What We Take Away

Chapter 5 | Cassie

September 9th, 2005

It's another peaceful, early morning in the Pelican. 

I carry my breakfast tray to a sunny spot at the end of a long table and sit. The smell of my custom order omelet wafts in the air, bringing me back to the way Ma's kitchen smelled in the mornings before Ba drove me to school.

Our family had stumbled upon Mackenzie's, the quaint farm-to-table diner on a spontaneous weekend drive outside the city last fall. It was one of those rural cash-only places, where most of the customers were retired locals. Ma, Ba, Lex, and I stood out instantly with our black hair, beige skin, and conversations interspersed with Mandarin. It didn't matter though, because their mushroom omelet was the single most delicious omelet I'd ever tasted in my entire life.

Ma spent days trying to recreate Mackenzie's mushroom omelet, driving over an hour away to find the freshest mushrooms and best eggs, even stopping at random farmer's market stalls to inquire about local cheeses. Ba and Lex and I sampled so many omelets that our family couldn't look at eggs for two weeks.

I stare at Jorge's omelet on my plate and smile at the memory. Even though Ma never quite cracked the code to Mackenzie's mushroom omelet, she'd make her own version and serve it to us in the mornings. In the end, it was Ma's thoughtfulness and love that made the meal special.

I grip my coffee mug a little more tightly. Thinking about my family stirs up uncomfortable emotions. I haven't called home yet even though I know Ma must be worried about me. I wonder if Lex is enjoying his first year of high school. Does Ba miss me at all? Or is he just relieved I'm not around anymore to remind him of his financial obligation?

A clattering sound interrupts my train of thought. Two seats down, a boy with beach-tousled brown hair appears. He props a grimy-looking longboard against the edge of the table and fishes out a tattered, leather-bound book from his backpack. Sitting, he starts to read while loudly slurping a glass of orange juice. I can tell by the gilded pages that he's reading a Bible. Just like Ma.

"Nice book," I comment airily. "My mom did her devotions during breakfast, too."

Startled, he glances up. His eyes are alert and bright, and his smile toothy and wide.

"It's a great book!" His eyes narrow for a second. "Hey, I know you... Cassie Yang, right? You played at the Talent Night last weekend."

"Uh... I did," I stammer. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Chase Sullivan," the boy grins. He extends a sun-tanned arm across the table, gripping my hand in a tight shake.

In one fluid movement, Chase slides his tray and Bible down the table and takes the open seat in front of me. The orange juice sloshes around in his glass.

"How long have you been playing keys?" he asks, slicing a banana into a bowl of granola, nuts, yogurt, and berries.

"Since I was a kid," I respond.

"You're very good," he says, stirring his concoction and spooning a giant scoop into his mouth.

"Are you a freshman?" I ask.

Chase shakes his head. "Nope. I'm a senior. I live up in Warbler in the upperclassmen complex near to Church Street."

"Oh. And you came to a freshman talent show?"

Chase grins. "I'm always on the lookout for good musicians."

"What for?"

"Gigs, band competitions, just to jam," he says, shoveling down the rest of his granola and yogurt. "After graduation, my girlfriend and I are gonna get married and move to Nashville to write our own songs. It's our dream. Our parents think it's a gamble, but I know she and I are destined to make music. I've already got a ring!"