City of Fire and Ink

Are you possessed by a vegan ghost?

For as long as I can remember, Omma made coffee the same way. Ten and a half grams of beans go into the grinder. Once they look like dust, add sixteen ounces of water to the machine and let brew. In the meantime, get out creamer. The good brand doesn't skim off the milk fat from the top. If you're unlucky, Kayla went to the store and bought the nonfat creamer.

You should also have enough time to do the whatever dessert dishes you forgot to do last night. Once your hands feel puffy from the scalding hot water, place the washed dishes into the dishwasher. Don't run the dishwasher. Ever. Dry your hands with the towel that hangs on the right cabinet.

The coffee should be done by now. Then, add creamer until it looks like cardboard and swirl it around a bit. Open up the kitchen windows and sit down with your coffee. The temperature is perfect.

***

The coffee tasted too bitter for me. I missed the cream. Omma said black coffee helped a hangover, but I didn't think it was doing the same for my head. Everything hurt. I just wanted to go back to bed. Or maybe that was the look Omma was giving me as she made breakfast, shooting me concerned looks out of the corner of her eyes.

"Keep drinking,"

"My head hurts,"

"You need to stay awake and you need to be coherent. Drink." I drank. She waited approximately 2.9 seconds before the interrogation. "So when are you going to tell me why you scared me to death last night?"

I groaned. "Omma. I'm barely awake. Can we not?" I felt like I was seventeen again, the morning after I had stumbled home drunk from my first party, a mixer thrown by a friend from Spanish class. They had promised hot people and free tequila. Unfortunately, two shots flushed my face a vibrant watermelon red. Instead of approaching my TA, a blue haired girl who spent her free time in the dance studio and who I'd been pining after forever, I left the party early.

I knew that statistically speaking, alcohol might not mix well with my Korean heritage. I figured because neither my mom or my dad were affected, I would be fine. I was wrong.

The sunlight in the kitchen was playing tricks on my vision. I choked down the rest of the black coffee and looked up at Omma, who was cutting green onions.

"Are you going to lecture me again?"

"No. I'm going to help you."

I sat up straighter. "Wait really?"

Omma set her scissors down and came over to where I was sitting at the island. She hugged me fiercely, so tight I could hardly breathe. Her voice shook as she spoke. " I've almost lost you more times then I can bear to count in the past few months. I can't just sit by and watch it happen again. Make no mistake. I don't approve of this at all. But I'm am going to help you get out of this alive. For Seok"

Omma wasn't uptight with her feelings, but seeing her this emotional pushed tears to my eyes. "I was so scared!" I sniffled into her shoulder. "I was trying to get out of the safe house and I didn't know if I'd see you again." I blew my nose. "I didn't think it would be like that. One minute it was fine, and the next minute, if I didn't run, I would die."

"I had a bad feeling the entire time." Omma's familiar sandalwood perfume wafted into my nose and I pulled her closer. "I knew that something bad was happening to you, but I didn't know what. I couldn't even leave the house. I was sure you would come running back wounded."