CHAPTER 1
The best part about working for the family business is that they can’t fire me without causing all sorts of unwanted drama. The worst part is I can’t ever quit, not unless I want to hear about it every single Thanksgiving for the rest of my life—although I would put up with a whole lot for a plateful of Uncle Calvin’s deep-fried turkey. And as a bonus, at the family record shop I get to work with my two older sisters.
“Juni! It’s been too long.” An older Black woman shuffled toward me, arms outstretched for a hug.
My full name is Juniper. Juniper Jessup. But most folks around here call me Juni.
“Miss Edie!” I exclaimed, folding myself into the shorter woman’s embrace. Growing up in Cedar River, Texas, all the latchkey kids found their way to Miss Edie’s after school. Even though my mother was usually home or at the family record shop, at least once a week I invented an excuse to join the other kids at Edie’s. “You’re looking amazing.”
“Don’t you know it?” she agreed with a wide grin. She let go and stepped back to clasp my hands. As usual, she was dressed in bright, garish colors held together with elastic and Velcro. Her curly white hair was cut short and her grin was genuine. “Just look at this place! You and your sisters done good, kid.”
“Thanks,” I replied with a blush. I looked around Sip & Spin Records, the record shop/coffee bar my sisters and I owned, and felt a surge of pride.
The back wall behind the barista station and cash register was rough exposed red brick, lending an air of industrial chic to the crowded store. The side walls were a silvery gray, but I could barely make out the paint underneath a layer of vintage concert posters and framed albums. Above us was a second-floor loft ringed with a wide balcony, where shelves full of records were mounted to walls and bins, with even more albums lined up against the shiny black railing. The front wall was enormous panes of glass decorated with our logo on either side of the main entrance, the door to which was currently propped open to welcome customers and friends.
It was almost half past ten, and the grand opening of Sip & Spin Records was in full swing. Upbeat music and happy overlapping conversations filled the room. I didn’t know why I’d been so nervous that the party would be a bust. We were packed to capacity, with people filling the main floor and the balcony overhead.
Although to be fair, that probably had at least as much to do with the free-flowing beer kegs set up near the coffee station and the complimentary taco truck out front as it did with our advertising campaign or the resurging interest in vinyl records. Then again, there were plenty of people browsing our carefully cultivated collection. Hopefully that would convert into future sales and repeat customers.
“I see some folks I need to talk to, but now that you’re back in town, you come see me soon, hear?” Edie said.
“I most certainly will,” I agreed. I felt bad that I hadn’t gone around to see her already, but things had moved at a frantic pace ever since I moved back home. We’d worked constantly to get the shop ready for tonight’s opening, so I hadn’t had much time to myself. Besides renovating the space and filling it with records, my oldest sister, Tansy, had come up with the idea of setting up a small coffee shop in the back corner, which had wreaked havoc on our permits, but in the end we got it all done by working together and calling in every favor we’d ever collected.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my middle sister, Maggie, dash toward a patron who was leaning over the Golden Oldies section, a glob of guacamole oozing ominously from the end of their taco. She swooped in with a napkin to avert disaster with the skill of someone used to cleaning up other people’s—and by other people’s I mean my—messes. Out of the three of us Jessup girls, Maggie was the most fastidious. We shared a bedroom growing up. Her side was neat as a pin. Mine, well, was significantly less so. She had a lot of practice picking up after me.
It felt like déjà vu, not only being home in Texas and watching Maggie in action but also being back in this familiar record store. As the baby of the family, I’d felt the need to spread my wings farther than either of my older sisters. I’d left home soon after graduating from college (Hook ’em Horns!) to make my own way in the world. But now, six years later, I was right back here in quiet Cedar River, just outside of Austin, the live music capital of the world.
And, with a lot of hard work and a little luck, maybe we could make Sip & Spin the capital of vinyl records, too.
My grandparents used to own a record shop in this very storefront, back in vinyl’s original heyday. My mother and her brother, my uncle Calvin, grew up in this shop. And later, after Mom met our dad not six feet away from where I was standing right now, my sisters and I grew up here, too. By then, we sold cassette tapes and CDs, too, but eventually Napster and iTunes put us out of business.
Then the miracle happened. Millennials discovered vinyl. Between a wave of nostalgia and the desire to experience music without commercials, records were back in a big, big way. And my sisters and I were poised to make the most of it.
A man’s booming voice cut through the happy party chatter. “Excuse me, folks. If I can have your attention, please?”
I made my way around the checkout counter to turn down the background music playing over the shop’s sound system. Conversations faded as our guests focused their attention on the makeshift stage we’d erected where the café chairs and tables would go when we opened for real tomorrow.
Mom’s brother, Calvin Voigt, stood tall and proud as he lifted a red Solo cup. It didn’t have the same effect as a glass flute, but tonight wasn’t about putting on airs. Tonight’s grand opening was about celebrating with friends and family, which equated to beer kegs, not champagne bottles.
“Thank y’all for coming out tonight,” Uncle Calvin said, leaning into the microphone, not that he needed it. He had a booming voice to match his large frame and even bigger personality. A white man in his sixties, he was wearing what I considered Texas formal attire—dark pressed-denim blue jeans and a long-sleeved green-and-gray-checkered shirt fastened up to a bolo tie featuring a silver long-horned cow skull, topped off with a lighter shade of denim jacket. His salt-and-pepper—more salt than pepper these days—mustache was combed to perfection, and unless I was mistaken, he’d gotten a trim for the occasion. He pushed back the brim of his cowboy hat to survey the crowd.
“This here record shop will forever hold a special place in my heart. As you may or may not know, even though Thomas Edison is credited with inventing the phonograph way back in 1877, the origin of vinyl records can actually be traced to Frenchman Léon Scott in 1857.…” The crowd let out a collective groan, knowing that they were about to be treated to one of Calvin’s long, rambling stories.
We’d begged our uncle to take it down a notch, just for one night, but apparently our pleas had fallen on stubborn ears. Then he turned to me and winked. “But while tonight is historic, I’m not gonna bore y’all with a history lesson. We’re here tonight to celebrate the grand opening of Sip & Spin Records.” He paused for a smattering of applause and lifting of Solo cups in the assembled crowd. “So without further ado, I’d like to turn the festivities over to my three beautiful nieces, Tansy, Magnolia, and Juniper Jessup.”
“Maggie,” the three of us corrected him in unison as we headed for the stage. Even though all the women in our family were named after flowers, Maggie had always resented her name. Anyone who dared call her Magnolia against her wishes had to answer to the Jessup sisters.
We took our places on the stage. Uncle Calvin kissed my oldest sister, Tansy, on the forehead as she passed and started to do the same with my middle sister, but she stopped him cold with a fierce glare. If looks could kill, he’d have needed to wear a Kevlar jacket instead of a denim one to escape unscathed from the faux pas of calling her by the wrong name. I gave her a gentle nudge to get her moving again. Her knee-length floral dress—she had a closet full of completely interchangeable ones just like it—swished as she walked.
“You might want to lock your doors tonight,” I warned my uncle with a smile to show him I was at least half joking.
“Don’t you worry yourself. I ain’t scared of your sister. Much.”
He tossed Tansy the microphone before hurrying off. It probably wasn’t necessary. The store was packed, but small, and my oldest sister’s voice carried. That hadn’t changed since we were kids.
“Hey, y’all,” she said, waving as if she had just won the Little Miss Texas pageant and had the place of honor in the lead float for the Fourth of July parade. Again. She wore a pink pastel twinset over a long denim skirt for the occasion, and her ultra-short brown hair was done in soft waves. “I can’t tell y’all what it means to us for everyone to be here tonight. Uncle Calvin calls it a grand opening, but in truth, it’s a grand reopening. Nearly sixty years ago, our grandparents opened a record shop in this very storefront, and it’s been such a huge presence in all our lives as long as I can remember. When their record shop closed in 2005, it was the end of an era for Cedar River. Well, I’m here to tell y’all that a new era begins tonight.”
Tansy’s speech was met with tremendous applause. She continued, “Seeing it now, restocked and packed with friends and family…” I heard the hitch of emotion as her voice trailed off. Unlike myself, Tansy loved the spotlight, but if I didn’t intervene quickly she would turn on the waterworks. Neither myself nor her mascara wanted that, so I slid past Maggie, wrapped one arm around Tansy’s shoulders, and pried the microphone out of her quivering hands.
I swallowed down my stage fright, reminding myself that the crowd in front of me was made up of family and friends I’ve known for a lifetime. Then I cleared my throat and said, “We all hope that Sip & Spin will become the greater Austin area’s premiere location for discovering new music, finding great local musicians, and exploring the joy vinyl has to offer, all while sipping your favorite caffeinated beverage with friends. Be sure to swing by tomorrow when we officially open for business, when the drink special of the day will be Java B. Goode.”
That had been Maggie’s brilliant idea, to combine our love of caffeine with our love of music to create unique specials with memorable names. We sat up many a night coming up with the perfect blend of musical references and coffee drinks that we couldn’t wait to serve to our customers.
“Thanks again to everybody for coming out tonight,” I continued, trying to ignore the way my hands were starting to sweat. I was usually more than happy to let Tansy have the limelight while I worked behind the curtain, but I could get through this. “Enjoy the beer and tacos, and don’t forget to tag your pictures with the hashtag SipAndSpinRecords—all one word—on social media.” I switched off the microphone and, instead of replacing it back in the stand, clutched it for dear life.
If I left the mic on the stage, we’d eventually be treated to impromptu drunken karaoke, which was not the vibe we were going for tonight. Although I made a mental note to revisit the idea later. Anything that drew customers into the shop was good for business.
“Look at the three of you girls, all grown-up and together again,” my mother gushed, gathering us all up in a group hug as we exited the stage. Begonia Jessup, known by most as Bea, had an eye-catching blend of dark and light gray hair, with a few strands of silver acting as natural highlights. When I was a kid, it was usually in a long braid, but she’d since cut it to shoulder-length, somewhere between Tansy’s ultra-short and Maggie’s medium haircuts, only my sisters’ hair was chestnut brown like mine. Mom’s features had sharpened with age and her skin wasn’t as taut as it used to be, but every time I saw her it was like looking into a mirror from the future.
“Just having y’all home is a gift,” she went on. Like any family, my sisters and I had our share of spats when we were younger, but a few years and a lot of miles apart had made us appreciate each other in a way that being forced to wear matching outfits in the annual Christmas portrait never had. “And Juni, I’m so proud of my baby girl. Speaking in public? I never thought I’d live to see the day. You didn’t speak a single word until you were nearly six years old, you know.”
“I know, Ma.” I’d heard the story enough times. Everyone in Cedar River had. Shucks, I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in Austin had heard it at least once. People assumed that my lack of speaking was because I was shy, which was only partially true. Between Tansy naturally gravitating to the spotlight and Maggie’s middle child FOMO, I could never get a word in edgewise.
“Now y’all get together. I need a picture of this for Facebook. Calvin! Get over here. Family picture time.”
We put our arms around each other and scrunched together in a familiar pose. Mom was in the middle, standing proud. Tansy stood on her right. She was the tallest of the three of us sisters. Her hair barely brushed the top of her long, thin neck. Even though her beauty pageant days were long gone, she still had a sharp jaw and delicate features. Maggie stood on the other side of Mom. Her jovial smile never looked forced, and set off the pleasant roundness of her cheeks and deep dimples.
Then, on the end, was me. I wasn’t as tall as Tansy but had a few inches on Maggie. My hair was longer than either of my sister’s, reaching the middle of my back with barely a hint of wave even when it was wet. I envied Maggie’s armpit-length spiral curls. I’d tried to replicate it with an at-home perm once, and let’s just say it took a long time for my hair to recover.
Even with Mom’s hair gone gray, we shared the same big brown eyes and heavy, arched brows. There was never a question that we four were closely related, something that bothered my dad to no end. Out of three kids, he would have liked it if even one of us had taken after him. Much to his chagrin—and our relief—he didn’t get his wish.
Although I did inherit his eyesight and as a result had worn glasses ever since I was little. My sisters used to tease me about them, but these days they were my favorite fashion accessory. I had several pairs, each with colorful frames. Tonight’s were a pink-and-black-speckled pattern.
Mom thrust her phone at the nearest partygoer. “Make sure you get us all in the picture,” she instructed him.
“Yes, Miss Bea,” he replied dutifully. He snapped a few pictures and handed her phone back to my mother to inspect them.
“Juni!” she exclaimed. “What have I told you about giving your sister bunny ears?”
I grinned and wiggled my bunny ear fingers. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”
She shook her head, but her smile never faded, so she couldn’t have been too upset at my familiar antics. Our family albums were stuffed full of goofy poses and bunny-eared sisters. She posted the picture online before slipping her phone back into her purse. “I wish your daddy was here to see this. He’d be so proud.” She smiled wistfully.
He’d been gone two years now, and he wouldn’t have wanted to cast a shadow over an otherwise perfect family moment. So instead of letting myself dwell on what we’d lost, I grabbed a fresh Solo cup and filled it halfway. I lifted it in a toast. “To Dad.”
“Hear! Hear!” my sisters echoed, clinking our plastic cups together.
“Now, as much as I love seeing all my girls together, y’all can’t just keep standing around ignoring your guests,” Mom said. “It’s rude. Go. Mingle. You too, Juni,” she added as if I was still that little girl who refused to speak.
“Sure thing,” I replied. Like my sisters, I’d been working tirelessly getting the shop ready for customers. I’d helped organize and advertise our grand reopening and wanted it to be a raging triumph. I was as invested—literally and figuratively—as everyone else in the family with making Sip & Spin Records a success. I’d been saving up for a house I could call my own, but I’d just lost my job when Tansy announced that this storefront was available and suggested that we revive the family record shop. We jumped on the idea and I contributed all the money I’d earmarked for a down payment without any hesitation.
Or rather, without too much hesitation.
It wasn’t a lot of money in the grand scheme of things, not going-to-space-for-funsies money, but it was every penny I had. Both of my sisters chipped in the same exact amount, ensuring we three were equal partners. It wasn’t quite enough to get the shop off the ground, but Mom still had a little left over from Dad’s life insurance policy, and our uncle Calvin tossed in the remainder that we needed on the condition that he remain a silent partner.
Did we know how to open a family business or what?
The record shop was crowded, which was a good thing. Balloons dangled from the high ceiling and clustered under the balcony ledge. Crepe paper streamers decorated the displays. A grand opening banner hung across the back wall. The long, shiny bar near the register that held the complicated espresso machine and a tray full of mugs with the Sip & Spin logo on it was littered with discarded Solo cups and crumpled-up taco wrappers. An informal line snaked around the shop, ending at a keg of local craft beer that was on its last dregs.
Mixed in with the vintage rock ’n’ roll posters and framed vinyl records lining the walls were autographed and rare albums encased in glass protectors. Normally, there would be several racks filled with records in the center of the shop, but we’d temporarily relocated them to the stock room in the back to make room for a crowd.
We just weren’t expecting quite this many people.
It was a good problem to have. The party spilled out of the store and onto the sidewalk out front, where a taco truck was parked at the curb. We’d handed out tickets to the first hundred guests for free tacos. I felt into the pocket of my jeans, where two tickets remained. Thank goodness. I’d been too nervous that no one would show up to the big event to eat anything earlier, and now I was ravenous.
I made my way through the crowd, stopping briefly every few feet to say howdy and make sure everyone was enjoying themselves. By the time I got to the sidewalk, I was ready to chew off my own arm if I didn’t get something to eat soon.
Luckily, the line was short, and I queued up at the back of it. Finally, it was my turn. As I pulled the tickets out of my pocket, the man inside the taco truck reached out to slide the window closed. “Hey, wait, I haven’t ordered yet!” I protested.
“Sorry, lady, we’re all sold out.”
“How is that even possible?” I asked.
He shrugged. “What can I tell you? People love tacos.” The man had a point. He closed and latched the window. A few minutes later, the truck rumbled away. I watched the food truck retreat, my stomach grumbling almost as loud as its muffler.
Copyright © 2023 by Olivia Blacke.