Their new part-timer, Cynthia Wesson, was someone Elise never would have been friends with in high school. Cynthia was too self-assured, too outgoing. Elise wasn’t proud of the fact that she had once been intimidated by the popular kids, but she couldn’t help but remember it in the face of such a golden girl.
Cynthia was tall and slender with long-lashed brown eyes and shiny straight brown hair cut in a chin-length bob. Fern had learned during her interview that Cynthia was midway through school at Emory, that her family lived in Chatham year-round, and that she was spending the summer in P’town by herself.
“Why by herself?” Elise had asked.
“Probably to get away from her family,” Fern said. “I can relate.”
Cynthia was eager to learn, and Elise tried to muster up some enthusiasm as she demonstrated how things worked around the shop despite her sleep deprivation. Mira had woken up more than usual during the night.
Elise opened the wide bay windows to let in some fresh air.
“It’s amazing you found a location with such a clear view of the water,” Cynthia said, tucking her hair behind her ears.
“Yes, but not so clear today.” The morning had begun with the type of haze that would burn off quickly. At the moment, the fog and cloud cover matched Elise’s mood.
After Fern insisted that she send back most of the nursery furniture, the rest of their evening proved unsalvageable. Ruth texted that she and Olivia were taking Mira with them to a restaurant, and Fern argued that they should take the opportunity to go out to dinner, just the two of them. Elise reluctantly agreed to go to Strangers & Saints, a Mediterranean-style taverna that was one of their favorites.
Over a shared dish of pan-roasted chicken marinated in spiced pomegranate orange molasses, Fern steered the conversation away from any mention of Mira. Elise spent the entire meal pretending to care about plans for the Fourth of July, the logistics of the seaweed-tea venture, and a possible trip to the Boston farmers’ market together. Keeping her phone under the table, she periodically texted Olivia to check on Mira.
Later, in bed, when Fern reached for her, she turned away. When Elise awoke to Mira’s cries at two in the morning, Fern pretended to be asleep.
“So, we have two instant hot taps, one at a hundred and eighty degrees and one at a hundred and sixty degrees,” Elise said, motioning for Cynthia to follow her behind the counter. “This delicate green tea from Japan, for example, needs the lower temperature for brewing or the leaves bruise and get ruined. We have a list right here of the temperatures for each tea and another list for the number of tablespoons and brewing times for each blend.”
Cynthia took notes on a small legal pad.
“This time of year, most people ask for iced tea. We start the day with pitchers of four different iced teas, but customers can request any of our blends cold. They just have to be willing to wait a few minutes for them to steep. Do you ever get iced tea from a place and it tastes so weak it’s like barely flavored water?” Cynthia nodded. “We never want that to happen, so we double the measurement of tea for iced. But the brewing time and temperature remain the same.”
The door opened—a couple with a small child.
“Hi there,” Elise said. The woman smiled and studied the chalkboard menu. She eventually ordered the Sail Away blend, iced.
It was one of their most popular teas, but Elise didn’t have any iced that morning. She told the woman it would take just a few minutes to brew and motioned for Cynthia to watch her closely. “This is a black tea with bergamot, blue cornflower, and vanilla,” she said, opening one of the tins behind the counter.
“It looks so pretty,” Cynthia said.
“Yeah, the blue cornflower is mostly decorative,” Elise said, putting two scoops into a tea bag and pouring hot water into a metal cocktail shaker she used for quick brewing. “Take one of the plastic cups and fill ice to the top, almost overflowing.”
Cynthia filled the cup and placed it on the counter.
“Oh, I want only a little ice,” the customer said.
“It’s all going to melt down,” Elise assured her. “Trust me, we’ll probably have to add more before we’re done.”
The woman’s husband ordered a type of iced tea they already had prepared, and Elise let Cynthia handle it while she went to prop open the front door. The fog had lifted and the day was going to be beautiful.
When she was alone again with Cynthia, she said, “See? It’s all pretty simple.” At least, it was simple until they got a big rush. She hoped that wouldn’t happen before Fern came in later in the day. She was spending the morning back at the house, experimenting with blending tea with the kelp.
Elise didn’t want to think about Fern.
“So, you grew up in Chatham?” she said to make conversation.
“Yes, born and raised.”
“But you didn’t want to spend the summer there?”
Cynthia shook her head. “My parents are way too in my space and the town is just…it’s uptight. I like it out here. The people are so chill, all the artists. It’s so free.”
Yes, Elise remembered that sense of freedom when she’d first experienced Provincetown. Now, real life had caught up with her, and she felt the walls closing in.
“Plus, I had sort of a rough year. My boyfriend and I broke up. This just felt like a clean slate.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Elise said.
Cynthia shrugged. “The worst is over. But that’s why I really wanted to work here with you guys—brew some tea, calm music, a view of the water. It’s great.”
“Well, thank you,” Elise said. “We’re happy to have you.”
For the next few hours they fell into a rhythm with a steady, manageable flow of customers, a flow that was interrupted when Rachel appeared with Mira.
“Is it that time already?” Elise asked, caught off guard.
“I think so,” Rachel said, checking her phone. “You said Fern would be back here by now and you’d be done.”
“You’re right. I don’t know where she is. But it’s fine—thank you so much. I’ve got it from here.” She peeked into the stroller and found Mira wide-eyed and alert. She seemed to kick up her legs at the sight of Elise, and Elise’s heart flipped.
“I have to run—but I’m around later in the week if you need help,” Rachel called from the stairs.
“You’re the best,” Elise said, then shot off a text to Fern asking about her ETA. She moved the stroller to the far side of the shop and pulled Mira into her arms. “Hey there, little one,” she said.
When she glanced behind to offer some explanation about Mira to Cynthia, the girl quickly looked away. Had she told Cynthia they had a baby? She didn’t think so. But Cynthia didn’t ask any questions, not even a polite “How old is she?” or the usual comments about how cute she was. In fact, the appearance of the baby seemed to shut Cynthia down completely. It was odd.
More customers came in. Elise tucked Mira back in the stroller and set it in the corner of the room, away from the flow of foot traffic. Cynthia managed the register while Elise prepped all the orders. From the other side of the shop, Mira began to cry.
“I have the timer set on this turmeric ginger—just finish it for me?” Elise said, moving out from behind the counter and rushing over to the stroller. A wailing baby wasn’t exactly in sync with the Zen vibes of the store. As soon as Elise picked her up, Mira quieted. Elise walked in circles, patting her back.
The tide of customers slowed until she was once again alone in the store with Cynthia. The girl remained silent, rinsing cups in the sink while Elise paced with Mira.
Was this Cynthia’s idea of good manners? Showing a total lack of interest?
Or did she not ask questions because she knew some of the answers?
No, that was crazy thinking. And yet…
Elise turned to examine Cynthia’s face, her heart beating fast. She searched for features that matched Mira’s, all the while telling herself she was just under stress, sleep-deprived.
She checked her phone. What was keeping Fern?
The kitchen table was covered with small bowls of loose-leaf tea and diced-up kelp. Olivia sat between Fern and Jaci and across the table from Marco, the four of them busy mixing various combinations of tea with the kelp, scooping the leaves into tea bags, and labeling them.
This was not how Olivia had planned to spend the morning, but she’d walked into the kitchen for coffee and found Fern and Marco chopping up the dried seaweed. She was immediately self-conscious in her baggy drawstring pants, her hair in a messy ponytail, her face bare. But Marco hardly glanced up.
“What’s going on?” Olivia had said, though it was fairly obvious. She opened a window; the kitchen had the briny, sulfuric smell that she’d experienced in the backyard the other day. Fern told her they were experimenting with tea and kelp mixtures, trying out ratios and flavor combinations. “We’re not taste-testing it today, just bagging up the different varieties. Wanna help?”
She glanced at Marco. He was intently measuring leaves with a tablespoon.
“Um, sure. Just let me get dressed.”
She changed into a pink T-shirt and white jean shorts, brushed some mascara on her lashes, put a dab of lip gloss on her mouth, and joined the group at the table.
That had been hours ago. The detail-oriented task of measuring the ingredients, folding them into bags, and labeling them kept her mind busy. Every so often, she would steal a glance at Marco, watching his quickly moving hands, his thick wrists, and the way his jaw seemed to tense. At one point their eyes met, and she nearly lost her breath.
By the time the front doorbell rang she’d forgotten all about her father’s arrival. “Oh!” she said, jumping up, ignoring the twinge in her back, and rushing out of the kitchen.
“Expecting someone?” Fern called after her.
Olivia kept running, nearly tripping over an area rug in the living room. She swung open the front door, grinning before she even laid eyes on him.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” she said.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, hugging her. “Well, you might not feel great, but you look no worse for the wear.”
“How was the trip?”
“Loved the ferry. Very relaxing.” He followed her into the living room. “Nice place. Your mother always did have great taste in houses.”
“I can show you to your room now or…you should come meet everyone first.”
“Who’s everyone? Oh—yes. The residents of the ‘weird bed-and-breakfast,’ as you described it.”
Had she said that? She didn’t remember. But it was sort of true. “Wow. And you still came. Brave of you.”
He smiled. “You didn’t sound so hot on the phone. I’ve been worried about you.”
Olivia felt a pang of guilt. It wasn’t fair for her to have dragged her father out here. It was selfish. But now that he was here, she was determined to show him a good time. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world to have gotten him out of his comfort zone.
She led the way to the kitchen, where the group around the table looked up in surprise. Olivia made the introductions.
“Nice to meet you, everyone,” her father said. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Not at all,” Fern said. “You’ve got a great daughter there. She’s been a big help today.”
Olivia felt herself beaming. How had things felt so awful just days ago? “He’s staying on the third floor,” she said to Fern. “Are you guys okay if I…”
“Go—enjoy,” Fern said.
“Later, alligator,” said Jaci.
“Thanks for the help,” Marco said. “We’re doing the taste-testing on Thursday if you’re around. Fern, what time do you think?”
“Eight in the morning. Sharp. In Lidia’s kitchen because she has instant hot taps.”
“I’ll be there,” Olivia said happily.
She walked her father back through the living room. At the base of the stairs, he said, “So what’s going on with you?”
“What do you mean?”
He glanced back toward the kitchen, then whispered, “I came out here thinking you were on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but now I get the distinct feeling you might actually be having a good time.”
Olivia opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, then tried again. “I mean, I was never having a nervous breakdown…”
“Don’t get me wrong,” her father said. “I’m relieved that it’s not the case. Just wondering if anything’s happened in the past day or two to lift your spirits.”
“No,” she said, the sound of Marco’s voice reaching her even as she stood in the foyer. “Nothing at all.”