The Best Building Mixer of All
And four months after that . . .
I pull the door open—the bell dings as I step inside—and it’s like slipping into a warm bath after a long day.
Every time I come into the diner now, I feel refreshed. The layout is the same, but so many little things have changed over
the past six months that it’s hard to tell what remains.
I take in the clean wooden tables, set with tablecloths and vases of fresh-cut flowers. The classic smell of the deep fryer
melds with something savory and herbal.
Kelly, one of the servers Sami hired for busier evenings, waves at me between polishing wineglasses. “Hey, Mona. You’re the
first one here, obviously.”
I shake my head. “It’s always like that.”
Kelly nods to one of the glasses in her hand. “Would you like a glass of white while you wait?”
“That’d be great. Thanks, Kelly.”
She leaves my wine on the counter and takes off to greet a young couple in matching dark-rimmed glasses who just walked in.
Sami bursts through the kitchen door a moment later, the door flapping in his wake.
“I thought I heard your voice!” It’s the grin that tugs across his whole face when he first sees me that never gets old.
“Come, sit at the counter. By the way, remind me later—I made this dip I want to watch you try.”
“Sami, please.” I take a seat at my new stool. (The old one is available online at #onemansjunk, Carmen’s new—officially licensed!—shop.)
“I told you it unsettles me when you watch me eat.”
“But the folks in marketing.” He winks. “They need to know.”
I place an unimpressive package on the counter. I wrapped it using a brown envelope I stole from the office earlier, after
I decided that this was, in fact, a gift.
“What’s this?” Sami asks.
“Something I made you. Happy birthday.”
He holds his hands to his chest. “Oh my god, Mona, you made me a thing.”
I shake my head furiously. “Don’t get excited! I’m still pretty shitty. But I thought it would be cute for the diner.”
He tears into the envelope and slides out the linen. Then he stares, expression blank.
“If you don’t want to put it up, or . . . embroidery really is harder than I expected.”
He starts to laugh. “Mona, this is without a doubt the greatest thing anyone has ever made or done in this place.”
He holds it up to the wall behind him, testing a place to put it. The words turned out clear enough at least:
I’m sorry for the way I acted at your place of business last night.
“Look at that. It’ll be a permanent fixture right here as soon as I dig out my hammer.” He rolls it up and places it gently
back in the envelope. “This is so random; the patrons are gonna love it.”
A few more strangers file in, taking up the back corner booth. Kelly rushes to bring them menus.
I raise my eyebrows at Sami. “I notice you didn’t close to the public for the party?”
Sami follows my gaze. “I considered it, but I didn’t want to alienate the new neighbors on the street, you know?”
I can’t suppress my giggle. “I do know.”
A crash rings from the kitchen. Sami has hired a few new crew members back there, but they’re still finding their stride as
a team. “Shit. I better go see how everyone’s doing.” Sami rushes to join the chaos in the kitchen.
I don’t notice Irene coming in, until she jabs me in the ribs as a greeting. She’s curled her hair into tight ringlets for
the evening. “I can’t believe we all stayed alive for this.”
I stand up to give her a hug. “Irene! You came.”
She playfully shoos me off. “Calm down, it’s just for a minute. I’ll have to get back to Ernest soon.” She squints at me.
“I don’t know what kind of partying you did this morning, but you got him all worked up.”
“We just . . . walked to the park and back.”
“Anyway.” Her hands splay expectantly. “Thought this was a mixer, where the hell is everyone?”
Right on cue, the door jingles and Jane and Carmen file in. “Sorry we’re late!” Jane calls. “But the new rec room is looking
great! Or should I say—fire! Too soon?”
“Oh, good god.” Irene rolls her eyes about as dramatically as a lady of a certain age can muster.
“You’re all looking dapper!” Carmen takes his usual seat next to me. “Jane took over the entire thing. I was just the gofer,
but it turned out pretty nice.”
“Hey, I’m just trying to learn in the real world,” Jane adds.
“You’re right. You’re right!” Carmen waves his hands.
Jane sips the wine Kelly slid to her. “Speaking of, I think my colorspace test results are up.” She pulls out her phone and
heads to the bathroom.
Jane has almost completed her first semester of interior design school.
She takes the classes in the evenings, and her day job has been good about respecting her need to leave on time.
It’s been nice seeing her find her stride, although she has way less time for our investigations lately (which have devolved to us watching the juiciest—most out-of-pocket—erotic thrillers and making intricate snack plates).
“Finally, I can relax.” Carmen holds out his Coke to cheers me. When I clink his glass, he just has to add: “Between my junk
venture, and the rec room, I’d been working my asshole to the nub.”
I shudder my sip of wine down at this visual. “Anyway, how’s business going?”
“Oh, you know, still a lot of marketplace BS, but the website actually helps cut a lot of the scammer types out. No more worrying
I might get molested in an alley.”
“That’s great news!” I say while trying to ignore the added images he’s just planted in my brain.
“Hell, I might have to open a storefront—been looking around here, since the yuppies love my wares.”
“That’s the dream.” I grin and once again look around the bustling little diner.
He lowers his voice. “By the way, I reached out to Miley again.” His cheeks go red in a bashful way. “We’re going to have
a coffee after school next week.”
The excitement and hope seeping from his every pore draws a pang into me as I remember my almost regular coffee dates with
my dad. “Carmen, that’s really great.” My voice is shaky.
He allows himself a small smile. “She might end up getting too busy, she’s a teenager after all. But I gotta just keep supporting
her from afar and letting her know that I’m here when she’s ready.”
I blink really fast before croaking, “I hope she can make it.”
Carmen stares into his soda before shaking his head. “Anyway, check these little sloths out. Bet you want one.” He taps his
phone to show me Miley’s latest creations. His daughter has already started her own online business selling crochet animals. Last month Carmen gifted me a baby elephant from her line that I keep just under my naked-lady lamp. My place is really coming together.
The bell dings and Norm walks into the restaurant. He looks around uncertainly, but his head is high. I give him a small wave
as Carmen gets up to mingle with Divorced Dad and Lorna in the front booth.
Norm comes straight to Carmen’s seat. “So, there’s been some funny business at the old office,” he tells me.
“Oh yeah?”
“It seems Bob Wolch got into some trouble in Vegas and punched a card dealer. His board of directors wants him gone.”
A smirk threatens to break across my lips, but I try not to let it. “How very sad for all involved. I do hope their stock
can recover.”
Norm smiles. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
“Of course not. I wish him well.” I sip my wine, pinky out.
Norm has been a steady supply of office tea for me. It’s so nice to hear it all . . . from a distance. (I guess Corbin and Olivia haven’t spoken to Lisa since her promotion last month.)
“And how’s the new job going?” Norm asks as he selects one of the olive breads from the basket Sami put out.
“Well, always busy, but different.” I think of the week I had at work—meetings for a fundraising gala we’re planning, a trip
to city hall, and my favorite: Filming for my new video series on older buildings and their stories, #yychistorygal, is really
taking off. This week I had to visit a new ice-cream shop in a 1912 sandstone building—for the outreach. “Honestly, it’s great.”
“Hello, fuckers.” Jane pushes between us, turning on Norm. “Rupa asked where you were last night.” She nudges him on the arm.
Rupa is our newest tenant—after Fighting Couple moved out, she joined the building, and we’re all pleased that she’s never displayed a particular interest in sausage sandwiches. So far, she’s fit in well with our group of neighbors, even volunteering to manage biweekly game nights.
“Wait, seriously?” Norm’s eyes instantly brighten. “I’ve never had anyone notice when I’m not around. She’s not even normally
at my table.”
Jane waggles her brows. “Exactly.”
“I’ll be at the next game.” Norm squares his shoulders. “Promise.”
Sami rejoins us, this time on our side of the counter, nudging between Jane and Norm. “I got the good sake for our crew’s
after-party.”
“Perfect,” Jane says.
The restaurant has filled up way more than expected. From across the way, I spot Sami’s parents in the booth by the window,
looking like the picture of pride as they observe the full house.
Just when things are starting to feel peaceful, my mother bursts into the restaurant.
I tense.
“Sami, do you know what my mom is doing here?”
His eyes flash toward her. “Oh god, I told Abu to clear it with you.”
Our parents somehow got ahold of each other in some local Persian Facebook group, and it’s been chaotic, to say the least.
Sami’s mom points at her right away, and my mom runs over to her. They kiss on each cheek.
Sami gives me the “oh shit” look.
“Unfortunately, I think we have to go over there,” he whispers as he places a hand on my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I whisper back.
“Come on.” He puts out his hand.
We sidle into the booth, me wedged between my mom and Sami, Abu and Ava holding hands across from us. The parents begin speaking in rapid Farsi, so I lean my head against Sami’s shoulder and let myself relax. I may not understand what they’re saying, but it still feels like love.
I gaze through the window toward Valleyview Apartments. There’s still a black mark of soot on the lower right side of the
brick wall—somehow immune to three rounds of power washing. On either side of the walkway, Carmen built planter boxes for
our community garden. I can’t wait until the spring, when the beets Jane has planned start to bloom. Orange construction fences
press in from the neighboring plots on either side, and the daily chorus of jackhammers and table saws has been . . . less
than delightful.
This is not the perfect building. It’s not where I thought I’d be at this point in my life. Honestly, almost nothing has gone
according to plan.
But plans don’t hold you at the end of the day. People do. And somehow, despite everything, this place—with its aging bricks
and soot and noise—feels like it’s exactly where I’m meant to be.
I’m home.