Ean’s Rare Gift – Chapter 1

Ean

The morning sun reflects off the glass door of Café Mela, blinding me as I approach. I step back and hold up a hand to stop the bright light.

Play it cool, Ean. This is just like any other day you’re here. No big deal. Everything will be the same as always. Same as always. I relax and try to look natural. Whatever that means.

Painted black with a large picture window, the café’s entrance is set back from the road, a narrow building that blends with the other commercial establishments on the block. Café Mela’s name is scrawled across the front in fancy script, and a small bell jingles over the doorway as it opens with a ding and hiss.

Cool, dry air wafts over me and brings a sigh of relief. It’s hot and sticky outside, even though we’re heading into autumn. This summer feels like it’s lasted forever, with temperatures higher than ever. I can’t wait for the cooler days ahead.

White tables with chairs are set up inside, only a few per table. The sweet scent of baked goods and freshly roasted coffee hang in the air. My stomach rumbles, and my mouth waters. I should have eaten before I left. The sun’s rays stream through the skylight, illuminating the hurried movements of Karina at the counter.

“Morning!” she calls out.

My heart skips a beat at her bright smile and wave. I shouldn’t be so happy for the attention. She does the same for everyone who walks into her café. But I can’t help it. I’ve had a crush on her for two years now, and everything she does makes my insides melt.

Ah, she’s wearing her hair down today, so that means she got some sleep last night, a rarity for her. Light glints off the metal pins holding her chestnut brown loose curls off her face. Her cheeks and lips are pink, highlighting the slight olive tone of her skin. Her family is mostly of Italian descent, with a few Japanese ancestors mixed in from the days in Nishikyō on Earth.

I have to stop staring.

“Ean.” She waves me to the counter as she sets out another four-pack of takeaway coffee cups next to the other three waiting there. “Your order is almost ready.” She jerks her head at Charlie, her younger nephew, who is pulling one more espresso from the complex machine. “He’s just finishing up.”

“Thanks. Again, I really appreciate it.” She smiles when I nod to her. I love it when she smiles.

If people could hear my inner thoughts, they would throw up.

“No problem, of course. I want to help.” She dusts off her hands and sets the towel aside. Reaching around to her back, she unties her apron. “And I’m going to help you bring these over today. Charlie is learning how to run the place without me here.” She rests her hand on his shoulder, and he grimaces.

“Let’s hope I don’t set the place on fire.” He snaps a top on the last coffee and adds it to the rest.

“Please don’t. This is the only thing keeping me afloat, and my apartment is right upstairs.” She pats his shoulder. “It’ll be okay. The rush will start in about thirty minutes, and I’ll be back soon after.”

I glance at the eighteen cups of coffee and the two bags of pastries and do a mental calculation. “You don’t have to leave, Karina. I can get it all there on two trips with some bags.”

“Nonsense,” she says, waving away my idea. She widens her eyes a bit and jerks her head at Charlie. “He’s more than capable of taking care of the place while I’m gone.”

I grin at Charlie. “Big day, huh?”

Charlie bangs out the coffee grinds. “She’s finally trusting me more with the place, so yeah.” He shrugs.

I remember being that age, wanting more responsibility but terrified of screwing up. I was shadowing Dad at the foundation and watching how he held the lives of the citizens he cared for in his hands. If he screwed up, they would be homeless for longer than necessary, putting more burdens on them and causing more heartache. It was a hard lesson to learn. People depend on us. We never want to let them down.

The door opens, and another person enters. Charlie leaves us to take his order.

Karina hands me a canvas bag and opens another for herself. We fold down the stabilizers and load each with coffee cups on the bottom and bags of pastries on top.

“Ready?” she asks.

I heft my bag, and it’s not too heavy. Her bag has less in it, so I don’t feel like I need to carry hers too.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

I open the door for her and let her go through first.

“Oof, it’s another hot and sticky day today.” She pulls a pair of sunglasses from her pocket and puts them on. “Are you going to be out here all morning?”

“Ah, no. I have meetings to attend today, mostly inside, thankfully. Two township meetings to prepare for the housing lottery, and then my sisters are coming over to help me unpack. Then I have the neighborhood meeting in the evening.”

She gasps. “Oh yes! How could I forget? How did the move go?”

“Good.” We turn the corner and head up an alley between two buildings. “I like the place, and it has plenty of space. It’s very rough around the edges, but I’m sure I’ll make it work.”

Over the weekend, I moved into my own place, and thank the gods for that. I lived at home until I moved to a shared space three years ago, and I just couldn’t live there another day. Sharing a bedroom with a roommate and a whole two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment with six people was challenging. I didn’t date anybody for years because I had no place to bring anyone home to.

But with housing at a premium and so many left in homeless camps, I was way down the list to get my own space. When an apartment over an office became available, the council set it aside for the foundation and me four months ago, and now I’m finally moving in. Karina got her place three years ago because service businesses get first priority. I sigh.

She glances at me. “Are you sighing because it needs work, or are you sighing because you feel guilty?”

I laugh and pass the bag from my left hand to my right. “You may know me too well.”

I don’t elaborate. I feel guilty, of course. The Kimura Foundation has spent the last twenty years trying to place people into housing, some of them going on five years without a true roof or a bathroom to relieve themselves. The only consolation is that the homeless population is now less than one hundred individuals in Yamato. I have hustled for the last two years to get as many people placed as possible.

A cat appears from between two trashcans and trots towards us. Her coat is a tawny orange with white splotches, almost like a snow leopard. The cat pauses and sits, eyeing us as we eye her. I freeze, and Karina comes to a stop next to me. She looks up at me, her eyes narrowed and waiting.

Five years ago, my pair, a cat named Suzie, died of old age. I was devastated when I lost her. She made everything in life more bearable. I loved her so much. It’s rare that someone meets their pair and loses them all within five years, but it happened to me. I’m thirty years old and already a pair widow.

Karina is two years older than me and also a widow of the human variety. Her husband died around the same time Suzie did. He had a rare blood condition he didn’t even know about. Stroked out at work and was dead in an instant. She was living in Izumo at the time with her family but decided she needed a fresh start somewhere else. A year later, she moved to Yamato and started a bakery from her shared apartment. I first met her when she provided coffee and baked goods at a town meeting. She was a recent widow, but I fell for her at first sight — head over heels. But I know better than to push under these circumstances.

Friends. We’re friends.

I wait as the cat approaches. Her soft padding shoe is the only sound as she circles us. She slinks along the alley wall and darts away, meowing and hissing. I let out a held breath.

“Not that one, huh?” Karina asks.

“Nope. I guess not.” Keeping the disappointment out of my voice is easy nowadays. I approach every cat like it might be my newest pair, a new best friend and life companion. But it’s never gotten farther than a meow. If we were pairs, I would hear their voice translated via the microchip I had implanted when I was thirteen.

“Maybe next time.”

“For you, too,” I say, leading us away.

“Yeah, maybe.” Her voice is always filled with hope or promise. I don’t know how she does it. “At least you know you’re connected to cats. I have no idea which kind of animal I’m attracted to. I was thinking about trying one of those pairing clubs. They have all types of animals there, and it would give me a chance to meet lots of different animals all at once. I have several friends who had luck with that. Two found pairs that way.” She sighs and catches her breath. “Anyway, maybe I’ll go someday soon.”

She turns to me, her eyes bright with excitement. My chest warms with her attention on me.

“You should. I’ve been to a few but not had any luck.” Her smile fades a bit. Stupid, Ean. Don’t rain on her sunshine. “It’s still very worth going,” I assure her. “It’s a fun time, and you get to meet a lot of people, too.”

She looks away and nods. “I saw the Great Menagerie Book Club is open until midnight every weeknight and Saturday. I thought I would go after work someday.”

“A great idea. They have animals and books. What more could anyone want?”

She stares at me for a long moment, her eyes wide. I look away and clear my throat. She mutters something in Italian under her breath, and once again, I wish I could just let go of this hesitation.

I’m never sure what she wants from me. We’re friends, yes, and we spend time together outside of this kind of stuff. She likes to run, and we go for runs together some Friday mornings. We bump into each other at the markets and at the local izakaya in this same neighborhood. We’ve gone to a few book readings, dinners, and other events, and she’s always happy when we’re together.

But then there are these occasions when she draws inward, and she’s quiet or sad when usually she’s upbeat and happy. I think those are the times she misses her late husband. I give her space then, not wanting to upset the delicate balance of our friendship.

“Be sure to let me know if you decide to go. I’d be happy to go with you if you like.” It’s the most forward I have ever been with her.

“I’d love that.” Her smile is my favorite thing about her. “I’ll definitely let you know if I decide to check it out.”

I lift the bag of coffee cups.

“Thanks for helping bring this over to the encampment. I appreciate it.” I tilt my head forward. “We’re almost there.”

She softens. “Sure. Of course. You can always ask me for help. I’m happy to give it.”

I smile at her. “I’m glad we’re friends, Karina. Never hesitate to ask me for anything, either.”

“I know. I’m glad, too,” she says softly. She brightens her smile with a brief shake of her head. “Let’s go. Don’t want this to get cold.”