Vanilla
VANILLA
by
Mona Kabbani
Vanilla
Mona Kabbani
Copyright 2021 by Mona Kabbani
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
ISBN-13: 9798712816507
First Edition, March 2021
Edited by Spencer Hamilton
www.spencerhamiltonbooks.com
www.nerdywordsmith.com
Graphic Design by Mitch Green
Instagram @mitch_grn
www.radpublishing.co
Illustration by Andi Brotten
Instagram @andibrotten
www.unbearablescares.com
“Love has no age, no limit; and no death.”
John Galsworthy
“Love does not claim possession, but gives freedom.”
Rabindranath Tagore
“Let me tell you that the children from their very birth are born to evil. Satan seems to have control of them. He seems to take possession of their young minds, and they are corrupted. Why do fathers and mothers act as though a lethargy was upon them? They do not mistrust that Satan is sowing evil seed in their families.”
Ellen G. White
To unconditional love.
To my Teta Mona.
VANILLA
by
Mona Kabbani
PROLOGUE
The diner’s atmosphere breeds silence. The kind of silence your mind draws after being caught red-handed in a dark alleyway with a dirty needle: tense, and apprehensive, and, above all, wishing you could escape.
Tiffany is craned over, morphed into some rusty yet galvanized machine; the miniskirt of her waitress uniform fights to reveal her bottom as she bends over. It’s the same song and dance night after night. Bend. Wipe. Tug. Bend. Wipe.
And still, she persists. Above all, she persists.
The diner’s owner, Tony, suggested she write “stubborn” on her résumé under Special Skills. At the time she’d been cleaning the grout in the kitchen with a toothbrush, hacking up a lung as her body fought her mind to collapse. He insisted she take the day to rest, but she refused.
“Tiff, you sure you don’t wanna just go home and get some shuteye?”
“No. Being alone in that room is a nightmare. I’d rather be here.”
“Ain’t you stubborn, eh? Add that to your résumé! Ha!”
Not that he’d ever want her to leave the diner. He’d be devastated if she did. The two years she’s worked under him have been the best years for the joint.
In this case, rather than a nasty cough leeching her energy, what dares stand against her stubbornness is a stain, taunting her, its dirty little mouth open and laughing. She has been struggling to remove the stain from the dessert display case, exhausting her muscle strength and threatening to break the glass every second the grime remains. But her opponent is stubborn as well. No matter how long she rubs or which unlabeled chemical solution she attempts to drown it in, the stain refuses to budge, testing her resilience. But, as always, she persists.