probably couldn’t afford even one cup like the many she had just broken. She’d have to try to be more sensitive. Right now, though, her mind was on Yazmina’s health.
“Are you feeling khub , all right? Are you mareez , sick?” Sunny cocked her head to the side and tried to see into Yazmina’s eyes, but they were downcast. “Would you like to see a daktar ?”
Yazmina looked up. “No, no, tashakur , thank you, I ba khoda, ” she said. “As God is my witness, I promise to be more careful.”
Sunny knew she was saying she was fine, but she could see that Yazmina was flushed. Beads of perspiration formed on her brow and her eyes were glassy.
“Maybe you should go to your room and rest,” said Sunny. “Perhaps after the daktar has finished speaking, she could come and—”
“No, no, please. Besyar , many people. How will you—” She looked afraid, as if she was certain she was about to be punished.
Sunny took the pan and broom from her and said, “Okay, no daktar . But you go rest so that tomorrow, when it’s very busy, you will be ready to help.” She saw the concern on Yazmina’s face. “Don’t worry. You still have your job and your home here. And you will, no matter what happens. Okay? It’s natural, I think, to feel nauseous when you’re …” Sunny caught herself.
Yazmina widened her eyes and looked at her with fear.
“It’s okay, it’s possibly something you ate. But if you don’t feel better tomorrow, we’ll have to go to the daktar. ”
“Yes, but I will be okay. I’m just a little tired,” said Yazmina.
Sunny watched her as she untied her apron and hung it on the hook next to the refrigerator. Yazmina started to walk out the back door but stopped and leaned against the wall. Sunny rushed over with a chair.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “Please, sit.”
“I’d like to stay and hear the doctor,” Yazmina said.
“Yes, of course,” Sunny answered. She put a hand on Yazmina’s shoulder.
The door of the coffeehouse opened, and in walked a woman who was dressed like a celebrity, with knee-high boots, tight jeans, a huge, bespangled designer bag over her arm, and a tight, cropped white down jacket. Except for the shawl she wore over her head, she could’ve been at a ski resort. With her was an imposing, much younger Afghan man wearing traditional clothes and an elegant turban. He was very handsome, broad and tall, but also serious, with a rigid stance. It was his eyes that drew you to him, dark eyes with a stern gaze that was mesmerizing.
The woman took off her shawl to reveal long, straight, bleached platinum hair. She leaned on one foot and tapped the other, clearly used to entering a restaurant and being seated immediately.
Instead of waiting for Halajan to make her way over from the kitchen, the woman scanned the room and then she sat herself and her companion with Isabel and Petr, in the seats Sunny had been saving for herself and Jack. The two men shook hands and began to talk.
Sunny was tempted to say something snarky about waiting for a table, but she stopped herself. This night was meant to bring in paying customers and a new wall was more important than correcting someone’s sense of entitlement. So she went over to greet them.
“It’s Candace , Candace Appleton,” the platinum blonde said, holding out her hand to be shaken, while looking Sunny up and down, and waiting for her response.
“Welcome. I’m Sunny.”
“Sunny?” She smiled. “That’s a cute nickname. What’s it short for?”
Sunny narrowed her eyes. “It’s just Sunny, the name my mother gave me.”
“It sounds, well, rural. ” She turned an ear toward Sunny. “Like your accent. You must be from the South.”
Sunny looked at Isabel, who raised her brows and smiled, basically daring Sunny to respond. But Sunny just cocked a shoulder and put a hand on a hip, thinking, and yours makes you sound like a stuck-up bitch . She knew that her accent made her sound like a hick.
“Are you feeling khub , all right? Are you mareez , sick?” Sunny cocked her head to the side and tried to see into Yazmina’s eyes, but they were downcast. “Would you like to see a daktar ?”
Yazmina looked up. “No, no, tashakur , thank you, I ba khoda, ” she said. “As God is my witness, I promise to be more careful.”
Sunny knew she was saying she was fine, but she could see that Yazmina was flushed. Beads of perspiration formed on her brow and her eyes were glassy.
“Maybe you should go to your room and rest,” said Sunny. “Perhaps after the daktar has finished speaking, she could come and—”
“No, no, please. Besyar , many people. How will you—” She looked afraid, as if she was certain she was about to be punished.
Sunny took the pan and broom from her and said, “Okay, no daktar . But you go rest so that tomorrow, when it’s very busy, you will be ready to help.” She saw the concern on Yazmina’s face. “Don’t worry. You still have your job and your home here. And you will, no matter what happens. Okay? It’s natural, I think, to feel nauseous when you’re …” Sunny caught herself.
Yazmina widened her eyes and looked at her with fear.
“It’s okay, it’s possibly something you ate. But if you don’t feel better tomorrow, we’ll have to go to the daktar. ”
“Yes, but I will be okay. I’m just a little tired,” said Yazmina.
Sunny watched her as she untied her apron and hung it on the hook next to the refrigerator. Yazmina started to walk out the back door but stopped and leaned against the wall. Sunny rushed over with a chair.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “Please, sit.”
“I’d like to stay and hear the doctor,” Yazmina said.
“Yes, of course,” Sunny answered. She put a hand on Yazmina’s shoulder.
The door of the coffeehouse opened, and in walked a woman who was dressed like a celebrity, with knee-high boots, tight jeans, a huge, bespangled designer bag over her arm, and a tight, cropped white down jacket. Except for the shawl she wore over her head, she could’ve been at a ski resort. With her was an imposing, much younger Afghan man wearing traditional clothes and an elegant turban. He was very handsome, broad and tall, but also serious, with a rigid stance. It was his eyes that drew you to him, dark eyes with a stern gaze that was mesmerizing.
The woman took off her shawl to reveal long, straight, bleached platinum hair. She leaned on one foot and tapped the other, clearly used to entering a restaurant and being seated immediately.
Instead of waiting for Halajan to make her way over from the kitchen, the woman scanned the room and then she sat herself and her companion with Isabel and Petr, in the seats Sunny had been saving for herself and Jack. The two men shook hands and began to talk.
Sunny was tempted to say something snarky about waiting for a table, but she stopped herself. This night was meant to bring in paying customers and a new wall was more important than correcting someone’s sense of entitlement. So she went over to greet them.
“It’s Candace , Candace Appleton,” the platinum blonde said, holding out her hand to be shaken, while looking Sunny up and down, and waiting for her response.
“Welcome. I’m Sunny.”
“Sunny?” She smiled. “That’s a cute nickname. What’s it short for?”
Sunny narrowed her eyes. “It’s just Sunny, the name my mother gave me.”
“It sounds, well, rural. ” She turned an ear toward Sunny. “Like your accent. You must be from the South.”
Sunny looked at Isabel, who raised her brows and smiled, basically daring Sunny to respond. But Sunny just cocked a shoulder and put a hand on a hip, thinking, and yours makes you sound like a stuck-up bitch . She knew that her accent made her sound like a hick.
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