curse your little heart.

[secondhand_stars]

The booths were sticky with maple syrup and jam smears. On the floor, napkins and the white paper wrap over straws were shoved against the table legs. A spray of granulated sugar dusted tiled floor. The morning crowd had receeded back to reveal the wreckage. Towel in one hand, she aimed a plastic spray bottle with the other. Her four-thirty wake up call had come more quickly than she could have ever imagined. Bones creaked. Mind hummed in a fog as she quickly cleaned up the open tables in her station.

In the far corner, one booth had filled without her immediate notice. Sucking in a breath, Aemilia smeared back the slant of her bangs behind an ear. Feet wove around the tables and a hand nudged chairs into place as she moved towards the man.

What had immediately left little impression was now unmistakable. His neutral outline shifted into something more personal. Broad shoulders had been her ledge during countless trips when tiny legs had grown weary from walking. The arms crooked on the table had held her as a baby. He wasn't her father, but he was close. Rounding the booth, head peeked into his periphery first. "Seven? What are you doing here?"

He startled up from his slouch over the memory. Dragged from his thoughts, the number artist was scattered. It took mouth a moment to fade from its broad grin into something functioning. "I need breakfast," he stated. "I was in the neighborhood."

"You were in Brooklyn?"

He nodded quick, and she didn't have the heart to disprove him with logistics. Instead, a hand swept off the front of her apron before she pulled free a pen and the pad of paper stuck into a side pocket. "What can I get for you then?"

"I do not know. Something very delicious."

"Peanut butter on toast and -- A coffee?"

"What kind of toast?" A gnarled hand hooked beneath his chin. His pose was childish. For a moment, roles were inverted. She was the one requesting breakfast. She was the adult to his eternal boy. Seven's grin was full of tooth and excitement. "Rye toast?"

"We have rye," she confirmed as pen jotted down the order. Padding back a step, head tipped towards the kitchen. "I'll get it out for you in a few minutes."

Seven watched her retreat. Her eyes slanted around the cafe as if she couldn't believe he would navigate the sub system alone. He had crossed oceans and lacked little understanding of time zones. He was the globe trotter -- who quickly became lost in his backyard. "I came alone," he offered with a tilt of his shoulders. "Sorry?"

"What for?" Her mouth twisted into a grin at the question.

When she returned with his breakfast, he watched as she laid everything neatly in front of him. She was meticulous in her order. Silverware was straightened and coffee cup was lined up directly with the flat white of his napkin. It was symmetry that he could appreciate. A hand reached out, folding crooked over the top of her wrist. "Thank you for helping Holden home. He is ill."

"Nerves," she mumbled with a shake of her head.

He nodded and said nothing. Lifting toast up, teeth tore against the crust and spilled crumbs over the top of his plate. Thumb and index finger smeared away what clung to the jumping knot of his mouth. He chewed and chewed. Hand stayed wrapped around her wrist. He didn't trust the girl not to evaporate into her duties. "I don't know what's going on," he admitted after a triangle of toast and sip of coffee. Peanut butter clung to the back of his throat and made words lower set in their register. Dark eyes slanted up to her.

"I don't know either."

[secondhand_stars]

"Bravo," Aemilia murmured through fingers. Across from her, Ava sat with in accidental reflection. They were both wiry boned women, more maternal than paternal from first glance. Slouched low in their respective chairs, each allowed legs to sprawl out in front of them while elbows grappled at the edge of the table. Ava smoked. Aemilia did not. With the pianist's hair now cropped short, the pair's resemblance was uncanny. Worse, it was undeniable.

Ava slid a look across the table. Her snort jolted the corners of her mouth upright. "No shit," she drawled in a tongue of smoke. Straightening herself up, she broke their mimicry of one another and reached for the ashtray that Aemilia had brought out for her. She examined the apartment now. In the week since she had moved in, the girl had wasted no time in unloading boxes and finding places for the folios of sheet music and other remnants of her life. A shoebox apartment. A closet sized bathroom overflowing with its clawfooted tub. A kitchenette. In a way, Ava was impressed. She hummed out a telling sound, but made no explanation for it.

Aemilia still sat with the newspaper spread across thighs. "What would you do if you were in my situation?"

"Besides say, 'Shit! When did I start liking cock?'" She snorted, but the sound dimmed quick. The girl was serious, and she was waiting for some sort of answer. A hand smeared over her jaw and rubbed until skin was pinkened and fingers stopped to cover her mouth. Ava considered the situation for a long moment. Her eyes still counted off bits of miscellany: The pile of fabric and thread bundled at the arm of a couch. The slight discoloration of keys on the scratched upright jammed into the corner of the room. Aemilia's toes curled beneath her feet. The trait sparked a memory.

In a moment, they were young again. Ava was devious and toddling towards the cot where Aemilia lay. Tiny fingers tugged up the pale fuzzy pink blanket that covered her. She remembered staring at the small kicking feet that looked like shells, all curled in. An arm snagged the unknowing toddler away from the basket. Aemilia's sigh brought her back to the situation.

She sighed herself and thumb flickered over the tip of her filter. She brought cigarette up to her mouth for a drag. "Well," she began against dampened paper. "I'd say you're just about fucked. Do you ever feel like things are decided for you?"

"Always," she said

"Exactly. Maybe you should just -- I don't know. Find a way to reconcile who you want to be with who you are. Or, the situations that are pretty unavoidable. Look, you're going to get worn down by one of two things, maybe even a double-team of both. Holden and motherfucking destiny. Pretty shitty, huh?"

Aemilia laughed. The rustle of inky newspaper in her hands echoed the sound as she clumsily folded the paper back together. Slippery edges turned her fingers sooty. "I'm just afraid he's going to wake up one day and feel cheated somehow. Or worse, he's going to regret the entire thing and think he's wasted his time."

"What about you?"

She shrugged and palmed the side of her face. Her expression was partially obscured by the sprawl, but more than telling. Her smile was calm. The dark, tired effect of her eyes lightened for a moment. "Did you see the painting?"

She snickered and smoke hissed out of nostrils with the rush of breath. "Pretty intense, huh? Sev' told me that it frightened him a little. I think that's the best compliment that he could give though."

"Did you see --"

"No," Ava interrupted the question. Her lie wavered. She had never been good at dishonesty, even if it was used as some sort of protectant. Slouching into skinny bones, she compacted. An arm lifted up and shielded her from Aemilia's expression. "I mean. Yes. Yeah, I did. Fuck it though. I mean, c'mon..."

"Right," she clipped. Head shook, but her look was unchanged. She tossed the paper onto the table and stretched out deeper into her seat. Arms slanted overhead before sagging back down. She latched onto the back of her chair.

"I'm serious, Aemilia."

Green eyes wheeled to face off with a bluer set. She looked at Ava roundly and head nodded low enough for chin to settle against collarbone. "I am too, Ava."

"As long as that's settled."

"Do you ever feel like you're trapped into something already decided for you?"

"No," Ava laughed. "I'm not like all of you guys. It's the Stanton in me, I guess."

[secondhand_stars]

A frazzled man with a trio of towheaded children sat in table three. The girls hopped up and down on their vinyl cushion. They held stern negotiations across the formica between them with arms reaching over the multitude of dishes. They argued over the sticky maple syrup pot. As the man beseeched them to behave like ladies, the tiny boy in the middle of it all threw up his hands and howled a blood curdling scream. The sound ripped through the haze and made her soggy brain seize. Aemilia pressed her hands against her head and buried her chin into the collar of her shirt.

?Long night?? A voice said. Ashley Simon: part-time artist, part-time waitress, full time clich?, as she had introduced herself over a month ago. Whether it was eight a.m. or eleven p.m., she always had too much eyeliner and too much hair. Both were things that she claimed one could never have too much of. The woman was feline, all slink against the rumbling ice machine. Aemilia twisted around to face her and shook her head. Angela smacked on the edge of her coffee knowingly before placing its mug down. ?Well, there?s only one way to cure that,? she said as a hand gripped her wrist. She dragged the other woman down the narrow hallway that led to the kitchen. Cutting an abrupt left, she came to a row of refridgerators and pulled open the door of one. ?The cooks keep their beer in here. ?For the bread,?? she said with fingers ticking to punctuate the phrase. ?C?mon. Do you smoke? No? You should smoke. For all the second hand smoke you get, you might as well have the benefit of it.?

?It?s bad for the voice.?

?No. Do you know what?s bad for the voice? Being too hungover to sing,? she said as she pried the metal cap off the bottle. The slip of tin rattled against the tile before Ashley kicked it beneath the fridge with the edge of her sneaker. ?You ever see Liv Liddell sing before? Saw her at the Elevens like, two years ago. She smoked a goddamn pack right there up on stage. Why are you looking at me like that? Drink your goddamned beer.?

She had never been a fan of beer, but she drank it anyway. For all its bitter sting and tang, it helped loosen the taut muscles that sprawled over her temples. Aemilia drank in silence as Ashley rifled through the plastic tubs of dried goods. Great gallon tubs overflowed with a fresh supply of red onions. Tomatoes waited to be chopped up, sliced, boiled down, and served up. Ashley hacked at a piece of ginger. It?s earthy stink lifted up from the tough beige crust of the root. ?I fucking love this shit. Roy would have a fit if he saw us back here, but I?ve been giving Thom the time, if you know what I mean. I own this place,? she boasted. ?It?s nice to do whatever the hell you want.?

?Yeah,? Aemilia mumbled as she rubbed at the shadow beneath an eye.

?This morning, I woke up in rollerskates and looking like a beat-up Crawford child. Killer headache. But it was fucking worth it because I couldn?t remember a goddamn thing that happened last night.?

?Why was it worth it, if you couldn?t remember anything??

Ashley stared at her for a long moment. Brown eyes were wide and teetering on dumbfounded by the response. She sucked the sharp taste of ginger from her fingers. ?Because sometimes you just have to do things. It can?t all be for the record and scrapbooked up here.? A finger tapped at her temple. ?I?ve got too much shit going on to start making everything all golden and forever. I just want to live, you know? Ever been in love??

?Yeah,? she said. Beer was tipped back and she swallowed another mouthful. As throat muscles recoiled against the taste, she lifted the brown glass up by its neck and examined the label. It was cheap and new. The bottle dropped away. No memory.

?Figured as much,? she said in a laugh that was more of a bark than anything else. Ashley reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out her pack of cigarettes. She tucked one behind her ear. ?What happened to him??

?He asked me to marry him last night,? she said before pausing to backtrack. Head shook to clear away her words. ?He told me that we were getting married. First it was Bali on a raft. Then it was city hall. Tiffany diamond, no one has to know.?

Ashley moved in circle around the cramped annex set aside for produce prepping. A chunk of pineapple was pulled from the refrigerator and held beneath her arm like a baby as she rifled through drawers. Dipping into the bustling kitchen, she poured out a wide cup full of boiling water from its urn. Her head poked back in at Aemilia?s announcement. ?What? I thought you lived alone. Up on Washington.?

?I do,? she snorted.

A breath cut between her teeth in a low whistle and she put everything down on the top of the cutting board. She dropped slivers of ginger into the water. ?Tiffany diamond, for real? Because goddamn, why aren?t you married? I?ll marry him myself. He needs a green card or something? One of them rich Saudi Arabian princes? I?ll deal with the whole, hat thing later. I bet we?d have plenty in common. Like, being able to tan and loving Michael Jackson.?

?What are you talking about?? Aemilia blinked at the ramble and tried to put it all together. After a moment, her head shook quick. ?No. He?s American. He?s not a prince either. Well, not officially. As for tanning ? Not a chance. He?s lily-white.?

Her nose wrinkled. ?Well fuck that. Why haven?t I ever seen him??

?He refuses to come into Brooklyn. He hates the dodgers and the homeless.?

?Are you really going to marry him?? She proppped herself up on the table with the lift of one hip. One foot planted itself into the ground as the other ticked back and forth a good twelve inches above it. She stuck her fingers into the steaming tea to test the water and removed them quick. ?Because if you aren?t, I?ve got the perfect guy for you. He?s here in Brooklyn. In fact, he loves the Dodgers and the homeless. He gives them his spare change all the time. The Dodgers and the homeless, that is. Hell, even if you are going to marry that guy, you should meet Sam. He?s fucking great. A perfect match. You?re shy and sensitive and so is he. He?s a painter. Big fucking murals. I think he thinks he?s like, Diego Rivera reincarnated.?

Aemilia wrinkled her nose.

?He?s not a big, frog-eyed buffoon though. It?s an artistic inspiration, not a physical one. We take classes together at BCC. He?s too talented for it though.?

?And what makes you think that he?d like me??

?Have you looked at yourself lately?? Eyebrows slanted high while the rest of her vision grew slack. She eyed Aemilia for a long moment before pushing off the table, Wandering lazily past, she stuck herself into the skinny doorway that led to the back of the restaurant. One hand kept the mug close to her as the other flicked at the curtain. ?You?re one hot mama. A total fox. Hey, hey hey! Speaking of fox. Silver fox at table eleven. Rumpled, just had sex look. I don?t know what the hell is around his head, it?s like a headband or something. Scruffy. Looks like someone who would ? Oh no. Should have known.?

?What?? Head dipped up from it lazy slouch. She snuck a hand out and stole a chunk of pineapple. The front of her teeth tore into the sour-sweet fruit.

?Total fag. Some guy in motherfucking diamonds just crawled into the booth next to him,? she said. Laughter punctuated her sentence. Cupping a hand over her mouth, she snorted into her palm. ?One hand in the hair, the other oh ? oh ? oh, it?s beneath the table. Silver fox looks all pinched.?

The laugh that followed rang like an alarm. Cutting through the air from table eleven to the back, it was pure nasality and bratty glee. It was the same sound that was mixed into every good childhood memory. It was merciless; splitting phone wires and turning heads. Aemilia gasped, nearly choking on the fruit. Abandoning her beer, she squeezed around the table and past Ashley.

?Whoa girl,? the waitress said as she squirmed against the doorway. ?This isn?t a free ride.?

?That?s my dad.?

?Which one??

?Both of them,? Aemilia called over a shoulder as she marched through breakfast crowd towards table eleven.

[sister_saviour]

Here today on MAXW's Early Show, we've got a fellow third-shifter here to tell us about the latest hotspot opening up in Brooklyn that's going to mean bad news for those tight jeans that the kids have been wearing lately. If her name sounds familiar, it should. She's no stranger to those pesky Page Six blurbs. Welcome Aemilia Prior to the show. It's good to have you here this morning.

Thanks Mike. Glad to be here.

So tell us about The Bird and the Bee and how you got into baking. You're a pianist like your father, right? How'd you end up deciding to make cupcakes for the masses?

Well, the person to blame is really my dad, Michael. We're the foodies of the bunch. Ever since I was little, he's been cooking and trying out new recipes. Then, when we lived in Paris, our neighbour Wendy would watch me and we'd bake. She's helped a lot with the development of my recipes. The Bird and the Bee is located on 87th. When the spot opened, my dad saw an opportunity and made me snatch up the spot.

For those just tuning in, we're with Aemilia Prior, the owner of The Bird and the Bee Bakery on 87th. The shop will be having its grand opening next month. Rumor has it, it's not going to just be the first chance for the public to stop in. What have you got planned for us?

I initially conceived the space as a community center as well as a place to get fresh bread and pastries. In keeping with that idea, the dining room is also home to a decent sized performance space. We'll be opening the stage for various acts.

Any chance, your dad, Harlen will be perfoming?

Depends on how much he has to drink. (laughs.) No, probably. He'll be performing and my husband will be spinning.

That's right, Holden Hart, who also spins at Wrecked on Thursdays. You two were recently married. Tell me how married life's been treating you.

Well. It's free labor.

(Laughs!) No, really. You've got quite the love story. For those unfamiliar, Aemilia Prior recently married Holden Hart, the son of fashion designer Lucy Hart and painter, Seven Thatcher. You two have had quite the rocky relationship in the past, right? What made you decide to get married?

I'd rather not discuss my marriage. Page six and other sources do well enough sniffing out details.

Noted! So, will you be performing at the opening?

Yes. Holden and I are working on a project and hopefully we'll have some songs ready in time. We've got a lot of my plate right now and so that's still up in the air, but trust me -- The music is going to be good. The food is going to be better. Stop in and see for yourself. June 28th.

Well, I've just got to say -- for those of you listening, you're really missing out. Aemilia, it's seven o'clock in the morning and you're absolutely -- You've got a real glow to you. How do you do it?

By being pregnant. There, I've answered all your questions.

(Laughs!) You've heard it from the source, folks. Thanks for stopping in. That was Aemilia Prior, owner of The Bird and the Bee Bakery on 87th. Drop by on June 28th for the store opening. Next up, Peter Bjorn and John --