I returned the next day, but the room was empty. The following day, they were there again. I don’t know how many times this repeated, but one night when I arrived, expecting to take my usual place in front of the window, I saw something different—the table had been moved outside onto the sidewalk. The group of people were sitting around, talking and laughing like they always did, but this time, they were eating some sort of bread with coffee and tea.

When the large man saw me, he smiled like he always did and said, “It’s Mr. Esso’s birthday today, and Mrs. Azarian baked some gata for us. It’s such a beautiful night, we thought it would be nice to celebrate outside. Would you like to join us?”

“Yes, please, save me,” said Mr. Esso, a middle-aged man with broad shoulders and a resonant voice. “I’m tired of hearing their same old stories.”

“Oh, please,” replied Mrs. Carmona, a woman in her early thirties with short, curly locks. “You love every minute of it.” She then looked at me. “Come, come, sweetie. I saved this place for you.” She patted the chair next to hers.

I turned to leave, but the smell of the warm bread hit my nose, and I realized just how hungry I was. Well, one bite wouldn’t hurt. I turned around, walked to the table, and sat down.

“Here, try this,” said Mrs. Carmona, placing a slice of golden bread in front of me. “Eliz made it. She makes the best gata in town.”

Eliz was Mrs. Azarian, a dark-haired beauty with her long hair parted down the middle. She smiled shyly at me as she rubbed her pregnant belly. Sitting next to her was her husband, Davit, who looked youthful with a large, sloping nose and a gentle face. Next to him was Mr. Tran, an older gentleman with a lean, athletic build, and hair perfectly gelled in place.

I picked up the bread tentatively and took a bite. The buttery sweetness washed over me. I took another bite, then another, until it was all gone. I was looking around for another slice when I noticed everyone looking expectantly at me—especially Eliz, whose large brown eyes were as round as buttons.

“It’s… good,” I muttered.

Everyone seemed happy with the response, especially Eliz, who smiled broadly.

“See, I told you,” Mrs. Carmona proclaimed. “The best gata in town!”

“What is your name?” Mr. Tran asked.

“My… name?” I responded, uncertain of how to answer. I hadn’t thought about it in a very long time, but I could hear a faint voice from the past, an echo from the dark, supplying the answer. “Se...ra...”

“Sera!” Everyone quickly chimed in. “So pretty!” “Nice to meet you, Sera!” They then took turns introducing themselves. I tried to remember their names, but I was too distracted.

Sera… yes. That’s me… I was stunned. Saying my name brought up so many memories, including the village where I’d grown up… my father, who would return from the fields with treats in his pocket, and… Dojin.

“Sera,” Mrs. Carmona said, snapping me back to reality. “Come with me.”

She grabbed my hand and took me inside the apartment building. We went up the stairs and into her apartment, which was decorated with colorful scarves and beads.

“Welcome to Chateau Carmona! What do you think? Nice, huh? Roberto, my late husband, used to think I was silly for giving our small place such a fancy name. But you know what I used to say? ‘Berto, any dream can come true if you have a good enough imagination.’” She laughed heartily at this. “Now, I bet you’re dying for a hot shower.”

“Wh-why…? Do I smell?” I asked, sniffing my hoodie.

“Let’s just say we can all use a fresh start every once in a while. The bathroom is right through that door. Help yourself to the robe, sweetie.”

I went in, stepped into the tub, and turned on the water. I had taken showers before, but this one felt especially good. Probably how a snake feels crawling out of its old skin, I thought. After I was done, I put on the robe and walked out. Mrs. Carmona was waiting for me, holding a red sundress in one hand and high heeled shoes in the other.

“I wore this dress on my honeymoon,” she said. “I told myself I’d fit into it again one day, but… who am I kidding? Gata isn’t the only food I love.”

She handed me the dress and nudged me back into the bathroom. After a moment, I came out, nervously straightening the pleats and trying not to roll my ankles.

“Beauuutiful!” Mrs. Carmona exclaimed, clapping her hands. “I have an eye for these things. Now for the finishing touch. Come! Sit here,” she said, smacking the chair in front of the makeup vanity. I jumped a little at the loud thwack, but did as I was told.

“I want to get my GED to get a high school certification,” Mrs. Carmona said, beginning to apply the makeup. “My dream has always been to go to cosmetology school, but you need a diploma for that.” She was concentrating so much now that her voice was barely above a whisper. “Me and Berto were just a couple of stupid kids who ran off to get married before we could finish our education. After he died, I couldn’t just cry my way through life… even though I tried. Lord, did I try…

“So, here I am… with my own little fresh start. I’ve gone through all the willing guinea pigs in this building, including the men… You’re actually doing me a favor by letting me do this.”

I watched my face transform in the mirror little by little. It was the first time I’d ever worn makeup. I had seen other women wear it, of course, and I thought it was strange at first. Why would you want to hide behind powder and paint? But even I had to admit, it wasn’t terrible… I guess.

Except for the mascara. That first time I had it on, it felt like caterpillars were hanging off my lashes.

“I decided to go for something light since it’s summer,” Mrs. Carmona said. “You like it, right?”

I gave her a crooked smile and blinked uncontrollably.

“Let’s go show the others!” She grabbed my hand and we were off again. We pitter-pattered down the steps, but before we went outside, she turned to me.

“Wait here for a sec.” She went outside. “Everybody! I think Sera needs a proper introduction. Come on out, sweetie!”

I stepped outside onto the stoop—my cheeks flushed red with embarrassment—to be met with stunned silence. Then everybody broke out into cheers and applause with oohs and aahs mixed in. Everyone was chattering on, except a tall man with thick, midnight blue hair. He was holding a pot of flowers in each arm, which made them stick out like wings. I had never seen him before, in all the times I had looked in on the classes. He was staring at me with his mouth open like he had seen a ghost. Am I that beautiful? I guess I am, hehe.

“Oh, Arlen! You made it!” exclaimed Mrs. Carmona. She grabbed my hand again. “Come on. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

I wobbled down the steps as she pulled me along until I was face to face with the stranger.

“Sera, this is Arlen Choi, our neighborhood florist. Quite handsome, isn’t he?”

“Hi,” Arlen said, sticking out his hand. The potted flower he’d been holding crashed to the sidewalk. I jumped back, startled.

“Handsome, but clumsy,” Mrs. Carmona bemoaned.

“Smooth, Arlen,” Davit chortled. Everyone laughed except Eliz, who gave him a disapproving look.

“I’m… Arlen,” he said, smiling with embarrassment.

“I know,” I said, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.

“Oh, hah… right...”

Davit chortled again, which prompted a slap on the shoulder from Eliz.

“How about more gata?” asked Mr. Diaz. “And Mr. Esso still hasn’t opened his presents.”

“Finally!” exclaimed Mr. Esso. “I’ve been waiting all night!”

The rest of the evening was spent in laughter and stories, but the whole time, I kept catching the stranger stealing glances at me. He would laugh with the others, then make a lame joke and look over at me to see my reaction.

Why did he keep doing that? So annoying. If I was a meaner demon, I would’ve plucked out his eyeballs and served them to him on a platter. Believe me, I know plenty of demons out there who would.

Instead, I ignored him as best I could and focused on the rest of the group… Mr. Esso’s resonant voice that seemed to shake my body, Mr. Tran’s stories of his ballroom dance competitions in Vietnam, Eliz and Davit’s hopes and dreams for their unborn child—listening to those things wasn’t… as annoying.

As the night grew deeper, I told myself to get up and leave. Befriending humans was a waste of time. They’re sentimental and weak. They would only get in the way of what I had to do. So just get up and leave. Well, I supposed it’d be rude to walk away while Mr. Esso was telling stories of his youth in Nigeria. Just one more story wouldn’t hurt. And while I’m at it, I might as well have one more slice of gata.

Just… one more slice.