A Blueberry Muffin Christmas

I sat quietly behind the shop counter with my nose buried in a philosophy textbook, struggling to focus on its contents. I guess this was good for me and all, working at Dowtin Peak’s singular cafe over Christmas break to pay off my student loans. But it was Christmas Day. Who, in a town of 2,000 people, wants to drive downtown in a blizzard for an overpriced cup of joe on Christmas? No one, apparently, because the shop was empty.

I closed my book with a thud of defeat and looked through the store windows, watching clumps of snow coat the empty streets in a fine white blanket. But inside Fran’s Coffee Bean it was warm and cozy. The shop was small, a few tables scattered about the floor. Fran insisted on decorating for Christmas, setting boxes wrapped in vintage paper and twine in the front window and ornamenting the tables with tiny faux pine trees.

I propped myself up on the counter with my elbows and swayed to a familiar Christmas tune by Nat King Cole. Not a single customer all morning, I thought. What a waste of time. I imagined my mom’s side of the family vacationing without me in the Bahamas, opening presents and eating Grandma's famous peppermint cookies while I sat here alone in freezing New Hampshire.

I could almost hear Grandma saying, “It’s a shame, really, that Carol couldn't be here for Christmas.” Then she’d cackle and say, “But what more can we expect from her? She’s Hank’s daughter first. Always has been.” She’d drop my father’s name like a bomb, then make her way into the beach house’s kitchen and brew a fresh pot of island coffee without a second thought. Meanwhile, my mom would escape to the back porch and light a stress cigarette, contemplating where she went wrong.

The whole divorce had been a strain on our relationship, too. The last time Mom and I had a civil conversation was over four months ago. Now, we can hardly say two words to each other before she starts accusing me of taking Dad’s side in the mess.

To make matters worse, Dad packed up and left for California. He said he just needed a fresh start, but didn’t seem to mind leaving me and my brother behind. At least he called every week just to check in, which is more than I can say about Mom.

The silver bell above the shop door jingled, and with it came a gust of frigid air. An elderly man stood wiping his boots on the doormat and brushing the snowflakes from his hat with a gloved hand.

I straightened, surprised to see a living soul. “Merry Christmas!” I called with a forced smile. “What can I get for you?”

The man shuffled to the counter and removed his woolen gloves. He squinted at the assorted baked goods, then pointed towards the blueberry muffins. “I’ll take one of those. And a plain old coffee to go with it.” His mouth fell into a flat line.

“That’s all?” I asked, bagging his muffin.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill. “This enough?”

With tax, it would be just over, but I wasn’t about to refuse the man his coffee and muffin on Christmas Day. I nodded and moved towards the coffee pot behind me.

“I haven't seen a storm like this in years.” He rubbed his hands together, then glanced out the shop window. “Every year my son tells me ‘just move to Florida. You just aren't built for New England winters anymore.’ And every year I tell him the same thing. New Hampshire is my home. I’m not leaving.”

I sealed the styrofoam coffee lid and set it on the counter in front of him. “My family’s in the Bahamas trying to escape this weather too.”

He reached out and took his coffee and muffin. “The youth these days… They don’t have a tolerance for anything. You know, when I was a young man, I’d spend the winter months in the freezing cold, shoveling driveways, and I never once considered leaving the state for a little bit of sunshine.” He shook his head. “And to think, even I walked all this way in the storm.”

“Just because someone prefers warmer weather, doesn't make them weak or any less of a person. And frankly, I’m not sure staying in this town isn't doing you more harm than good. Lots of people leave and end up living full and happy lives.” I stated matter-of-factly.

The old man’s wiry white eyebrows raised and I felt my face flush. “I am so sorry. That was way out of line.” I cleared my throat. “I honestly have no idea what came over me.”

“Well, perhaps I was a bit rude.”

“I am so sorry.” I shook my head. “I’m going to make you our special Christmas drink, on us. The storm’s supposed to stop in an hour or so. Maybe I could get you to stay a while?”

“Fine.” The man shuffled to the nearest table. He removed his coat and hung it on the back of his chair. “I suppose I could let myself thaw out a bit longer. What’s the Christmas special, anyways?” He slid the chair out and sat with a grunt.

I turned to pour his drink. “Peppermint mocha coffee with whipped cream,” I called over my shoulder.

“What ever happened to times where there was just good old coffee, no nonsense, no frills?”

I ignored his comment and set a miniature candy cane on his coffee saucer. I shook the can of whipped cream and swirled it on top, then carried it to his table. I placed it in front of him with a clink and the coffee almost splashed over the side of the mug. “Here, try this,” I said.

He looked up at me with a cynical eye, then brought the red mug to his lips. “That’s not half bad,” he said in a low voice, as though he really didn't want to admit it.

I smiled. “Good, I’m glad.”

The man cocked his head at me and his face softened for the first time. “I’m George.” He gestured to the empty chair next to him. “Take a load off for a bit. That is, unless you're too busy.” He paused and we both listened to the empty room.

“I’m Carol,” I laughed, and pulled the chair out. “And you’ve been my only customer today.” I sat and folded my hands on the table.

“Well, I come in every year.” George removed his hat and set it in his lap. His thin white hair stood up on its ends. “But I’ve never seen you before.”

“That’s because I’m new. Well, I’m new to the job. I’ve lived in Dowtin Peak my whole life, but I’m in need of some extra cash these days.” And a distraction, I thought to myself.

“I see, new but old.” He sipped his Christmas drink again. “I’m just old,” he chuckled. “Yeah. I come here every year on Christmas. Like clockwork. Though, today I was a bit worried the place would be shut down because of all this darn snow.” His shoulders sagged. “My son’s right, it’s getting harder for me to move around in this weather on my own. These old bones can only take so much.”

“The winters here can be hard on anyone.” I stole a glance out the window. The storm hadn’t let up. “So, why Fran’s? I mean, I know that Fran’s is good and all, but I would never claim it as my annual Christmas destination spot.”

He nodded. “Well, my wife Ethel used to send me here Christmas morning to pick up blueberry muffins and coffee for the whole family. You know, after an early morning of opening presents with the kids.”He chuckled softly to himself. “Ethel hated when I’d mention the possibility that Fran could just up and quit baking blueberry muffins. I’d shake my head at her and say, ‘In mid December, who’s buying that?’” His lips quivered into a smile. “Fran’s muffins were just a small part of our Christmas, and even a bother at times, but now I look back on it fondly. You know, the good old days, back when the kids were young.”

He spoke of his family with overwhelming tenderness and sweetness, to the point where his whole face glowed with it. I was sure by now his kids were grown and out of the house, perhaps with children of their own.

“I’m glad you were able to continue your tradition despite this weather,” I said. “I doubt Fran would close for anything.”

The man looked down at his coffee and picked up the candy cane. He fiddled with it between his fingers, his voice now softer. “Ethel’s been gone now five years, but after being married for fifty, sometimes the strangest things stick.” He smiled back up at me, and his droopy eyes brimmed with tears. “I don’t know… sometimes it’s just nice to pretend. Something about this place on Christmas makes me feel close to her, like she could be waiting for me at home.”

But she wasn't. He’d go home to an empty house on Christmas Day.

Just like me.

“I think Fran’s has a way of being exactly what you need. Hope, a distraction, or maybe just a really good cup of coffee.” I managed a smile, but all this family talk made me think of my mom again. I imagined her Christmas wasn't much better than mine, even in the Bahamas with Grandma. I bet she feels alone.

I noticed George’s coffee wasn’t steaming anymore, and I reached for his cup. “Here, I’ll brew us some fresh coffee.”

“I’d like that very much.” His brown eyes blinked up at me warmly.

Though I didn’t go into the details of my family’s broken pieces, I felt like I didn't have to. Almost like there was a silent understanding between the two of us and Fran’s Coffee Bean.

We were just two strangers sitting together and drinking coffee all afternoon while the whole silly world stormed around us. We laughed about Christmases past, and he told me stories of his children and grandchildren.

George set aside his grief and I set aside my family drama, all for the simple pleasure of filling each other’s day with unexpected love and joy.

Hours later, the storm had died down enough for George to head home. Finally alone, I began to close up shop. As I wiped the counter down, Fran’s yellow rotary phone caught my eye. It had been silent all day.

I placed my hand over the phone and hesitated a moment before bringing it to my ear. I dialed the familiar numbers, but they felt awkward on my fingers. The line began to ring, and my throat felt dry.

“Hello?”

“Hi Mom.”