February Kisses Read online

  Soon, Salama and Heaven were two of the only people left. The only others who remained were a couple taking their time to get ready while texting their babysitter that they were on their way home. Heaven was busy cleaning up some of the mess. Salama was about to approach her about the article when she realized Heaven would need all of this cleaned up before the café opened in the morning. Friday was one of the biggest days of the week! Salama would know! She often came in on Fridays!

  “Do you need some help with that?” Salama offered to take the platter full of dirty dishes from Heaven, who looked at her as if it were a miracle she was still there. Had she already forgotten? “I don’t have anywhere to be. Let me help you out.”

  “Uh, sure…” Heaven hoisted the plate into Salama’s grasp. “Thanks. You can take those into the big sink in the back.”

  Nodding, Salama was careful to not drop a single thing as she stepped into the back kitchen, a place she had seen numerous times from the front of the café, but had never entered.

  It was amazingly mundane. Yet the thought that it was Heaven’s domain brought some giddiness to Salama’s chest. Stay focused. She’s expecting you to interview her after this is over. That’s probably why she thinks you’re still here, dummy!

  Salama gingerly placed the dishes into the large industrial-sized sink before turning around. She encountered Heaven behind the counter, carrying the last of the smaller dishes.

  “Here! I can take those!” Yet Salama’s excitement got the best of her, for she said that before she was actually ready to take the dishes into her hands. Heaven let go of the platter a little too soon.

  Down went the dishes, clattering to the floor.

  Chapter 6

  HEAVEN

  If Heaven had a dollar for every time she broke a dish in her own damn café, she’d have enough money to get new dishes for life!

  “Oh, hon, it’s fine!” She batted Salama’s anxious hands away with the towel she had slung over her shoulder. “It’s only a little porcelain! Luckily, most of this is plastic of some kind.” She had learned her lesson after her first few months in the restaurant business. Durability trumped aesthetics. She would know. This was a woman who went to the Goodwills in the big towns and hunted down old porcelain cups. Most of them were broken within a year of opening her café. If not by customers, then by her!

  Salama looked like she was about to cry. My goodness. She sure is precious in that sweater. The out-of-towner had worn a dark red turtleneck to go with her Easter pink headscarf. The blue jeans did their best to hide the curves of Salama’s thighs and hips, but she still had that womanly physique that drew Heaven’s wandering eye. What are you doing? Girl is freaking out on you, and you’re checking her out? Heaven offered a smile and another reassurance in the form of putting her hand on Salama’s shoulder.

  “It’s fine. Let me go get my broom.” She placed the tray on the counter and turned her back on Salama. God only knew how mortified she looked now.

  Couldn’t have been worse than the café. While her guests hadn’t been animals, per se, there had been a lot of them indulging in a good time. Trash was left on the floor. Food stains on the tables. Enough dirty dishes to make Heaven stretch out her arms with gusto. She had been so absorbed in cleaning up so she could get home, that she totally forgot about the straggler she told to stay behind.

  Something about an interview for an online magazine. Christ. Heaven should have told Salama to come by some other time. But nooo. That would have been making things easier for herself, and she could never have that, now could she?

  “See? It’s going away.” Heaven brushed her broom across the floor, picking up most of the broken dish chunks to shove into the recycling. “If you want to help, how about you grab that towel over there and wipe down a few tables? I’ll throw these in the dishwasher.”

  Salama didn’t waste time grabbing not one, but two towels. She was a regular pro at wiping down tables like it was her damn job. Why am I hiring high school kids when I could be hiring helpers like her? Wonder if she’s looking for a job… Heaven couldn’t pay more than minimum wage plus tips, but it was better than nothing in Paradise Valley. Then again, maybe working on a laptop all day produced more money than she could pay. Hmph. I should start looking into it. In case the locals decided to stop supporting her shop. Who knew, right?

  “So, what was this interview about, again?” Heaven called from the kitchen. She ran the hot water spray and used the opportunity to pull her hair back into a loose ponytail. Not that a tight ponytail was possible with her frizzy locks. She was lucky if it stayed out of the way at all. “An online magazine you write for?”

  Salama looked up from her table scrubbing. “Something like that. I’m, ah…” She had to stop and think about it? “I’m tasked with finding businesswomen in my local community who are making differences and inspiring other young women. It won’t take very long, I promise.”

  “Inspiring young women, huh?” Heaven was still getting used to being called a businesswoman. “I dunno about that, but I definitely inspire my one young employees to make some pocket change, haha.”

  Salama came to the kitchen and handed her the rags. Heaven tossed them into a hamper.

  “I’m inspired.”

  Heaven turned around with a flash. “Is that so? Is that why you want to interview me?”

  Maybe it was the pink of her scarf and the red of her turtleneck, but Heaven swore she saw blush on Salama’s cheeks. “You have a very outgoing personality. People like you. You’re a local who has close ties to the community you serve. Isn’t it normal to admire that?”

  “Never thought of it that way before. Guess it takes an outsider’s perspective, huh?” She quickly amended that. “I mean, not that you’re an outsider…”

  “I knew what you meant.” Salama offered a sympathetic smile. “It’s not like I’m a Californian or something.”

  “Riiiight.” Heaven stepped out of the kitchen and gestured to one of the clean tables. “All right. Let’s do this. We gotta get you home before it’s too late.”

  She offered her guest some decaf coffee before remembering Salama never drank any. She did have one cookie left, however, and insisted that Salama take it. Meanwhile, Heaven would sit with some tea she brewed to help herself calm down. She needed it after a long day.

  Salama had a small pad and a pencil. “Let’s start with how you came to run this café…”

  Heaven propped her head up on one hand and snorted to remember the day she decided to do the seemingly impossible. Shortly after I kicked Rob out of my life. She had needed something to take her mind off her failed marriage. Something that gave her purpose. Something that she could make money from, because she no longer had Rob’s income to help out around the house. The café had once been a fish and chips place before it went under and shuttered up its windows. Unfortunately, it was difficult for businesses to bounce back in that little corner of the world. People forgot about them. Tourists stopped coming. There was nothing special about fish and chips up in the mountains, and the lesbian jokes wrote themselves. Granted, there was nothing special about a “café,” either, but Heaven had being the only full-service, all-day café in town going for her. Add on special LGBT-oriented events, and she had a hook for both the tourists and the locals. People loved the thought of having a fancy cup of coffee, a snack, or maybe a light meal while talking Pride or the lesbian jewelry business they were launching on the internet. Investing in wi-fi for her customers was something Heaven considered critical in that small town. Only other place to get free wi-fi was the library, and that wasn’t the same kind of atmosphere. It also wasn’t open late on the weekends.

  “How did you get the funds to open the café?” Salama asked.

  Heaven wrinkled her nose. “This is off the record, but if you must know… I invested my alimony payments. Suffice to say, I don’t need alimony no more.”

  “Alimony, huh?”

  “Yes. I’m divorced.” Not like it was a s
ecret. Everyone in Paradise Valley knew about Rob and the ensuing falling out that happened a few years ago. Some of their most infamous fights happened in her parents’ front lawn for all of Virginia Street to witness. Can’t forget him stumbling around town drunker than hell. Heaven refused to get into the details of that, however. She said “alimony payments” and kept it at that. She wasn’t even sure that was technically legal. What was Rob gonna do? Demand that money back? Would look really great for his latest stint of trying to get back with her.

  Salama had fewer questions than Heaven anticipated. She also didn’t write down much. Not that Heaven would question a woman’s journalistic methods. Maybe she was one of those types who remembered everything she heard. What would Heaven know? She was never great at school. Never had any natural talents beyond being outgoing and somewhat charming. She was good at making friends and keeping them happy. Not so much book work. She knew enough to run a business, but she also kept the likes of accountant Hesper Chess on her payroll and relied on her networking skills to get good-quality stuff for her café. Word of mouth did the rest. The most marketing Heaven did was invest in a cute sign to catch the tourists’ attentions and hold regular events to keep people coming back. What else was there in a small town? Newspaper? Radio? That was the kind of shit she did when she first opened. Didn’t need it now.

  Still, Salama was impressed.

  “Things are so different here in the countryside,” she said. “Back in Portland, you throw a rock and it breaks a café’s windows. Everyone sells coffee and tea. I mean, everyone sells the same kind of coffee and tea. It’s kind of amazing, really. The same gluten free and vegan pastries. Same industrial or cozy kitchen aesthetics. This place is… natural.”

  “That so? I don’t go to Portland much.” That was the truth. Heaven wasn’t a fan of big cities. She would always be a small town girl at heart. Portland was for really big shopping trips – like to Washington Square Mall for Christmas shopping – and going to medical specialists. Everything else she needed was either there in town or could be had in one of the larger towns on the coast. I can go to the beach while I’m there. Heaven sipped her tea while imagining another thrift store kind of day. Been a while since she indulged.

  “I love the feel of a small town. Especially ones like this, where nobody looks at you weird for liking girls.”

  “Suppose that’s true,” Heaven said.

  Salama wrapped up the interview with a promise to let Heaven know what came of it. When she asked if any photos were necessary, Salama simply said, “I’ll let you know.”

  Heaven got up and offered to take the last of the dirty dishes. She expected Salama to leave in the meantime, but Heaven returned from the kitchen to discover her guest standing in the middle of the café, her red rose in her hand.

  “Thank you so much for everything,” Salama said with that sweetness that came so naturally to her. “I’ve always appreciated this place ever since I moved here. It’s nice to have a place to come work on my projects and still get a little social stimulation.”

  Heaven cleared her throat. “I do what I can for the community.” She had meant it as a joke, yet Salama continued to stare at her as if she were the coolest gal in town.

  The red rose was soon in Heaven’s hand.

  “Thanks again.” Salama grabbed her pad and pencil and flew out of the café as if someone had lit a match beneath her feet.

  It took Heaven a few minutes to realize what had happened. Red rose… from a single gal… Oh. Oh, no. That wasn’t… that wasn’t Salama insinuating that she liked Heaven, was it? She had gone on about how great Heaven and the café were, after all. Only made sense that her little lesbian heart might also have a crush on the proprietress!

  “Shit,” Heaven muttered. She didn’t know if that was because she needed to find a way to gently let the young woman down… or because she was amused by the thought of a pretty gal like Salama having so much interest in her.

  She supposed it was both, really.

  Chapter 7

  SALAMA

  Salama woke up early the next morning, too giddy to keep sleeping. Wait. Was it giddiness? Or anxiety? A woman could be giddy because she got to talk to her crush and put herself out there. She could also be a nervous wreck because she had no idea what said crush would think of her now.

  There was no point tossing and turning in her bed. As soon as she got up, did some yoga, took a shower, and sat down to her MacBook with a cup of hot tea in her hand, she decided to focus on work. Some sun shined through the cloudy February sky. They were a little past the first half of the month now. Time for spring to start peeking through from heaven.

  Damnit. She was thinking about Heaven.

  Salama threaded her fingers through her dark hair while waiting for her browser to load. She did not expect an email from her sister to welcome her.

  “Dearest Sister,” it began. Someone have mercy on Salama, because she had a feeling this was personal. The only time Rana directly contacted her was when she wanted to act self-righteous. If something had happened to their parents, Salama would have heard it through Amin. “I read your most recent post on that website…”

  Salama’s eyes glazed over. Of course. Rana was spying on her through her articles, not that Salama had kept them a secret. Once upon a time, her mother had been proud of Salama’s gift for words. Now it was something they didn’t talk about. “Gift for words,” was supposed to translate as a, well, translator, or writing copy for businesses. Salama’s mother tried to get her to move abroad with the rest of the family with promises of a good teaching job. Salama didn’t doubt her skills could land her a decent gig somewhere, but it wasn’t what she wanted to do with her talents. She didn’t have the countenance for teaching. Her words lived inside of her head, tumbling about until they were polished enough to appear in print. Having to get up in front of people – even one person – and explain things to them was daunting. Her tongue often twisted around her teeth and made her sound like someone who didn’t know how to speak any language.

  “I encourage you to rethink your words and how this could have possibly hurt our parents…”

  That was a choice sentence for Salama to come back to read. “She’s gotta be kidding,” Salama muttered. Naturally, Rana wasn’t kidding. She was the buffer between Salama and their parents. Both Amin and Rana had been born abroad. Salama was an American citizen, and everyone loved to call her the “most American.” Perhaps it had been a point of pride that the baby of the family was so American that she could speak to someone on the phone and they would never guess her family came from elsewhere. Yet it had slowly morphed into a point of contention as she grew older and proved to be American in all the wrong ways, too.

  Still, it was rich that Rana liked to pretend she was better than Salama because she “instinctively” understood cultural differences. More like she’s a self-important know-it-all, and it doesn’t take different languages to understand that! Salama would love to have a real debate with her sister. For one time, a conversation that was in good-faith, where they could both air their opinions and come to either an agreement, or hug out their disagreements. Except it never ended that way with Rana. She had become the good daughter. The dutiful daughter, who not only followed her parents back home to their place of birth, but was keen to follow a traditional lifestyle.

  Salama didn’t fault her for that. It clearly made her happy and, to a point, Salama could understand the appeal. What she couldn’t stand was the “better than you” attitude. If Rana felt so strongly about her sister, though… wasn’t it a sign that it was best for them to live in separate countries? Sometimes, severe distances made familial bonds stronger.

  “You should also get a new profile picture for that website. Such a bold orange isn’t good for your skin tone, Sister. And why do you wear so much makeup? Let the natural beauty that God gave you shine. You don’t need to gussy yourself up so much.”

  Gussy herself up? It was a professional photo, an
d Salama had ensured she looked put together! The lipstick wasn’t even that bold! As for the orange hijab? Salama and the photographer decided on that particular color because it was warm yet striking. The perfect way to attract a reader’s eye whenever they stumbled upon one of her articles. Nobody else on the site had an orange hijab in their photo. Wasn’t it a great way to brand herself on a website with dozens of active writers?

  Rana wouldn’t understand that. She also wouldn’t understand her sister’s silence for more than another twelve hours, because Rana’s patience grew thin enough for the whole family.

  After a deep, meditative breath, Salama thanked her sister for saying hello and airing what was on her mind. “As you know, Dearest Sister, writing is my career and is very important to me. Like you have followed your own path with your relationship with God and what that means for your future, I too have paved my own road. You’d be happy to know that there are many columnists on the site that share many of your viewpoints. It might not even be a bad idea to take a look at…” No, she also needed to curb the passive-aggression. One of the dangers of being a native Oregonian was a fluent understanding of passive-aggression and how to best utilize it among friends and family. Unfortunately, Rana never learned that particular lesson. She’d be downright offended!

  “Screw this.” Salama closed her laptop and stood before the window overlooking the pizza parlor parking lot. The place was closed for business, but a few employees filed in to start the prep work for that day’s food. They made most of their money selling pizza by the slice to harried townspeople looking for something quick and tasty to eat. If they wanted to make their lunch money, they started around nine in the morning.