office. The shop was closed and the staff were bustling about working on end of day tasks. They sent us up here with a bottle of cheap champagne to relax under the twinkle lights strung above our heads. 

“Hell yeah, we did,” I replied as I lifted my paper coffee cup to hers to tap in toast. 

My accountant probably wouldn’t have a final tally of the sales from the eclipse weekend for another week, but I figured we served more people this weekend than we had in an entire month. I did some networking with other local business owners that are excited about the rooftop space for future events, and Mo made some connections for small group breakfast catering options. 

There were even a handful of social media influencers from across the country that assured us that our roof would soon be “the place” for Instagram selfies and encouraged us to consider a monthly coffee subscription service with influencer affiliates. The staff were ecstatic when I told them, and I even had a few tell me they would help me if I could make it an internship opportunity and write recommendation letters when they graduate. 

I marveled at the way the day evolved. I started out anxious and full of no small amount of dread out of fear of my mother. Then, I basically told my mother to fuck off in front of most of my staff. From there, Monroe and I made plans for a future we could never have dreamed of a month ago. 

The Brave Bean Coffee Company yet again lived up to its name, being the perfect setting as we bravely faced the darkness, having faith that the light of a new beginning would eclipse the shadows of our past.