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.
Above all, she persists.
Ness stands behind the register. Her blood-red nails fly across the keyboard of her phone like a fevered pianist as she chomps down on a piece of bubblegum. She, too, wears the same yellow polo and red miniskirt of their waitress uniform, though she rarely steps out from behind the counter, shielding her lower body from the eyes of passersby through the diner’s windows.
Ness never offers to help clean and Tiffany never asks her to—an unspoken agreement between them Tiffany finds mutually beneficial.
Absentmindedly, Ness pops her gum. Tiffany flinches, a spike of frustration bursting through her spine, but she resolves to ignore it. They’ve already had this argument several times before; going through it again would be insanity.
“Why do you have to fucking pop your gum so often, Ness? In fact, why do you have to pop it at all? Doesn’t it taste the same either way?”
“Jeez, Tiff! I’m sooo sorry it bothers ya so much! But ain’t nobody else complaining.”
“That’s because nobody else is here, Vanessa! It’s three o’clock in the morning! It’s just you, me, and Tony, and he’s in the back so he can’t hear the damn popping!”
“Well. Maybe ya should wear some headphones then.”
“Oh, right. Real fucking professional. I’ll wear headphones so I can’t hear when the customers come in. Let me do just that to make your life more conveniently annoying. Is it really that hard for you to just not fucking pop the damn gum?”
“Yes, it is. All right, fine, fine! I’ll stop poppin’ the damn gum. Two years ya been workin’ here, Tiff, and you’re really crampin’ my style.”
A toddler would be easier to argue with. At least you could punish them with a smack on the back of the hand or simply force them to stop. Maybe lock them away in the wooden prison walls of their crib without any gum. But with Ness, that isn’t possible. She’s too old for that kind of training. Too old and too set in her ways. You can’t condition behavior anymore. And no matter how many times they’ve argued, she’ll never stop poppin’ the damn gum.
It’s no use. I don’t know what else I could do.
Tiffany glances over at Ness, watching her click away at her phone, her eyes glued to the screen. She hesitates for a moment, thinking that the longer she watches, the longer the want, that annoying tic, will stay at bay. After a few clicks, Tiffany returns to the stain.
Blissful silence . . .
Pop!
Tiffany jerks. She is about to open her mouth into a scream when the bell above the door chimes. Her attention is pulled from the damn poppin’ to the diner’s front door, where two men hobble in. They nearly fall flat on their faces as they stumble over the leveled black-and-white tiling.
The bell chimes again as the door shuts out the night behind them.
Tiffany stands and places the dirty rag behind the counter, brushing the imaginary dust from her uniform. Before she takes a step toward them, Ness from behind the register hisses, “Hey. Be careful, will ya? These guys look no good. Like trouble. I’ve seen before on the news, guys like this pretending to be drunk. They walk into empty joints at night and start fights. Some even try to rob the place! Ya don’t wanna get caught up in that mess. Bad news, I tell ya. Bad, bad news.”
“What, those two drunks?” Tiffany glances over then turns back to that mess of fire-engine hair. “I appreciate it, Ness, but I wouldn’t worry.”
Blood-red nails fiddle nervously with phone keys.
Tiffany’s brow furrows and she continues in jest, “Besides, this is a twenty-four-seven diner. Isn’t it our job to take care of these idiots?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure. But if I ain’t worrying, then who is? Who’s watching out for you then, huh?” Ness rolls her eyes into the back of her head, the whites looking purple under the neon lighting of the diner. “No worries. You know me. I’ll watch out for ya even if ya mock me. I’ll be back here with my phone ready to dial nine-one-one.”
Vanessa’s face, with those green eyes that stare so beggingly outward, disappears as she returns to the comfort of her phone screen. The clicking of keys continues. The constant tap-tap-tap sound reminds Tiffany of a time when she found Ness staring out the window, tapping her nails against the register and biting her lips so hard, Tiffany thought she might pop one open.
“No gum today, Ness?” Tiffany had asked in a passing joke.
Ness’s eyes met hers instantly, like a wind-up toy with springs strung so tight, the slightest breeze from saying hello would trigger it like a whip. Tiffany backed her weight onto her heels, shocked by that hollowed and pale face. She recognized the depth of that fear immediately. It was like looking into a mirror.
Tiffany’s lungs inflated and she broke the fear-filled silence. “Are you okay?” She placed her hand on top of Ness’s, stopping her from scratching ugly designs into the plastic register keys.
Ness shuddered, then relaxed and smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thought I saw a guy I knew pass by. Was scared he was gonna walk in here.”
But that’s how Ness is with every guy who walks into the diner. The bell chimes, a man enters through the door, and Ness is as stiff as a board. Like her body might seize into paralysis if he takes a step too close to her.
It’s no wonder she’s never had a serious boyfriend.
But then again, Tiffany isn’t one to talk.
Tiffany watches the screen’s light shift back and forth ever so slightly across Ness’s face. She shakes her head, annoyed by how quickly Ness’s moods change, then walks over to the two men as they loudly complain about the lack of service.
“Hello and welcome to Big Daddy’s Burger, where we always feed you right! Will that be a table for two?” Tiffany strains a smile as she greets them.
The two men turn to her with tight, quivering lips. They look her over, their eyes traveling up her legs, her stomach, taking a pit stop at her chest, and finally settling on her face. As they attempt to take in steady breaths, they burst into laughter. Droplets of spit land on Tiffany’s cheekbones. She flinches, frowns, and wipes the saliva from her skin.
“Aw, man! Ain’t you the most gorgeous thing?”
“See? I told yous this place was good! Service, and with such a beautiful smile!”
“You’re damn right! I’m sorry I ever doubted you!”
They cackle at each other like hyenas, the stench of alcohol shooting from their mouths like untimely fireworks. They have already forgotten about Tiffany, the object of their enjoyment, who remains standing right in front of them. She waits with a hand on her hip until she realizes their attention is long gone.
She clears her throat. “I’m sorry. Excu— . . . Excuse me, gentlemen!”
They look back at her, wonder filling their eyes as though they are just seeing her for the first time.
“Hey there, gorgeous!”
“What’s up, cutie?”
“Yeah! Whatcha need, doll?”
“Hey, you got a boyfriend?”
“I asked if you would like a table for two,” Tiffany repeats.
“Huh?”
“We’s in a food establishment, man.”
“We is? Oh, shit! I remember now. I was hungry!”
“So was I!”
“So a table for two?” Her throat tenses up.
A scoff. “Well, duh!”
She ignores their resumed cackles, her discomfort swelling as she walks them over to a table. She hopes they are still following her—she doesn’t want to have to re-collect their attention. She would probably just abandon them if so.
But probably not.
They are a few staggering steps away but trailing. She guides them to a booth. They catch up and each takes an opposing seat.
“Alrighty, what can I start you two off with to—”
“Look, doll, we already knows what we wants.”
“Yeah, gimme a milkshake. Chocolate.” A sloppy wink.
“Ooh, yeah. Get me one a them too!”
They pick up their menus from the table, squinting as if they were written in a foreign language. Tiffany stands with her pen still pressed against her pad in anticipation.
“And to eat?” she asks.
“Just come back to us with those shakes. We’ll tell yous after.” A hand waves, dismissing her.
Tiffany clicks her pen and slides it and the pad back into her skirt apron. She hesitates, watching the men struggle incredulously before turning away.
Fucking morons.
She walks back behind the counter to the milkshake machine and flicks the switch on—one of the few pieces of machinery that isn’t covered in rust or dust. It greets her with a soporific whir, its resonating hum putting her into a trance. She welcomes the sound into her ears, letting it drown out the customers’ words. She plays it like an instrument, thinking about all the cleaning the kitchen could still use. All of that deep scrubbing, trying to reach the grime that managed to sink so far into the grout. Beyond reach if not for maybe—
“Hey,” Ness whispers, having quietly stepped up behind her.
“Jesus! Ness!” Tiffany reacts, nearly knocking over a glass. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Sorry, sorry. But keep ya voice down. Ya so damn loud.”
“Well? What the hell do you want?”
“Are you okay? They seem like pricks.”
Tiffany looks behind at the two, watching them turn their menus in circles. She turns back to the machine. “Pricks, yes. Paying customers, also yes. They’re fine, Ness. They’re not going to rob the place. They can’t even hurt a fly.”
“Ya sure? They ain’t fakin’?” Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head and quickly dart back and forth between Tiffany and the table.
“I highly doubt they’re faking.” Tiffany chuckles to herself. “Aw, shit!” She flicks her finger. A glob of chocolate milkshake spits out onto the counter. “Dammit! It overflowed. Get me a rag, will you?”
Tiffany blindly holds out her hand. Plop! A heavy, wet substance falls into her palm. From its dripping ick, she knows it smells rancid and will dirty more than it can clean.
“Jesus, Ness. A clean rag! I can’t wipe down the glasses with this rat!”
“Okay, okay!” Ness responds defensively. She bends over and pulls out a clean rag from the bottom drawer, handing it off.
Tiffany nods. “Thanks.” She polishes up the overflowing glasses, making sure not to miss a spot.
A gruff voice behind them calls: “Hey! Where’re the milkshakes, ladies? I can see yous both bickering back there! What kinda customer service is this?”
“Tiff! You said they was harmless,” Ness whispers, her body shaking like a traumatized chihuahua.
Tiffany freezes for a moment, Ness’s anxiety pouring into her. “They are. Just don’t respond.”
With steady hands, Tiffany stakes a plump cherry and a straw into each shake. She places the glasses on a black tray and walks them over to the table.
There, she stumbles and nearly drops everything to the floor.
They’re watching me.
But when she looks up from her blunder, she sees that they aren’t. That they’re laughing to each other like brainless animals.
So why does she feel so unnerved?
She regains her balance and makes it the rest of the way, her stomach descending with every step.
“Here you go.”
She sets their milkshakes in front of them and they drag them to their chests to take a sip.
“Damn, that’s a good shake.” Lips smack.
“Are yous surprised? Look who made it!”
The men turn to her simultaneously and grin.
The room is dark, but at this angle, the dim neon lights highlight their swollen, red faces as they try to keep their eyes uncrossed long enough to look at her. Their upper bodies sway back and forth. Tiffany grows nauseous from the motion.
No, these grins aren’t what’s making her uncomfortable. She’s faced grins like these before.
She averts her eyes and pulls her pad and pen from her skirt apron. They watch her, then turn to each other and roar laughter onto their drinks—as if this diner wasn’t covered in enough of their saliva. She scrunches her face in disgust as the glasses sweat spit.
“Doll, what’s a gorgeous girl like you doing waitressing in a rundown place like this?”
She clicks her pen and presses the ballpoint to the page. The yellow pad drinks in the black ink. “Taking your order, sweetheart.” She flashes them a sweet smile, holding back the itch in her throat that begs to tear wide open into a shriek. “Now, is there anything else I can get you two?”