AllFreeNovel
Share Us
One
BIRTH OF THE NICKNAME
Ophelia
Standing inside “Peace,” a groovy café in Ocean Beach, I study the extensive menu on the high wall-mounted chalkboard behind the counter. A fantastic retro mural surrounds it with the words “PEACE” and “All You Need Is Love.”
Once I make my decision, I move to wait in the short line to get served, noting the two handsome lads behind the counter, eyeing me up as I draw closer, murmuring to each other and nodding in agreement just as it’s my turn to place my order.
The tall guy on the right with silky, midnight-black, shoulder-length hair, partly tied up in a bun on his head, and a trimmed goatee is grinning as though he knows me. “Hey, haven’t I seen you at The Cage with our friend, Phoenix?” He waves his left hand at me, which is, in fact, a bionic-looking prosthetic.
The other guy, who is slightly taller, busies himself filling an order but looks my way to give me a smile and a nod.
The guys are familiar. “Um… sure. Many months ago, and a few times, we went to Joe’s Bar for a drink after work, but I haven’t been back to San Diego for too long.”
“How’s your day panning out, friend-of-Phoenix? What can I get you?” Midnight-black hair is smiling like we are old friends.
I tilt my head on the side as I try to remember the names of these two guys while the silky-haired one patiently waits for me to connect the dots.
Phoenix pointed out some of her guy friends while we were at The Cage, a gym, working out, and I remember this guy. She told me he is Taiwanese on his mother’s side and all-American on his father’s side, which would explain his exotic look. Phoenix also said he is one of the funniest guys. He is a little older than my twenty-five years. She joked that the other guy making the coffee was his GQ-ready handsome wingman, with dark, short hair and a killer smile that lights up his eyes. His left arm is a sleeve of tattoos, and from memory in the gym, his torso is heavily inked.
I finally reply, “Hey, there, friend-of-my-friend. My day is going great.”
Both lads wear black T-shirts stretched across their muscular torsos with the Limbitless Tees slogan in white lettering on the front.
“Keanu’s the name, and this handsome devil sharing in café duties today is Levi. We just popped over from our warehouse to relieve our girlfriends—Hope and Joy—of their shifts while the owner and our good buddy is away on vacation.” He points to his chest with his left bionic hand. “Hence the uniform”—he throws a thumb over his shoulder—“and Happy is out the back as the resident chef. I haven’t seen you around with Phoenix for a long time.”
“I don’t live here anymore. I’m on my way back to Temecula and decided to stop in and place an order to-go.”
“Oh, lookie at that; you have a whacky mixed-up Aussie/American accent. I gather you have been abroad, down under for a time, where in the summer you have heaps of barbies, wear thongs on your feet, love your Maccas,and don the flannie in winter.” Keanu certainly is a charmer. “And on occasion you get”—he ticks his fingers off—“hammered, pickled, plastered, on the turps.And myfave: three sheets to the wind. Tell me I’m not wrong?”
My grin threatens to split my face in half. “I lived down under for over two-thirds of my life. Born and bred, but I also spent time living here.” I continue to run my mouth unnecessarily. “My parents fell in love almost as soon as Dad hit Australian soil.” I point to myself. “The rest is history.”Sort of.“Dad and Mum were—I mean, I arrived in mid-March to make a new life for myself in the States. A fresh start, so um…” I let the rest of the sentence float away because I’m not here to tell my life story, so I need to shut up.
“Not to pry, honey, but I sense a great loss,” Keanu says softly.
“Yeah. You caught that from my stumbling over my words. I am still getting used to talking about my parents in the past tense.”
“Sorry for your deep loss, sweetheart.” Levi’s eyes portray a deeper understanding of how I still feel.
“Grief is a bitch to tango with,” I reply with a watered-down smile, “but tango we do.”
Keanu reaches over and gives my arm a gentle squeeze with his bionic prosthetic. “I’m deeply sorry you are going through such heartache. Grief is a solo act we all handle differently. Are you doing okay?”
“I am getting there. I’m keeping myself busy. We all have crosses to bear.” I shrug, unable to stop myself from focusing on his prosthetic a little longer than polite.
“It is what it is.” Keanu sighs, shaking his prosthetic limb in the air.
I unfold my arms and lightly touch his artificial hand. “It is what it is. I’m sorry for any demons you must bear.”
“Thanks, honey.”
I drum my fingers on the counter because I have no clue why I am oversharing. I’m only here for coffee and food.
I’m not usually an awkward person—far from it. I am confident and know where my future is heading. I’m an ex-bounty hunter, hold a current private investigator license, and know my way around various guns and self-defense. I have repeatedly proven myself because you’ve got to be fit to be in both lines of work. My size makes me appear weak, but I can handle myself better than many guys.
I try to stay mentally and physically strong by giving my body a few workouts each week. It helps me release the pressure grief builds up in my system, and it’s better than sitting around on my arse wallowing in my losses.
My silence has Keanu jumping in, wanting to occupy the space. “Mymatehere”—he nudges the handsome lad next to him as he hands over an order—“landed himself a gal like you, but she’s all muddled up with her accent after spending lengths of time in both countries,” he says in the worst attempt at an Australian accent, which has me laughing. “She’s a little ripper and taught me everything I know about the Aussie slang, even the dirty words. Her name is Joy.Fair dinkum!I reckon youse two should get together one arvo to say ‘G’day,’ with a coldie (straight from the esky) slide it into a stubby holder—or a glass of cab sav bought from the local Bottle-o—but don’t go getting sloshed. You could watch some footy on the telly in your thongs (not the barely-there undies) and swap stories. I reckon she would be stoked. When you’re ready for some grub, throw a few snags on the barbie, but don’t let them burn when you hold hands and go to the dunny together, and then when all is said and done, make yourselves a snag sanga with tomato sauce (not ketchup) for tea (not the hot drink the British love). I reckon that would begnarly.”
