#1 Demaq Against The World
1: Café Atlanta
1: Café Atlanta
Thunder rumbled over the gray washed city streets of Bole Road, Addis Ababa. Demaq rushed across a taxi queue, past a tattered elderly woman and into a warmly lit Café, leaving the cold shadows outside. An attendant in uniform closed the door behind her. He nodded once and smiled in greeting but she looked right past him to the young man sitting in one of the amber-lit corners.
Inside Café Atlanta, a rustic nook imitative of a gritty diner in the American south complete with distressed wallpaper and fake rust on the tables, sat small clusters of customers in squeaky clean sneakers, expensive sweat pants and varsity bomber jackets. Demaq marveled at the fact that, despite being from Addis – unlike the customers at the next table over, how much her friend Ezra looked exactly like them. Like he too could have been an expat from Georgia, USA.
Ezra’s large, wiry curls covered half his face. He sat hunched over his phone, a large steaming brew on the table beside him. He didn’t look up until Demaq slid into the chair across the table from him.
“It’s January,” she hissed, putting her cross-shoulder bag in one of the empty seats between them. “It’s January and it’s about to rain!” She blew into her hands to warm them.
Ezra frowned, pushing his cup of coffee towards her. “Don’t you have a job thing today?” he asked.
“Yeah?”
“Oh.” The real question was in what Ezra didn’t say.
Demaq followed his eyes and looked down at her own clothes. Although she had rifled through her entire closet earlier trying to find an acceptable outfit for her job interview with Dot Creative Agency, she had come out generally unsuccessful. She’d never been to a job interview. But as the air outside her apartment started to catch a slight petrichor scent, she’d decided it was better to go for practical instead of impressive. She’d put on green cargo pants – the ones with the least number of pockets– a black non-graphic hoodie and sneakers.
“Where are the others?” she asked.
“Ananya went to wash his hands. Misiker is right behind you.”
A cold gust of wind swept into the Café as the attendant opened the door once again and Misiker’s hefty figure walked in. She exchanged morning pleasantry with the attendant as she snapped her umbrella shut and handed it to him. She shook her long, straightened dark hair out of the ornate scarf under which it was tucked and tied the fabric around her purse, joining her friends.
“Praise Jesus, what a beautiful morning,” she said, touching her cheek to Demaq’s and wiggling her stubby fingers at Ezra. He reached out and wiggled his against hers. “I wish all mornings were this cold. I don’t understand why people would call this sad weather.” Her hand was only halfway raised when a waiter hurried over with laminated menus.
“Cappuccino. With extra espresso and a cheese croissant, please,” She beamed at the waiter. Demaq put Ezra’s coffee to her lips and shook her head. Ezra also shook his head signaling to the waiter that he was good.
Ananya, tall and thin in a collared shirt and a grey hoodie pulled the chair holding Demaq’s shoulder bag and told the waiter, eyebrows raised, as if in question, “Cheese omelette? Extra chicken strips?”
The waiter threw one last shy glance at Misiker and hurried away.
Ananya hung Demaq’s bag on his chair and took the seat. He then turned the questioning eyebrows to Demaq. “Did your interview get cancelled?”
“No?” Demaq shrunk away from her friends. Misiker scanned Demaq and realized. “Babe no,” she said.
“Babe yes,” Demaq pouted. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You can’t wear a hoodie to your job interview,” said Misiker.
“This is why I need the job. So I can buy nice things.”
“You’re not gonna get the job,” Ananya scoffed.
Ezra shook his head at his brother, “You’re wearing a hoodie too.”
“I’ve been at my job for three years. No one cares what I wear anymore,” said Ananya. “This can’t be your first time learning about first impressions.”
“This can’t be your first time learning about first impressions,” Ezra mimicked.
“That’s why you’re unemployed,” Ananya said casually.
“I’ve been at my job for months. They care what I wear,” said Misiker. She had on a bright orange blouse tucked into her dark blue pants, a cream colored long coat over everything to keep her warm. “You think it’s a joy finding an outfit for my figure?”
“You look nice,” the waiter said, walking up with a tray of their orders. A snort escaped Ezra. Misiker ignored him and thanked the waiter as he placed their plates in front of them. If the compliment made her uncomfortable, you couldn’t tell. Demaq appreciated the level of control Misiker had against her environment. People often looked at Misiker and insisted on interacting with her. But she was always unphased. Demaq wished she too could channel a similar confidence.
Demaq’s best friends had gotten together to show her some support after she had freaked out over the sequence of events following her father’s decision to retire. That meant she now had to get a job because her family could no longer provide for her, a news her mother had delivered with more candor than kindness.
“I’m not ready,” Demaq said, falling back into her breakdown. “I’m not ready to get a job. I don’t know how to do anything.”
“Eat something. Calm your nerves,” Misiker took Ezra’s coffee cup from Demaq and set it on the table. Then she cut a piece of her croissant and offered it to her. “I am going to throw up,” Demaq said, pushing it away.
Ananya leaned over his eggs to take a close look. The steam from the plate fogged his circular glasses and he scrunched his nose in disappointment. “This doesn’t have chicken strips in it,” he said. He raised his hands towards the kitchen. “Hello? Excuse me?” The waiter jogged over. “Yes?”
“Does this have chicken strips?”
“Yes.”
Ananya leaned close to the plate to take another close look. “Are you sure?”
The waiter’s eyes narrowed in feigned politeness, “I’m sure.”
Once the waiter was gone, Ananya flipped the omelette over with his fork and said, “This is not the usual cheese omelette.”
“What’s wrong with it?” asked Misiker.
Ananya adjusted his glasses and sat up. “There’s one less egg in it.”
Demaq, Ezra and Misiker exchanged looks. “And they’ve used mortadella instead of real chicken,” Ananya added.
“How can you tell?” Demaq asked, also leaning in to check the plate.
“Because I’m not an idiot,” Ananya said under his breath. “This is a very subtle sign of the economic downfall. Less value for the same prices.”
“They can’t afford eggs?” Misikir bit into her sandwich.
“We can’t afford eggs. Shrinkflation,” Ananya said indignantly.
“Are you… going to eat it?” Ezra asked.
Ananya pushed the plate towards his brother. “First it’s eggs, then who knows? Aren’t you guys worried?”
“I am worried. I’m trying to get a stupid job,” said Demaq.
“That’s called growing up.”
Demaq picked up half the croissant sandwich and took a small bite.
“I want to have faith in you. But you’re wearing a hoodie to your first job interview,” Ananya gestured up and down at Demaq.
“What’s wrong with him?” Misiker asked Ezra.
“You mean more wrong than usual?”
Ananya sighed and threw his face into his palms.
Ezra continued, “Mom came to his room this morning to have a serious talk about him seeing someone. As in someone to marry? I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her first born was an incel.”
Ananya groaned loudly into his palms. “She meant it too,” he said. “It’s like she thought I was hiding my girlfriend from her this whole time. She kept telling me it was okay if I wanted to introduce her.”
“You’re only 25. What’s the rush to get married?” asked Demaq.
“Our cousin Biruk got married last month. He’s 22. He’s my age,” Ezra said with his mouth full.
“Isn’t that illegal?” asked Demaq.
Ezra pointed his fork at Misikir, “You’re 26 and you’re getting married.”
“I found someone I love, who loves me back,” said Misiker, puffing out her chest proudly. Ezra raised his eyebrows and returned to his plate. Misiker pointed at Ananya, “This one hasn’t been touched since… freshman year?”
“You’re engaged. You’re not getting married,” Ananya rolled his eyes. Misiker shifted uncomfortably. “We’re going to get married,” she said. “We just have to find ourselves in a better place first. Financially.”
“What are the chances you’re going to get there anytime soon?”
Misiker slapped the table with both hands in frustration, making the customers at the next table jump. “You’re a real jerk sometimes, Ani. Why can’t you just have one day where you stay on topic? We’re here for Demaq,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Don’t call me Ani. It sounds like a woman’s name.”
“Do you hate women?”
“No, I’m just not a woman.” Ananya tried to force himself to stay calm. He picked up the coffee cup Demaq was drinking out of and took a large sip.
“I think he hates women,” Ezra chimed in.
“Fuck you.”
“I think I feel supported enough. It’s almost 9. I should go— ”
Ananya, Ezra and Misiker reacted at the same time. “No wait–” Ananya grabbed her arm kindly. “How are you feeling?”
“If I don’t get this job, I won’t be able to make rent. Then I’ll have to pick between moving back in with my parents and walking into traffic,” Demaq tried a weak smile.
A silence fell over their table. An R-Kelly riff floated from the speakers, rolling all around them. One of the two men over at the next table sang along under his breath. Demaq and her friends exchanged curious looks. “Seriously?” Ezra mouthed.
“Gotta love Addis. Maybe we’re the land of the free.” Ananya muttered. A small laugh escaped Demaq. Ananya pulled her into a side hug and gave her a little squeeze.
“Here,” Misikir took off her coat. “Change tops with me.”
“What? No,” Demaq sniffed and sat up. “You need to dress up for work. Your co-workers are kind of shallow.”
“I’m gonna be in scrubs all day anyways. It won’t matter so much. Come on,” Misiker pulled Demaq with her as she got up and dragged her all the way to the bathroom. She checked that the stalls were unoccupied before stripping off her blouse. She handed it to Demaq. “Hoodie, please.”
“I’m gonna freeze in your blouse,” Demaq complained as she fought the hoodie off of her.
Misiker pulled on Demaq’s black hoodie right over her bra and spun around fluffing her hair, checking herself in the mirror. “You know, I just look comfortable. This is not bad,” she spun the other way. “Of course I don’t normally wear hoodies because they add ten kilos. Add the scarf to this and I’m golden.”
“You look fine,” Demaq pulled on the blouse and looked at herself. Thank heavens her hair was more obedient than usual today. Part of the reason she was freezing her fingers off was the fact that she had spent all morning wetting her hair over and over to wrestle it into a bun at the back of her head.
“Let me see?” Misiker grabbed Demaq by the shoulders and gave her a once over. “The green and orange work. You look like you could be a creative director,” she said, then added with a frown, “And a smile won’t kill you.”
The weather improved as the group left Café Atlanta to go their separate ways. Although the sun had come out, Demaq's hands kept getting colder and colder.
Demaq felt good in her new outfit. Where she expected to feel like an imposter wearing a disguise, she felt comfortable, brave even. As they left the café, Misiker’s overcoat folded carefully over her arm, Ezra planted a kiss on top of Demaq’s head and said, “Text me when you’re done. I’ll wait for you with a bottle of something.”
“She’s going to get the job,” Misker insisted.
“Either way, a drink will be in order.”
“You make it look like she’s dying. It’s just a basic job interview,” Ananya complained. But a text message he sent just as Demaq was walking into the agency office made her hate him slightly less.
Ani-kin: Go get ‘em.
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Demaq Against the World: Book 1 will continue in the next chapter.
Such a lovely read. Keep 'em coming ❤️
Can't wait for the next one!