Ivy wasn’t wrong. Everything about dating was terrible, but Janey didn’t think it had anything to do with her age. She just thought finding the right person was hard and harder still when people were married before and had kids and baggage and inappropriate drug problems in their forties, despite having very nice hair and an apartment on the good side of Williamsburg.
She pulled her rabbit fur hat down over her ears. It felt nice to walk. She never did it much anymore since she was always in such a rush to get from one meeting to the next in a taxi, where it was easy to be on a conference call with the Japanese while in transit. Walking at a leisurely pace, it still took Janey just five minutes of strolling down Sixth Avenue before she crossed Fourteenth Street. Without warning large droplets of rain began falling from the sky, sending pedestrians scrambling for stores and the subway. Men selling umbrellas seemed to materialize from nowhere, now perched on upturned buckets on the edge of the sidewalk. “Eight dollars, eight dollars. For you, seven dollars,” they entreated damp passersby. Janey actually liked walking in the rain, even though she couldn’t remember the last time she did it. She tucked her leather Mulberry satchel beneath her jacket to keep it dry and enjoyed having the sidewalks all to herself.
The lights were dim inside the crêperie that had never had a name, and it was clearly closed. Had she ever come here before seven p.m.? Or by herself?? A shop called the Wandering Juice next door appeared warm and inviting. Hadn’t she promised CJ she’d keep an open mind about fitness and juice and even kale?
A kind-faced Rastafarian held the door of the Wandering Juice open for her. The small space was crowded with people trying to escape the rain. As she stood in line, a puddle formed around her on the sawdust-covered wooden floor. The interior of the juice shop was straight out of a Pinterest board for a rustic barn wedding. Reclaimed wood dominated the small space. Chairs were replaced with actual bales of hay, and the counter was constructed of five oak wine barrels. The room was lit with those old-timey lightbulbs with exposed filaments hanging from what looked like the tines of a pitchfork. A grand map dominated one wall with multicolored pins dotting the surface indicating how far a particular fruit or vegetable had traveled to end its life here in a Vitamix. Was that a chicken coop in the corner? The menu was a simple chalkboard perched precariously on the counter.
Green, Red, Orange. Those were the only options on the menu. Twenty-three dollars apiece.
“You look lost,” the juice guy working the register said. She admired his blue-black curls and oddly shaped nose.
“Shouldn’t you be charging more for your juice?” Janey asked, shaking the water out of her hair. “I hear Whole Foods is getting at least twenty-four dollars a bottle.”
“I should just go work at Whole Foods then.” He grinned, making an adorable dimple appear in his left cheek. “It gets even better. If you bring your own reusable mason jar for your juice the price gets knocked down to twenty.”
“I love price discrimination. You could go work at Whole Foods, but then you wouldn’t be able to raise these lovely chickens. Are those chickens in that coop?”
“Guinea fowl, actually. Chickens are very 2015.”
“Of course,” Janey said, amused by his earnestness and warmed by his cheery expression. Upon closer inspection Janey noticed distinct white polka dots on the black feathers of the caged fowl. Designer chickens! “Well, what should I order? I’ve never requested juice by the color before.” Janey peered at the selection of fruits and powders displayed on a large tin shelf in what looked like the kind of beakers she’d used in high school chemistry class.
“What do you need juice for?” Juice Guy asked.
“Excuse me? Does juice need a purpose?” Her enthusiasm for juice was building.
“Hell yeah.” He nodded, and Janey couldn’t tell if he was in on the joke or the butt of it. “The juice business is built on aspiration fulfillment.”
Did he just wink at her? Did anyone wink anymore?
“Do you need more energy, an immune boost, want to cure a hangover? Looking to stimulate your creativity? Some juices are even the culinary equivalent of Viagra.”
A woman behind the counter with sleeves of tattooed ferns climbing both her bare arms piped up. “Try the Red. It will give you a B-vitamin blast, help feed your skin, and support hormone production. If you want a real yummy treat I can’t say enough about these activated cashews. They’re serious brain chemistry magic. Chase them with a shot of pressed turmeric root in freshly squeezed lime juice.” Janey squinted to make out the phrase on her artfully faded tank top: “Kelp is the new kale.”
“What she said,” the guy agreed.
Janey let the faintest of smiles touch her lips, pleased he seemed to be taking the piss out of this. “I’ll take Green.”
“Good choice. Kale, broc, spinach, arugula, collards, cucumber, mint, and a little bit of basil. But the basil is my secret, so don’t tell anyone.”
She resisted wrinkling her nose. “Sounds lovely.” The truth was that she had put way worse things in her mouth.
She reached for something else to say to continue the conversation. “What’s with the name?” she asked coyly, chewing on the side of her bottom lip. “Wandering Juice?”
“It’s a play on words. Like the wandering Jews?”
She raised both eyebrows.
“In the Old Testament of the Bible. The Jews wandered in the desert for forty years. It’s also a popular houseplant. You probably have one and you don’t even know it. They’re very leafy and they grow like guinea fowl, which is to say very fast, as long as they have a lot of water and light.”
“So you’re religious and clearly into botany and exotic poultry…what a combo!”
“Nah. I’m a mutt. A halfie. We grew up with a Christmas tree and I got eight presents. I just like Jew puns. I went to Penn. You can major in Jew pun there.”
“Ahhh, I went to Wharton.”
Juice guy did a little bow. “Then you were much more sensible than I, a poor history and geology major.”
Out of the corner of her eye Janey could see the young woman at the other end of the counter, the one who couldn’t get enough of activated nuts, glaring at her.
Lust is in the air at the juice shop, Janey thought. Who could blame her? It was the first conversation she’d had with a man in months that she didn’t want to end. But she wasn’t the kind of girl who chased after someone who might be taken. She shot Fern Tattoos an honest smile to show she had no interest in intruding on her territory, took her cup of Green, and bid the cute juice guy good-bye. As she turned she felt a delicate touch on her inner arm and heard someone say, “Hello darling.”
The stroke was soft and sent a tingle through her arm, but the voice was so deep Janey was surprised to see a beautiful woman standing next to her instead of a man.
“Oh my goodness. I am so sorry,” the straight-backed woman said. She had the largest green eyes Janey had ever seen. “I thought you were my friend Alli. The two of you have the same black leather bomber jacket and cute ass.”