By Harmony Gibson
Summary: A woman wakes up one morning with the overwhelming sensation that she's going to get great news, but the excitement turns to dread when she realizes she has no idea what may be in store for her.
Excerpt: May Kobayashi entered the small café diner as soon as it opened. The owner rolled his eyes at the sight of her, hunched over in her thick pea-green coat in the cold, staring at the unflipped Closed sign until he wobbled his way over to switch on the case lights and unlock the door. She waited until the open side faced outward before slipping inside. An expanse of faded black and white diamond floors greeted her, flanked by warm, worn leather booths on one side and a long white vinyl counter peppered with the classic chrome and round black top barstools on the other. A lengthy display case filled with fresh cannoli, pastry, and other flaky or cream-filled delights cast a welcoming, ambient glow across everything, and the rest of the place was lit by the rising light of dawn that filtered through the arched, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the front door. Behind the counter was an old Italian espresso machine that looked like some sort of spaceship mission control desk with all its nozzles, buttons, and blue lights. Somehow it looked futuristic and ancient at the same time~ like how people in the eighties imagined technology would look like in forty years. Despite its obvious age, its copper body was freshly polished and carefully maintained, little chipped espresso machines nestled atop it. May slapped a five-dollar bill onto the counter and ordered a black coffee with a fresh sfogliatella before sliding into one of the darker booths in the far-left corner, pulling out her cell. It rang three times before a tired voice answered.
“May, it’s 6 am here.”
“I woke up with a good feeling,” May blurted as Sal brought over her flaky pastry and steaming mug. He was a stocky, olive-skinned man with a dark mustache and receding hairline. And he always, without fail, wore a dingy white tank top that stretched over his full belly and accentuated his dark, furry chest, tucked into a pair of black slacks—tightened with a brown belt that disappeared under his rounded stomach—and the ugliest chef shoes imaginable. She’d known him for a few months now and they’d developed a cheeky sort of friendship. He was very loudly and proudly Italian, and he made the best coffee and pastries in town from the recesses of his somewhat obscure diner that he’d inherited from his father, who had inherited it from his father, and so on and so forth going all the way back to his great great great grandmother. Hence the name- Nonna’s. May had found the place on a list of the city’s ‘hidden gems,’ and best of all, it was an easy walk—only about a block or so from her tiny shoebox of an apartment, depending on whether or not she could cut through the alleys. Sometimes the shortcuts were littered with stray cats who’d hiss and scratch at just about anything that moved. If May ever glimpsed an orange or grey tail, she knew to take the long way that day.
As Sal placed her order down on the matte, chipped vinyl surface of the table before her, she flashed her teeth at him, wincing. He frowned and grabbed a cannister of whipped cream from the back, shaking his head as he piled it high atop her black coffee. She made a rolling gesture with her hand as he did it, finally cutting him short. He grimaced and sullenly went to greet the customer that had ambled in during the exchange. May blew him a kiss and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
“I’m hanging up,” the voice said from the other line, and May started.
“Don’t! Look, this is important,” she pleaded. A baby’s cry sounded faintly in the background of the other line and the voice sighed.
“Okay, I guess I’m up,” she mumbled. The voice on the phone belonged to none other than her sister, Amy. They were twins, and though they were fraternal, everyone assumed they were identical because all Asians look alike. At least, that’s what her fourth-grade teacher had told her one day when she’d gotten upset with him for mixing their names up for the umpteenth time. Mr. Matthis. They were half Japanese, half white (a blend of English and French on their mom’s side) but looked Asian enough to entice some open-minded Japanese men and western men with a penchant for plaid skirts—at least, that’s what she’d realized once she’d entered the dating scene and apprehended that she was somewhat of a hot commodity- for all the wrong reasons. She’d given up years ago, content to be on her own as she navigated life as a somewhat failing writer in the big apple. Despite her degree, and lack of romance in her day-to-day life, she currently worked as a conceptual and narrative writer for an ‘alpha werewolf’ themed, choose-your-own adventure app. As terrible and lackluster as the genre was, she had to admit it was sort of fun to write indulgent, unserious smut under a ridiculous pen name. It was the exact opposite of the kind of things she yearned to write, but after she’d somehow convinced them to pay her a dollar fifty per word, she’d scooped up the gig eagerly. Her sister, however, had married and settled down with a nice man she met while she was following in their mother’s profession as an English teacher in Costa Rica—yeah, she was that person. Heart of gold with everlasting patience and a sharp wit to boot. Also, one of the only ones fully fluent in May’s rambling thoughts. Which were currently on the verge of spilling out everywhere.
...Continue reading in PDF:
Comments