KARMA COLADA

Chapter Three

"OUCH!" Naomi yelped when she accidentally bit the inside of her cheek.

What was it that her mother used to say? Right.

'If you accidentally bite your tongue or the inside of your cheek, it means that someone is missing you,' she would say to Naomi, her eyes crinkling into lovable crescents. But then her mother would add, rather ominously, 'Either that, or someone is harboring ill-will towards you.' 

Naomi hoped it wasn't the latter.

"You alright, boss?" The light musical voice of her employee, Mila, drifted in from the front of the store. She popped into view, lugging the last of three boxes that was dropped off just minutes ago by a leggy redhead in an Audi.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Naomi replied, waving her off.

Mila dropped the heavy box onto the plastic table next to the counter with a resounding slam, causing Naomi to jump a little. Her employee had stars in her eyes as she tore the box open, looking for treasure with an enthusiasm of a squirrel hoarding nuts for winter.

"Remember, leave the warm clothing alone, Mils," Naomi reminded, and Mila shot her a haughty pout.

"Scarves and puffer jackets aren't really my thing, boss," Mila quipped while brushing the stray, neon-pink curls away from her face.

Looking at her now, Mila had a point.

She was the epitome of an E-girl. Glossy hair unnaturally dyed, tattered clothing (in a totally chic, intentional way), and tattoos all the way up to her neck, clearly Mila researched the starter pack.

"True," Naomi agreed with a quiet smile while opening another box herself, hoping Leggy Redhead gave away some good items for her to donate to the Mission.

The Second Chance Shop was a quaint little store situated across the street from St. Agnes Mission, the homeless shelter she volunteered at every weekend.

Naomi took over the shop nine years ago, after her mother passed from ovarian cancer. Although, it felt like just yesterday.

To her, the shop served a dual purpose; apart from finding new homes for preloved items, Naomi donates all the warm apparel (coats, scarves, mittens, the like) that aren't sold by the end of each month to the Mission.

This was the tradition her mother, Norma, started. A tradition she didn't intend on forsaking anytime soon.

"Geez, some of these are brand new!" Mila held up a slinky red dress with the price tag still attached to it. She shot Naomi a doe-eyed look, and Naomi instantly got her drift.

"It's yours if it doesn't sell in a week." Naomi pretended to be stern, but really, she was too fond of Mila to be crossed with her.

"You are an angel," Mila paused for good measure, "...if you didn't know that already."

Naomi sighed dramatically.

"One of my many flaws, I've been told—"

Naomi froze when her fingers got a hold of a hard, plastic structure from inside the box. She quickly pulled the item out, only to have her worst fears confirmed.

With a banshee-like shriek, Naomi tossed the nine-inch sparkly dildo into the air, where it then landed onto the carpet with a hefty thud—right next to the religious figurines section.

"Disco dildo," Mila reported nonchalantly, as if used to the sight.

Naomi would've laughed out loud, if not for the presence of Mrs. Danforth, a regular customer who just so happened to be perusing by the collection of clay Jesuses at that unfortunate moment.