3.Alin
Alin
I wake up, feeling the remnants of a hangover creeping in.
My head pounds as if it could explode any moment, and I grope around on the mattress for my phone.
Unlocking it with a fingerprint, I see three missed calls from Cora.
I sigh, realizing I forgot to check in with her last night when I got back to the apartment.
I try to piece together the events of the night, resolving not to drink more than a single shot next time. Alcohol clearly doesn’t agree with me. Slowly making my way to the kitchen, I dial Cora’s number. It ’ s noon; she should be awake by now.
After three rings, she answers, “Alin! You gave me a heart attack! I heard Mariano talking to Luca that some drunk tried to grab you at the club.” I roll my eyes at the mention of his name as everything comes back to me, but the memory of his lips brushing my neck sends shivers down my spine again.
“Cora, everything’s fine. I can take care of myself. Luca was just hot-headed,” I defend myself and immediately tell her what happened last night, from the beginning to the end, of course, omitting the tail incident.
She laughs on the other end. “Oh, Alin! Even Luca couldn ’ t resist your charm. I told you, you ’ re irresistible.”
“Another guy looking to score and thinking women should just line right up.” I retorted, trying to sound disinterested, but my body thinks otherwise.
Cora chuckles knowingly. “Luca isn’t interested in just anyone.
He doesn’t need to chase. Trust me, women flock to him.
Don’t let it bother you. He probably ended up with one of his groupies to cool off his temper. ”
Her words sting slightly, but I push it aside. “Anyway, he’s such an idiot,” I declare, steering the conversation toward plans for shopping and the upcoming opening of a VIP cinema near my place in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.
While chatting, I managed to boil water and pour myself a cup of coffee, hoping it would kickstart my morning.
I down the scalding coffee in one go, wincing at the burn on my tongue, then place the cup in the sink and go right into my small bathtub, turning on the water.
My legs transform into my tail, and I struggle again to find a comfortable position in the tub as I roll from side to side.
“Why is this tail so heavy?” I whine aloud but manage to balance my body as the water fills up to the top.
After twenty minutes of acrobatics in the bathtub, I dry my body and turn my tail back into legs. I put on a long summer dress that reaches my ankles, tie my hair back, and wear low-heeled sandals, convincing myself that getting out for a bit of fresh air isn’t a bad idea.
I decide to visit the café beneath my apartment, eager to enjoy the warm spring weather after a harsh winter. At the café, I order an egg sandwich and a large chocolate pastry, a familiar indulgence since I rarely cook in my own apartment.
When my order arrives, I devour the sandwich with relish, each bite tasting better than the last, a clear sign that hunger was part of the lingering hangover.
When only crumbs remain on the plate, I pull out my phone and search the internet for the name “Cinderella.” Looking for information about the nickname Luca gave me last night.
Numerous links to movies pop up immediately, along with images from an animated film below the search bar.
I keep reading and chuckle to myself when I realize it’s a fairy tale that many movies were based on.
I also notice links to other fairy tales like Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Rapunzel, and a long list of films I’m unfamiliar with.
I finish the last bite of the chocolate pastry, already planning to watch those movies on my laptop once I get back to the apartment.
Leaving the café, I find the weather still warm with a pleasant breeze, so I decide to stroll around the area.
A bit of shopping might lift my spirits and distract me from last night’s events.
The hangover has subsided somewhat after eating and showering, but thoughts of Luca linger—his scent, his lips, my unguarded reactions, and the altercation with the drunk.
I cringe at the memory of how drunk I was; I really hope I won’t run into him again.
I try to remind myself of his arrogance and rudeness, hoping it would dampen my thoughts of him.
Who am I kidding? Deep down, I secretly wish I could see him again, a lot.
Sighing, I glance at the shop windows around me.
It seems to be sale season with the changing weather; every store displays big sale signs.
Passing a familiar clothing store where I found nothing special before, I move on to browse through cosmetic and fashion outlets, finding myself less excited about the offerings than I anticipated.
That’s when I notice a small corner store I’ve never seen before.
The shop has an old wooden brown door at the entrance, with an oval glass window at the top allowing a glimpse inside.
I stand on my tiptoes—the small heel I wore today proving unhelpful, especially at this window’s height—and try to peer inside.
I notice many decorated vases, wood carvings, and unique jewelry. “It’s an antique shop,” I whisper to myself, smiling. Maybe I could sell my sea treasures here!
Pushing open the door eagerly, the bells above it jingle softly, setting my heart racing.
I immediately immerse myself in exploring the shop; antiques have always held a special place in my heart.
My underwater treasure hunts used to fill me with similar excitement at each discovery.
Glancing toward the counter, I find it unattended.
Running my hand along the wooden display cabinets as I walk past, I show interest in every item.
My attention halts when I spot a delicate, thin gold necklace featuring a small, pointed white shell pendant and another round gold pendant with a familiar engraving.
I gently brush the dust off the round pendant, studying its engraving with keen interest. It looks strikingly familiar. No, it can’t be.
The engraving depicts a circle with a triangle extending beyond its boundaries at each corner, with small wave-shaped carvings filling the space created by their intersections.
Lost in thought, trying to figure out if it’s the same symbol I know, a voice suddenly breaks my concentration from behind.
“You have good taste; it’s very special.” I jump in surprise and see a very old woman coming out from behind the counter and approaching me, using a walking stick.
“Do you recognize this symbol?” the woman asks me in a calm tone, and it seems to make her sink into deep thoughts. I wonder what happy memories she’s drifting into because her smile widens.
I smile at her politely. “Yes, it’s very special, hard to ignore. I think I know this symbol, but I’m not sure,” I answer honestly.
She looks at me, deepening her gaze into my eyes. “I’ve never seen such a unique turquoise hue; your eyes looks like a jewel. They remind me of the eyes of the woman who once saved my life,” she says, closing her eyes as if savoring the memories.
“I would never forget Lora,” she murmurs to the air, and my body stiffens.
Did she just say Lora? Maybe I didn’t hear well. “Lora?” I ask, struggling to hide my curiosity. The symbol, Lora, my eyes—it’s all clear to me now. “Do you know my mother?” I ask in surprise.
The woman immediately opens her eyes wide and chuckles. “Your eyes are like two drops of water, just like hers, but I think it’s very unlikely that she is your mother. She was a very special woman,” she answers and continues to look at the symbol.
She only strengthens my thoughts that it’s my mother.
“This symbol is on the gold crown around her forehead. It signifies strength and hope,” I announce, holding the pendant. The woman looks at me in surprise, strokes my cheek, and glances at my legs.
“So you’re special too?” she asks, and I hear her choking back tears.
I think she’s trying to get me to say the word so that she doesn’t have to say it first.
“If you mean the tail, then yes,” I say immediately, hoping in my heart that I am not making a mistake and that she indeed understands what I’m talking about.
Tears stream down her face, and she pulls me into a motherly hug. I recoil slightly, but after a few seconds, I fold into her warm embrace. She releases me, her eyes red from crying.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” I lower my gaze to the floor.
“My dear, these are tears I wish for everyone dear to me. They are tears of excitement. I never thought I would ever see her again and thank her. But fate brought you to my shop’s door.
It probably means there’s something I need to do for you,” she wipes her tears and kisses my cheek.
“What do you need to thank her for?” I ask as I help her sit on an old wooden chair with a floral cushion next to us.
She takes a deep breath, seeming eager to share.
“When I celebrated my 36th birthday, my daughter decided to surprise me with a diving trip in Florida. We lived in a small town forty minutes from Miami at that time.
She worked tirelessly at a café in our town, saving up every penny for this trip. Her excitement was palpable when she shared her plan with me, and how could I refuse such an invitation to share this experience with her?
On the day of the dive, a trainee hastily checked my diving gear and overlooked securing my oxygen tank properly.
Paired with a diver, the experience was exhilarating until my oxygen tube came loose deep underwater.
Panic gripped me as I quickly lost oxygen, while my companion struggled to calm me and fix the issue.
Fear clouded my judgment, and I made a frantic attempt to swim to the surface, but my breath didn’t hold out, and I felt the end closing in.