“Why wouldn’t I?” She smiles innocently.
I lean in so my elbows rest on the table. Lowering my voice, not wanting the teenage barista to hear, I say, “Do you want me to tell you this is terrible? I don’t know how you’re drinking yours.”
“Myteais fine.” She shrugs. “But thatisthe point. I take people here before I agree to work with them. I’m a service provider; I want to see how people act when something doesn’t meet their expectations—if they’re rude to the barista when they order, how they tip, and how they react to their bad coffee.”
“I see.” Nodding, I reach for my notebook and start to write, but as I write the final word and lift my pen, the notebook is torn away from me. When I attempt to grab it back, Henri takes the opportunity to snag the pen from my loosened grip.
“‘Performs a social experiment on her clients to see if they can stand up to torture’?” she reads aloud. Then tuts, scratching out my words and writing under it. “Here, updated it for you.” The table legs rattle as she plops down her updates in front of me.
Smart woman doesn’t believe what men tell her, so she takes them to coffee.
“Okay. Fine. But what if someone looks up the ratings for the place?”
“We go somewhere else. This isn’t just a test to figure out someone is an asshole. There are plenty of people who won’t say a thing about the coffee and drink all of it because they are massive people pleasers. No matter what, coffee shops are neutral territory. Here people are more likely to show more of their true selves than they would on a survey.”
I start writing again and Henri cranes her neck as I add one word before the word smart.Really.“You bring people here for your little experiment to see if they’ll throw hot coffee in the face of a service worker and then what?”
“I get to know what I’m up against, what prep work I’ll need to do. Sometimes there are certain skills I need to learn to become the ideal person. I’ve learned sports, read books, watched YouTube deep dives on movies. There was a wedding I attended that had a tennis tournament for the members of the wedding party. After a month of training, I had a pretty wicked backhand.”
“I’m not going to ask you to learn a new skill, but my family has a tendency to make everything a competition.” Gingerbread house making, tree decorating, even seeing who can make it into town the fastest—everything is fair game, and my dad has always encouraged it.
“Tell me about your family. What should I expect?” Henri leans back in her chair, arms falling to the side. A noticeably open posture. I wonder if it’s unconscious how she seems to settle into this version of herself who seems ready to absorb something new.
My fingers trap my mug, enjoying the lingering warmth of the drink, if not the taste. I hesitate a moment, I try to avoid talkingabout these details, but I know they’re necessary to share to fully immerse myself in the experience. “They’re all Olympians and international title holders. All of them, except me.” I pause for a second, watching to see if Henri reacts. She doesn’t, but chances are she already knows. I bet she did her homework on me the same way I’ve done for her. “They’re hard workers. My youngest sister, Pen, is a ball of energy. June is more reserved, but one of the most competent and capable people I know, even if she can come off a bit harsh.”
There are only a few people out there I’d say I’m truly close to and my sisters are at the top of the list. When I still competed we trained together for endless hours, if one of us was worn out or needed an excuse to just be normal and hang out with friends we’d cover for each other.
Henri lifts her cup to her lips and a small hum escapes her as she takes a sip. I can’t help myself. I grab my pen and write:Hums when she likes the taste of something.Putting her cup back down she continues, “What about your parents?”
“They met when they were both competing. My dad still coaches my sisters when they’re home and runs the training facility and ski lodge—he takes it really seriously. Mom helps too, but has taken a pretty big step back recently,” I explain.
Where Mom was able to soften and let go of her competition years, Dad has clung on, blurring the line between coach and father, even at home, comparing my siblings and I constantly. To him, what I do now, though not said outright, must be a disappointment—all my potential gone to waste. It’s part of the reason he’s so eager for me to come home.
I check Henri’s face for a spark of surprise, but her features remain serene and impassive. “But you aren’t necessarily the biggest fan of all of it, are you?”
“What gave that away?” It’s not that I hide it, but there’s something in my chest that seems to reach for her at this acknowledgement.
“For one, there’s the fact that if you squeeze your mug any harder, you’ll shatter it and ruin that notebook of yours.” Her eyes rove over me. I think if it were anyone else, the pressure of their attention would make me uncomfortable, make me want to jump up and create an excuse before I would head to the bathroom. “It’s also the way you said it, like you don’t feel the same way as most people, but feel like your experience is wrong.”
“It’s the truth. Pretty much everyone loves them.” They’re fun and so full of energy, constantly pushing for greatness or some new adventure. Electric. But that electricity can be draining.
“But I’m not working with most people. I’m working withyou. I’m on your side in this.”
“You’re good at your job,” I say. If she’s like this with everyone no wonder she’s as successful as she is. Or at leastwasbefore I ruined it for her.
Her lips split into a wide grin. “I am until you crack the illusion. I’m not used to doing this with people I know.” There she is, tilting toward me, into my space.
It’s like there’s two Henris. The one right here, in front of me, full of joy and determination, and the other version that’s muted and moldable, ready to take on any shape she needs. I wonder how many people get to see this part of her? Unfiltered.
“Speaking of that. I can’t call you Juliet or whatever else you go by. I’ll mess up and screw over the whole operation.”
“Yeah, that’s a fair point. It’s best to go with as close to the truth as possible, less room for error. Now let’s hammer out the basics. It will be your parents and siblings, so four people besides us?”
“Yeah, I don’t think they’re having anyone else over this year.”
“Four people. Challenging, but not terrible. The more people who are there, the more likely something will slip, but we have the next few weeks to really solidify our story. That’s where the planning comes in.”
Now she’s the one pulling things out and putting them on the table. Her purse is massive, which is probably intentional since the first time I saw it she was pulling out a whole wardrobe. With a stack of flashcards in front of her, she dedicates one for the info I’ve given her on each family member.
