Breaking Through

K

Keksefuzzy

Member
Karla stood barely within the doorway of the little coffee shop, a copy of In Olden Tymes clutched in both hands. Morning sunlight filtered in through the dusty windows and reflected off her golden curls as she glanced around the mostly-empty space. It seemed the early morning crowd had come and gone, but the brunch bunch hadn't yet arrived. Perfect.

"Are you going to go in, or are you practicing to be a door stop?"

She turned around and smacked her twin brother's shoulder, shaking her head. "Your jokes get lamer every day, Eric. I'm just scoping the place out before I waltz in. You know that's how I operate."

A grin crossed Eric's freckled face and he nodded, stepping forward to prod her along with the corner of his book. "I do, indeed. We've known each other from conception, after all. But there's hardly more than a pair of harmless grannies and a barista in there. You'll be fine." He stuck out the tip of his tongue and pressed the cover of the book a little more forcefully into Karla's shoulder blade.

Despite shooting Eric a dirty look, Karla provided little more resistance to entering the shop properly. The pair chose a table near the back corner, just in case those who had also responded to the college book club's public post were a bit on the rowdy side.

"What if only the two of us show up?" Karla set her book on the table and flicked her baby blue eyes up to meet those of her brother. "I mean, I know the professor told us that three or four others responded from both the class and community, but what are we going to do if they don't show?"

Eric patted the top of Karla's head with his book before setting it on top of her copy on the table. "Then I guess we drink a cup of coffee, pretend to discuss the book, and get full marks from the professor on Monday. No big deal."

"I guess so." Karla bit her lower lip and focused on the door, her heart jumping a little every time someone seemed to walk up to it. She faintly heard Eric saying something about a watched pot, but let it pass from one ear to the other without stopping in the middle.

The bell above the door tinkled and a young man, probably 21 or 22, stepped inside. His dark brown hair stood up in all directions and he wore pajama pants and an oversized black t-shirt. Eric spotted a copy of the book in the man's hands and his infectious grin returned. "Hey!" he called, raising a hand in the air, "We're over here!"

The man's head turned to locate the voice, and upon seeing the twins he, too, smiled. "Hey, glad I'm not the only nerd who showed up!" He crossed the small room quickly, extending a hand. "Name's Damien."

"I'm Eric, and this is my sister Kayla. We're glad to see you!" Eric pumped Damien's hand with vigor and motioned to one of the empty chairs. "We're just waiting for the others. Haven't ordered anything yet, but you're welcome to while we wait."

Damien shook his head and dropped into the chair. "Nah, I'm good. Trying to cut the caffeine and drink more water. Already down one heart. Gotta take better care of this one!" He chuckled and patted his chest, turning his head toward the door. "How many are we expecting, anyway? Do you guys know?"

The twins shook their heads. "Nah, not really. But we'll give people a few more minutes to show up. I don't know about you, but we're not really in any hurry."
 
Shortly after Damien entered, a young woman with curly, red hair and a large brimmed sun hat entered, and nimbly stepped up to them, "Excuse me?" She asked, removing her hat, "is this the book club? The one Professor Solomon is putting together? I'm Rose McGann, I had him last year, he reached out t'me and recommended that I join."

She had a soft Irish accent, and looked to be about twenty three. She sat down on one of the large chairs, and from her old, beat-up, leather cross-body bag took out her copy of the book, "It's nice t'meet you all. I haven't really met many new people since my girlfriend broke up with me. I think that's why Solomon recommended this." She shrugged her slender shoulders, and glanced towards the door, and murmured something about how she hoped she wasn't the last person to arrive. She never liked being the last person anywhere, because then she always felt late, even if she walked into the room three seconds after the second to last person did.

Luckily for her, she wasn't, because shortly after an extremely tall, blonde woman with messy hair and round, reflective, purple sunglasses approached from behind the couch. Although she wasn't elderly, she was mixed in with the 'grannies' Eric had referred to, and it was her own fault-- she hadn't realized until distantly hearing the name 'Professor Solomon' that she found where she was supposed to be. Until then, she assumed she had the date wrong, which was something she was doing with increasing frequency. She was certainly older than the rest of the crowd, looking more like she was in her mid thirties than her mid twenties, but the most notable aspect of her appearance wasn't her age: it was the extreme asymmetry of her face, and the general lack of cohesion between her features. It went beyond average or plain, and went straight into simply attractive--and that was putting it mildly. Of course, because of the couch, she could only be seen from the chest up, despite her height.

"I believe this is where I'm supposed to be. My husband works with Professor Solomon, and since he couldn't come, she begged he send someone in his place, so, well. Here I am. Or, we are, I guess." She adjusted her the bag she was carrying, it was large, black, and decorated with occult symbols, but she didn't move from where she stood, just in case she was speaking to the wrong people.
 
"You're right where you are supposed to be," Eric reassured the glittery woman. He scooted closer to Karla to make room around the table for the two newcomers. Once the two women were settled, he picked up his book and cracked it open without looking down. "I guess we might as well get started. If anyone else shows up, we can make more room. Perhaps we should start with introducing ourselves? I can start.

"My name is Eric, and I'm in my second year at the community college. I'm majoring in literary studies. I also tend to take over when I'm in groups... Sorry about that!" He laughed and tossed his platinum hair out of his eyes.

Karla sighed and punched her twin softly. "Yes, yes you do. I'm Karla, and I'm Eric's sister. I'm not actually attending the class officially, but I came so that my brother wouldn't have to worry if nobody else showed. Glad we didn't have to worry!

Anyway, we're originally from Brisbane and moved here two years ago to attend school. After a year I decided that wasn't for me, so now I'm a dispatcher instead." Karla leaned back in her chair and examined the others, her eyes shimmering in the light. There was a somewhat awkward pause before the twins turned their gaze to Damien.

The dark haired mess gazed back, taking a few moments to register why they were staring. "Oh! Uh, I guess I'll go next? I'm Damien, first year theater major. I'm just here because my professor offered extra credit. Something about supporting literature supports the performing arts, yada yada. Figured my grade could use all the help it can get, since I missed so much school already. Nice to meet y'all."
 
"My name is Rose McGann, I moved here from Ireland for University on a scholarship. I really only took the one class at the community college, and it was only because it sounded fun. Now I work at the high school, teaching music, but it isn't my end game. I also stream music on twitch on Saturday afternoons and Sunday evenings, and I play piano Thursday, Friday, Saturday up at Emilia's." She crossed her ankles, and held the book to her chest, smiling politely. This was the only activity in her life that wasn't music based, well, this and her obsessive care of her plants at her apartment, so it was nice to have a break from it, even though music was her life.

The older woman sat down awkwardly in the large armchair. She touched every piece of furniture as she made her way over, and sighed quietly when she was seated. She was a bit larger about the middle than one would suspect, if judging by her slender arms and well-defined collarbones.

"I'm Dr. Daizi Wahid, although my friends call me Tarot. I work in conjuction with the Museum of History and Anthropology, I haven't been in college, unless I'm visiting my husband in... a decade?" She laughed, slightly, tucking her wild hair being her ears, "I'm not native to here, either. I was born and raised in Cairo, but I did three years of high school here, and then came back for my Masters and Doctorate. Like I said, I'm here because my husband is friends with Professor Soloman." Tarot shifted in her chair. She didn't mind being the oldest one there, although she felt it. Her only real concern was that she didn't want to end but being treated like the mom of the group. She'd accept aunt, if roles shook out that way, but she didn't want to have de facto responsibility, soley because she was the oldest.

"It's nice t'meet you all." Rose said, glancing at the older woman. They had an almost similar fashion sense, but whereas Rose's style pulled towards a fae-maiden, Daizi's leaned more witchy. It was interesting to her to see the slight variations on a theme.
 
The diverse backgrounds of the group fascinated Karla. She found herself glancing from person to person, a million questions floating around in her mind. "Nice to meet you, too," she replied, her voice a little distracted. "How funny that such a small university in rural England would draw from so many different countries! I feel like we should take some time to get to know each other better, if we're going to spend the next few weeks sharing our views. Maybe some sort of get to know you game?"

Eric perked up, his excitement obvious on his face. "Yes! I love get to know you games! Which kind, though...hmmm..." He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and opened the browser app, typing a quick search into Google. After a few moments of scrolling, his eyes lit up. "This one sounds perfect for a book club!" He pulled out a notebook and pencil, and pulled out four sheets of paper. "So the idea is we're all going to start writing a story about something that happened to us in our lives. After five minutes, we pass the paper to the left and add on with what you think might have happened in the story. When everyone has written on each paper and the original owner gets it back, we'll read them all out loud."

"Sounds a bit like a theater improv game," Damien piped up, reaching for one of the sheet of paper and producing a pencil from his pajama pocket. "I'll definitely give it a try. At the very least, we'll have a story from each of us that we can tell the real version of at the end." The twins nodded and passed out the papers, their eyes slightly unfocused as they searched their brains for a properly interesting tale to tell.
 
"Oh, um," Daizi began, blushing slightly, "I can't... write. Handwrite, I mean. Obviously I can write, I have a PhD, and I'm published in a variety of academic journals, in addition to my... but I can't write on paper. Or read it." She scratched her arm, and then adjusted her sunglasses.

Rose sat up a little straighter, and cocked her head to the side, "Oh, well, I..." she glanced at the others in the club, "we could..."

"I have my laptop, I can type mine, but I don't know how to do the rest." She tucked a stand of hair behind her ear, and put one hand on her abdomen, shifting in the chair again.

"Oh, well, if you have your laptop, we can just type them on our phones, if we all have them with us, and share them over google docs or something. We probably should share our contact information anyway, right?" Rose offered, noticing how embarrassed the older woman was by the situation.
 
"Sounds like a plan to me," Damien replied, reaching into his pocket again and pulling out an ancient iphone. Eric and Kayla followed suit, each opening a Google doc.

"This way, we can even keep the stories without them cluttering up the place." Eric nodded to himself and set a timer on his phone before flipping to the document and beginning to type. "And go! We'll exchange addresses when the timer ends."

The twins typed as fast as their swiping fingers could go, eager to see how far into their tales they could get. Their corner of the cafe fell silent aside from the clack of Daizi's keyboard.

In the meantime, a waitress made her way over to the table, seemingly just realizing that nobody had helped the group with any orders they might have. "Pardon me for the wait, my friends," the girl said, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen. "My name is Sarah. Can I get you anything today?"

Eric looked up from his document and paused the timer, feeling it would be rude to ignore her. "Ummm... Just a cocoa and a muffin for me." He flashed her a smile and turned to his sister. "Would you like anything, Kales? It's on me."

The blonde woman pulled a face at the nickname being used in new company, but his offer softened her. "A cup of spiced tea and a biscuit for me, please."

Sarah nodded and turned to Damien, who simply shook his head and gestured to the water bottle on the table. "I'm aight today, mate." The waitress then looked to Daizi and Rose.

"Anything for you today, ladies?"
 
"I'll just have chamomile tea with lavender, thank you." Rose said, pausing in what she was typing. She obviously hadn't thought anything of Eric's use of a nickname, but then again, compared to her family, 'Kales' was nothing.

When the waitress turned to Daizi, she ordered, with complete sincerity and conviction, "One of those white chocolate raspberry cookies with some peanut butter on the side, if it's possible, and a pickle, please. Oh, and some water."

Rose turned slowly to her, mouth slightly agape, but said nothing, and then slowly returned to her phone to finish up the first five minutes of her story. Daizi just readjusted her laptop, which was precariously balanced on her stomach, and she simply returned to typing. Her laptop did have a strange plug in, but she wasn't using it at the moment, so what it did was undefined.
 
Sarah again nodded and returned the paper and pen to her pocket before wandering back to the counter to start the orders. The rest of the five minutes went by with no further distraction.

The timer beeped, startling Kayla. She jumped and Eric chuckled. "I swear you are the most easily scared person I've ever met, Kales. I can only imagine your reaction if something actually scary happened."

Kayla glowered at Eric for a moment, rolled her eyes, and turned back to their new companions. "It's probably easiest to just share our documents with everyone right now, then we can save ourselves some time." She tapped the 'share with' link and tapped inside the box. "I already know Eric's email, obviously, but what are yours?"

She looked to Daizi, Rose, and Damien expectantly. As they provided their contact email, each of the others entered it as well until everyone had access to all five documents.

"So, just work clockwise?" Damien glanced up from his phone to seek confirmation from the others. "We don't want everyone working on the same document at once!" The twins nodded and the theatre major went back to writing.
 
Rose's page read, "My parents own one of the oldest inns in Ireland, which means my six sisters and I grew up working at one of the oldest inns in Ireland, but because of the size of the town, despite how old it is, most of the people we serve are just the townsfolk and tourists who came specifically to see the Inn... and of course people who just want the Irish countryside. It was wonderful, except for the dirty old men in the evenings, and having about a hundred chores a day. Anyway, my youngest sister Poppy wanted to be a chef-- she still does, actually-- and she was cooking for us since she was, like, ten, but she tended to get... experimental. One time, she" and then she had run out of time. Her intention was to tell a sweet little story from her youth to give an idea of where she came from and how she was raised.

Daizi, however, took a different path. Her's read, "When I was twenty one, I was engaged to a man whose name meant 'fortunate.' My father said I should marry, and my aunts did, too, and I was with a man they all deemed 'good-enough.' That was all they said, and he was, I suppose. He didn't try to stop me from pursuing my ambitions, although he didn't understand them, and he never talked over me at dinner-well, he never said much of anything, at any time-and do he was good enough, and so we were engaged. But then, six days before" and that was when the timer went off. Upon being told write about something that happened in your life, all she could think of was her most significant moment.
 
Eric had settled on something that had happened when he was quite young. "I was three, maybe four years old, and I got so angry that I could never have my own birthday. I always had to share it with Kayla, and I could never understand quite why mom and dad forced us to share a birthday. Couldn't they have been more creative and chosen different birthdays for their kids? Anyway, our birthday came and that morning, I decided it was going to be only my birthday. I went around and hid all of Kayla's presents, wiped the frosting with her name off the cake, and" With the time up, he reluctantly closed out of the document to resist the urge to at least finish his sentence. "I am interested to see what kind of havoc you guys write me into," he chuckled.

"As if we could write anything worse than you used to get yourself into," Kayla teased, giving her writing a look-over before moving on to the next document. It read, "I had a very interesting call at work last week. I'm a 911 dispatcher, you see, and we get lots of interesting calls. Many of them are incredibly sad, but this one made me laugh. The man's name was John, I believe, and he called us because he was in a bit of a predicament. You see, he couldn't get around too well on the best of days, and relied on things such as an electric recliner to get through his day. Today, however, the electric recliner became the issue. He was just taking a nice nap, and when he woke up-" She was pretty sure nobody would get what really happened, but was quite interested to see what they'd guess.

Damien made no sound as he wrote his story. His eyes seemed to pass right through the screen into memory. "I don't really remember my parents. I've been told it was a car crash that took them; it could be true, I suppose. These people had no reason to lie to me about it. What I do remember is the austere man in a suit and carrying a briefcase who showed up at my school to pick me up. I was called down to the office a few minutes before school was over, and in my head all I could think was that they'd managed to figure out it was me who had left the dog poop on Ida Lane's desk. She shouldn't have pushed me on the playground, and I wanted her to know it.

"When I got to the office, I expected a tongue lashing. I did not, by any means, expect to see my grandmother's tear-stained face and the scary CPS officer. 'Nana, why are you crying?' I asked, and the answer-" As he looked up from the screen, it occurred to him that perhaps he should have chosen a little lighter story. He had just met these people, after all. He didn't need to scare them off already...

With everyone looking up, Eric moved his finger in a clockwise circle. "Alright, so I'm going to work on Kayla's story, Kayla has Daizi, Daizi has Damien, Damien has Rose, and Rose has me!" He figured it wasn't especially necessary to explain to everyone, but the act of saying it out loud helped him cement the order in his own mind.
 
Rose chuckled when she read Eric's story. Two of her younger sisters, Calla and Lillie, were twins, and Eric's youthful angst reminded her of them. Continuing the story, she wrote, "popped the big 'K' balloon, so there was only an 'E.' She could have her birthday another day, I didn't care, but that day was going to be mine, and mine alone. When Kales woke up, she was so excited, but I told her, 'actually, your birthday is tomorrow, today is just mine.' She cried like crazy, but even though I felt bad, I thought it would be better for us in the long run, you know? We wouldn't have the same birthday, anymore. We wouldn't have to compromise on everything. Being a twin, you hear that every day, 'Compromise.' But I loved buttercream, and she only liked whipped cream, and so we always ended up with this weird frankencake, where it was all whipped cream with buttercream flowers, and I didn't even want flowers in the first place!!! Well, anyway, she was crying..." Then the time went off again. She worried she put a bit too much of herself into it, because of her own experience with twins, and also because growing up in such a large family, she understood having to share absolutely everything.

Finally, the purpose of the little device Daizi had become clear: it was a screen reader. She kept one hand on it as she scrolled through Damien's piece, and ran her long, spidery fingers over it so that she could actually read what was written. She read it a few times, and sat for sometime, rubbing the side of her middle with her thumb, thinking about what to add. Her brow was furrowed: it wasn't that she was uncomfortable around death. Her mother was dead, and so was her brother, and her husband had no living family members at all, but she didn't want to offend him with her depiction of such a life-altering moment.

Eventually she exhaled slightly, and wrote, "was not something I could understand. Death is complicated, especially sudden death. Adults don't understand it because they grow up and expect tragedy to only happen to others, and because we act like if we behave properly, and stick to a routine, life will march on unchanged and unchallenged. But children? They don't understand death because they're barely aware of life. At that age, I didn't even understand my teachers didn't live at school, or that the people I saw on the street had whole lives of their own, with their own thoughts and dreams. So, it didn't hit me that they were dead--truly and properly dead, gone forever, no more stories, no more crawling into bed with them during a storm, no more"

The timer went off, and Daizi jumped. Then, she wiped a tear from her cheek, and suddenly realizing she was crying said, a bit too loudly, "Aw hell, I've gone soft."
 
A story about work? Eric read with interest, as he always enjoyed Kayla's off the wall work stories. "And when he woke up, he found that the remote for the chair had fallen where he could not reach it. He couldn't get the foot rest down with his own strength, so he was well and truly stuck. All he could think of to do was press the button he wears for falling down, since he couldn't reach the phone either. I got the call from the alarm company, and" He had spent so much time trying to imagine what exactly had happened to the poor old man that he only got a few lines. With a shrug he moved on to Daizi's piece.

Kayla had two different outcomes to Daizi's story pop into her head, and she caught herself examining the older woman carefully to see if she could glean any information. She seemed to be a strong, independent, and well-adjusted woman who knew who she was, and so Kayla ran with that. "But then, six days before we were to be wed, I woke up and realized something. I realized that this man did not fulfill me. He didn't hold me back, but he didn't spur me to push forward, either. I realized that despite my family believing I should be wed, my happiness mattered more. I was an adult, after all, and I could make my own decisions. I went to my mother, and-" The buzzer rang and this time, Kayla was glad to hear it. She was very interested to see where people would go from her addition to Daizi's tale.

"One time, she nearly got herself banned from the kitchen." Damien tilted his head to the side, attempting to roll the thoughts around in his head to uncover some fresher ones. What could a ten year old make? His eyes lit up as he happened upon a funny idea. "She decided that she was going to bake our mother's famous creme brulee. Things were going alright as she mixed up the custard, steamed it in the oven, and pulled it out. She didn't even burn her fingers this time! Then came the issue: the brulee. Poppy sprinkled sugar on top of each little ramekin and pulled out the torch. No sooner had she figured out how to light it than-" He pulled a face of annoyance at the timer, but he had learned from improv that no matter how much you were enjoying your idea, a team player lets others take their turn when their turn arrived.

He did happen to catch Daizi wiping a tear from her eye, and Damien's stomach dropped. He felt an intense need to apologize, but remembered what his therapist had told him about not apologizing for opening up or being himself. Instead he returned his eyes to his phone to work on Eric's story.
 
"I hope you're worth everything," she said, under her breath, and then froze, hoping nobody heard her. When nobody said anything, she pulled up Rose's and began to type: "than she set the creme brulee ablaze, and not in the way it was supposed to. The heavy smell of smoke filled the air, which wasn't something you wanted in a nearly ancient building, especially not one protected by a historical society. My family and I scrambled to put it out, thankfully it wasn't too difficult, and we didn't need to call the fire brigade. Poppy was absolutely furious, though, because our father, coughing from the smoke, went to throw it away. She demanded we eat it, burnt and destroyed though it was, because she swore up and down it was still her masterpiece. None of us particularly wanted to, of course, but she pitched such a fit we all had no choice but to sit around the table and partake. We expected it to taste like ash, which, frankly, is what it smelled like, but to our surprise, it actually" Daizi was, frankly, relieved to have a far lighter piece to work with, this time. She was, through no fault of her own, in an emotionally unstable place. She was dealing with it as best she could, and in the comfort of her own home she didn't mind breaking down in tears the moment her dog rested his head on her ever-shrinking lap, or when her husband played a song just-so on the piano, or she heard a neighborhood kid playing outside... or when she thought about that episode of Futurama with Fry's dog... or when she watered her flowers, or when she accidentally put her keys in the freezer instead of the icetray... but she was in front of people she was meeting for the first time, and she didn't want them to think she was any less sturdy and reliable as she used to be.

Rose, meanwhile, also found Kayla's piece to be extremely amusing, although she wondered how accurate the story was. Tucking her legs beneath her, she began to write, "was quickly patched through to him. He kept crying out to me that he was stuck, and that he couldn't move. I thought he must have fallen, or had a stroke, or something, but eventually he managed to explain the situation. If he wasn't so genuinely frazzled, if not distraught, I'd have thought it was a prank call, and of course I had no choice but to stay on the phone with him, until"

On that round, Rose was a bit relieved the timer was up. Not because she couldn't keep writing, she could, but because two other people still needed to write on it, and she didn't want to leave them with a completed story, and she didn't want them to be completely lost.
 
"Such a girly story," Eric thought as he read through Daizi's story. He found this round a little more difficult as he didn't know where his companions had begun or ended, so he didn't know what parts were true and which were made up. "I went to my mother and told her there was no way I was going to marry someone as dull as this. My father told me I was being ridiculous, as did my aunts. But I ignored them and went off to tell him that the marriage was off. I knew he wasn't going to be happy with the news, but I really didn't expect him to-"

He felt good about leaving the story at this point. It was a great place for someone to take over creatively, and he set his phone down to stretch and rub his eyes. Sarah returned with their cups and snacks, and the group took a few minutes to sip and munch before moving on to the next round of writing. It also seemed like a good time to excuse himself to the restroom, which he did.

"Don't get lost on your way back," Kayla called after her brother's retreating form in an attempt to bring her mood back up. He turned and stuck his tongue out at her before disappearing into the restroom. She looked back over her response, which read, "no more parties or dancing or pancakes with holes in the middle to make sure they were done. I was lucky, however; I was able to move in with my grandmother. Things were hard for a little while, but young minds are resilient. I eventually grew used to my new life, and it got slightly easier as I got older." She truly hoped the story went this way, despite her gut telling her she was probably being overly hopeful.

Damien snorted at Eric's story, wondering if having siblings really was like that. "She was crying, and mom and dad finally discovered what I had done. They demanded to know why I was being so mean to my sister, and I explained to them that I wasn't being mean. It was only my birthday today, and Kayla could have her own birthday another day. I seem to remember they laughed, and explained to me that we couldn't just pick our birthdays. We could, however," he stopped, kind of hoping that the others would know where he was going with that.

The group waited only a couple of minutes for Eric to return before starting in on the next round. Kayla glanced at her watch, growing concerned that this exercise would go on too long and her club mates would grow bored. She searched their faces for any sign of such, while at the same time telling herself that she was just letting the anxiety speak again. They were all adults, after all. If they were bored, they would say so. Wouldn't they?
 
Daizi also excused herself and went to the restroom, and after she was out of ear shot, Rose turned to the group and asked, "Do you think she's... you know?" She didn't come off as rude when she asked, only curious, but since she knew the question inherently toed the line between rude and acceptable--dependent totally on the answer-- she was still nervous. It was just, well, she had watched Daizi spread peanut butter on a cookie that did not need peanut butter, which would have been fine, if not for the fact she then broke the pickle up and stuck it down into the peanut butter and ate it without so much as a grimace. She actually looked like she was enjoying it. And, of course, her shape.

"I'm just curious is all." She added, hoping they didn't think she was being rude. She knew she shouldn't care, but she always wanted everyone to like her, and if she asked something they thought was rude, they wouldn't. Rose squirmed and took a sip of her tea.

She was glad when Eric and Daizi returned and they worked more on the stories. The game was nearly over, which was great, because she was itching to hear what the true versions were.

She had Daizi's this round, and she put her teacup aside and wrote, "cry. I guess he thought it was my one chance for a great, lifelong love," Rose paused, and remembering that the older woman had mentioned her husband, and was still wearing a wedding ring, or what Rose presumed was a wedding ring (it was on the right finger, but it was silver and garnet), realized what she needed to continue the story with, "but obviously, that wasn't true, because later on, I met my husband, and he was more than good enough. We fit together. I didn't realize until my first date with him that I never really loved my first fiance, not really. At least, not the way you should love" the timer hadn't gone off yet, but Rose needed to stop. She was still too raw from her recent breakup to keep writing about true love and finding happiness. She had caught her girlfriend in bed with another woman not even a month ago, so she couldn't really handle it at the moment.

To her frustration, Eric's story also made Daizi cry. There was just something about the sweet little kids that hit her, and so she missed the first few moments on the clock because she was too busy stewing over how she should not be crying just then. When she finally did write, she put down, "we could have parties on different days, since having to share the entire day was so upsetting to us. Of course I still got into a little bit of trouble, because by popping the balloon and wiping the frosting off the cake, I had done irreparable damage, but really all the punishment amounted to was Kayla getting to pick the restaurant we went to without any input from me, which was something I was okay with, until she picked" The timer went off, and Daizi sighed, wiping her face again.

She couldn't wait to go home and, when her husband asked, "How was it?" to loudly and emphatically exclaim that the getting to know you exercise made her cry, twice, and it was all his fault, even though she didn't really blame him.
 
"I think so, yes," Kayla replied with a small smile playing at the corners of her cheeks. "All the clues lead to that, at the very least." Damien looked at the women with a confused look on his face, obviously not getting what they were hinting at. Kayla mimed rocking a baby, which only served to confuse him more. "We think she's pregnant, mate."

"OH!" Damien exclaimed. "I hadn't even noticed." Kayla rolled her eyes. Typical guy...

When Eric returned, he dove right into Damien's story. He was a little shocked that the guy would choose something so deeply personal, but hey. More power to him! "I grew, made friends, and eventually found theater. Somehow, when I was on the stage I could forget everything and be someone else for a little while. And that's why-" He stopped the timer and took a swig of his cocoa, nodding happily as the sugar rolled over his tongue.

Kayla flipped to Rose's story, stifling a giggle as she read through it. Poppy sounded like someone she would have been good friends with. "To our surprise, it wasn't too horrible once you peeled the top layer of charcoal off. It still had a hint of a smoky flavor, but it was at least palatable. Despite the dessert not being a complete flop, my father emphatically-" Good enough, she sighed to herself. One more round and they'd get to find out the real stories! Though ice breakers weren't really her favorite thing, this one wasn't too bad.

"Until the fire department arrived. Though we had warned them what the call was, they still struggled to keep their composure at how light and funny the call really was. I listened as they handed him back the remote and-" The buzzer startled Damien this time, and he began to laugh at how intently he had been writing. He felt like his responses were getting shorter, but the amount of time required to read the story was increasing so that made sense.
 
"And that's why," Rose murmured, trying to figure out where she could go with such a serious, important topic. She looked up at Damien, and at how he was wearing pajama pants, and was just sitting casually as if he hadn't just told a group of strangers about the death of his parents. Nervously, she began to type, "and that's why I grew the way I did. We're all products of our experiences, so even though it was an unmitigated tragedy, and even though I can't say that I wouldn't go back and change it..." She paused, and chewing on her bottom lip, she deleted the second half of her sentence, "even though it was an unmitigated tragedy, it made me who I am, and that's life. We don't control the tragedies that happen to us, but we can control how we grow around them. A tree can be struck by lightning and still grow for hundreds of years, yet."

Rose was glad to set her phone down after she finished writing. It felt almost perverse to finish Damien's piece. If he was willing to put it down, she was sure he'd be fine with whatever people wrote. She was just glad nobody was disrespectful with it, she had known some edgelords who would have been cruel with it.

"And was glad to have a call I could laugh about, rather than one that weighed heavily on me at the end of the day. It was one of those stories they put on the morning news, in a light, largely meaningless segment. I guess I remember it so well because it grounds you, and reminds you of the simply humanity amidst the chaos."

When the timer went off, Daizi didn't put her laptop open, and said, "I suppose we can read the completed versions of our own stories, now, and then we can share the true versions after, unless someone has an objection."

She waited for a bit for someone to say something to the contrary, but when nobody did, she settled back down in the armchair and pulled up her own form. She found their version rather sweet, and it was a nice story... even if it was largely inaccurate, and a bit gentler than the actual events.

Rose, meanwhile, cracked up reading her's. Although it wasn't the story she had intended to tell, she couldn't deny that it may as well have been something that happened. In fact, similar stories to those that had been written had happened, even if the one she intended to tell had turned out differently.
 
"My father emphatically insisted that she was not allowed to play with fire in the kitchen ever again. That's not to say she listened, but hey. You have to give my father credit for trying, and for allowing her the freedom to follow her dream." Eric flipped to his story after completing Rose's, surprised to find that it was actually moderately close.
The furthest was the ending, which he knew Kayla had invented to mitigate how not fun it was to write a story she knew the truth of.

She had written: "Until she picked my least favorite restaurant in the entire country. It was a little mom and pop shop which served Mexican food of all things, which she knew I hated. The only thing I could find on the menu that I was willing to eat was a quesadilla. A rather disappointing meal on what I'd tried to make into a day all about me, myself, and I."

Upon reading her finished story, she laughed out loud, drawing the attention of the other patrons of the cafe. She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth and blushed.

Her laugh pulled Damien out of his stupor. He had been spacing off, procrastinating reading what the others had written about him. Instead he reread his entry for Daizi. "Not the way you should love someone that you intend to spend your entire life with. I have no regrets, though, and enjoy my life with a man who challenges, inspires, and grows with me every day."

"I guess on to the real stories then." Eric finished his cocoa and slid his phone back into his pocket, leaning back in his chair. "I definitely wrecked everything showing it was Kayla's birthday too, but when my parents caught me they hid all my gifts for a week. Mom and dad explained how birthdays really work and that they hadn't just decided for us to have the same one. We still had cake and ice cream and our friends came over, but it definitely wasn't the fun day I'd had planned."

"That's the cleaned up version," Kayla teased. "You didn't even mention how I got to eat the first slice of cake and you cried about it for nearly an hour." She winked and suck her tongue out at her brother, who scowled and muttered something about not inviting her next time.

Kayla was unbothered. She ignored her brother's scowl and instead launched into her story. "Eric kind of cheated with knowing about us getting medical alarm calls, which is what happened. Except it was John's power had gone out so the electric La-Z-Boy had been stuck with the foot rest up. He pushed his button and the alarm company called us to help him out of the chair. The firefighters thought it was hilarious, but did manage to keep their composure while they were actually in John's house. It's kind of nice to have a light hearted call in the midst of all the horrible ones."

While they told their tales, Damien managed to read through his story. He breathed a sigh of relief that everyone had been respectful, though unsurprisingly they had not gotten even close to what he had intended. "I didn't end up going home with my grandmother," he explained when his turn rolled around. "She was far too feeble to care for a young boy such as myself. That was actually the last time I saw her...I was put into the foster care system and bounced from family to family until I turned 18. It was hard, but it definitely made me who I am. Whoever wrote about theatre letting me be someone else for a while obviously has been in a show or two before, though. That's 100% truth."
 
"My husband was in foster care," Daizi said, softly, "although not for the same reasons. He grew up in Iraq, and was a refugee at twelve, so... Although, he never really had a foster family, not really, there was this massive private school system that prided itself on international students, and they gave him a scholarship, so although on documents he had a foster family, he really just lived at the school..." she put her laptop away, and shifted in her chair again, struggling to get, and stay, comfortable, "but I guess that brings me to the true version of my story. You got the ending close to correct: I did end up with a man who makes me feel all the clichéd emotions and who actually understands me, rather than just tolerating me... but, well..." she blushed slightly, and wrapped one arm around her middle, and she fiddled with her wedding ring with her other hand, "we dated, my husband and I, for three years, but then my father fell ill, and I went back home to Egypt before my senior year. Of course we broke up, we were 17 and 18, we couldn't do transcontinental long distance... so we were broken up for five years. We were still best friends, we wrote letters back and forth because he couldn't afford International phone fees... and I got engaged to this other man. He was off living his own life, breaking his own hearts, making mistakes... but then for reasons I won't get into, six days before the wedding, I was woken up in the middle of the night by him throwing rocks up at my window. Not to 'get me back', or anything, he had been back in the Middle East, and decided on a whim to see me. Of course I invited him to the wedding, and of course he agreed to go, but then... he had lunch with my then-fiance, without me, the day before I was supposed to get married, and he came back and said, 'You can't marry that guy.' I said, 'No? I'm going to.' And of course he gave me all of these reasons why I shouldn't, and I swore up and down that the deal was already done, and tried to convince him I loved my fiance, tried to convince myself that I loved my fiance, and then... he said that he wouldn't stop me, but that he couldn't stay and watch. I said it was fine, and he turned to go, but before he did he told me that if I changed my mind, he'd help me, and I was so furious..."

She shrugged her shoulders, and took catch her breath, and to reel in her emotions, "But then the morning came, and a whole army of beauticians came to make me look less ugly, and not like myself, and within a few hours I was in a taxi, wearing this poofy skirted, corsetted dress, because my aunts said it was beautiful, and said it made me look shorter, and all I could think about was the man I eventually did marry, and kept thinking, 'if he was the one waiting for me, I wouldn't be so afraid,' and it occurred to me that he was waiting, so I asked the driver to take me to his hotel instead. We stopped by my house just long enough to pack a bag, and by the end of the day I was in America, where my now-husband was living at the time, and my father came home to a wedding dress slumped on the bedroom floor and a note saying I couldn't do it," she grinned a devilish grin, "he didn't talk to me for three years, and my old fiance called me every day for ages... Oh, my mother didn't care, though, because she died having me, which..." She trailed off, and moved her hands away from her abdomen, "well anyway, in real life I was a runaway bride, and even though my husband and I ran away together at 22 and 23--I was engaged for a year--we didn't get married until I was 28, and even then we only decided to because we were trying to adopt, which we never managed to do." Throughout her story, anytime she mentioned her husband it was clear how intensely she loved him, and more impressively, how she still had a crush on him. Naturally, of course, she came close to tears many times throughout the story, and at the end after taking a few moments to reflect on it, she mumbled, "I'm sorry, I'm so emotional, I'm not normally like this."

"But it's such a sweet story, though!" Rose exclaimed, "mine is so boring compared t'everybody else's. My sister Poppy has always been so intensely experimental in the kitchen, and although she has absolutely nearly burned the Inn down more times than I can count, I was just intending t'talk about how she got so experimental this one time, that she ended up serving us this purple goop, when she said she was making a quiche, and I swear the thing moved when you weren't looking, but she demanded we eat it... well, as strange as it was, if you put it on toast, like she told us to, it was somehow one of the best foods I've ever tasted, and she's never been able to recreate it. I was furious at the time, though, because it was my turn to clean the kitchen and she made the biggest mess I'd ever seen."
 
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