2271 words

I get my killer recipes from my Vietnamese mom, and my distrust of people from my Chinese dad. Maybe it's not healthy, but least it kept me out of the crypto craze.

"For the last time, Clarissa, this space is not cursed," Tanya says. "But it's the only affordable space in this overpriced town." Her words echo through the restaurant space, empty of furniture save for the built-in bar and hostess station.

Right outside the window, the copper statue Sherman Vanquishes the Squid gleams in the afternoon sun. Sam Sherman eyes the beast through his gun's crosshairs. The one-eyed Goliath squid looks up in fear, its beak vicious, with rotating hooks on the ends of its tentacles, scintillating rainbow skin, and twelve arms flailing.

"I've rented this property to many clients on behalf of Shorefront Realty over the years," Misty, our realtor, says. "You can't beat the location - the restaurant industry is just fickle." She clicks her pen a few times too many, and it grates on my nerves.

"I wish they'd take down that ugly squid statue," I say, peering out the window. "I don't care if Sam Sherman saved this town. It gives me the willies," I shiver.

Trees sway their long arms in the wind outside on the sidewalk. The mirror hanging over the dusty bar twinkles in the afternoon sun. For a moment, I glimpse a translucent figure in the reflection, but it must be a trick of the light.

"Sam Sherman was my great-great-great-great-grandfather," Misty says. "That statue is part of Sherman Heights, just like the sand on our beaches."

"You're one of the Shermans?" Tanya says to Misty.

I redden, embarrassed by my squid statue insult. And yet, I wonder what it's like to be Misty, to not only belong in the town you live in, but to own its land from its near inception, nearly three hundred years prior. I look at Misty's ring finger, which sparkles with a three-carat stunner.

"I changed my last name when I married Mike," Misty says. "But yes."

The Sherman clan owns Shorefront Realty and half of the prime land of Sherman Heights, on Lake Michigan. They run the Women's Gala every year, the breast cancer fundraiser, and even the Squid Sprint 5K. You can't throw a shard of sea glass in this town without hitting something the Shermans have invested in, donated to, or had named after them.

"I do agree with Clarissa about the statue, though," Misty says smiling, clicking her pen again. "I think a nice water fountain for the children to play in would be more progressive. Who needs to be always reminded of the past?"

"Speaking of the past, what happened to the old owners of this place?" I ask. "Pepper's Pizza Palace?"

Misty lowers her gaze for a microsecond, but maybe I'm just being paranoid. "Edwin Pepper decided to retire early due to health issues."

"I miss their basil margarita pizza," Tanya says. "It was the bomb." She leans against the bar for support, knees weak at the memory.

I shake my head. "And before them, it was Olympia's Diner, La Brasserie, and Sushi Mushi. It's hard for a restaurant to survive in Sherman Heights because it's so expensive to live here. No workers live within a half-hour commute." I blanch again, realizing the Shermans probably own half the residential buildings too.

"This economy has not been kind to restaurants," Misty says as she crosses the dining room, and the clack-clack of her Gucci heels on the unoccupied wooden floor reverberates through the air. I inhale the zing of dust and bleach cleaner. Maybe my dream is dead in the water, but the thought of serving my mother's recipes from Hanoi to eager diners sends a thrill down my spine.

"I hope this isn't rude," I say. "But how is the rent so cheap here? We looked at new space on Wood Street and it's ten dollars a square foot more."

"Shorefront Realty wants to help keep downtown alive," Misty says. "Retail has all gone online. But lucky for you, everyone still loves Chinese egg rolls." She beams at us, hugging her leather portfolio clutch to her chest.

"Banh Mi Bistro will be Vietnamese, but sure," I say.

Misty's clutch has more stickers than a Volkswagen Beetle headed to Burning Man: Black Lives Matter, Trans Lives Matter, Human Rights Equality, Stop Asian Hate, Shop Local, Women's Rights are Human Rights, and Stop Climate Change. I look down at Misty's shoes that cost more than my beater Kia, and blink at her overdone clutch. Maybe I'm cynical, but if she's a Sherman, can she really fight The Man if she is The Man?

"Shorefront Realty is committed to brick-and-mortar businesses," Misty says. "Westview Theater is opening in March down the street, which will be great for your business."

I can't shake the feeling that something's off. The rent is too cheap, the location too prime for restaurants to fail every year in this space. Feelings like this are why Tanya tells me I have trust issues.

Pian ren.

My father's words appear in a bubble over my head.

Everyone is trying to fool you.

And yet, I yearn to be in this space. Modern geometric light fixtures gleam overhead, polished and confident. The wooden floors sparkle, aching for customers. The chrome-bordered bar and glass shelves beg for top-shelf gin and vodka. I already know where I'd put the shrine with Guan Yin and the lucky cat with a waving paw.

"Would you like to see the kitchen?" Misty asks.

We follow her into the back, and I nearly swoon, my mouth agape. The oven, range, and prep table shine, beckoning me. It's spacious and roomy, and I picture my staff assembling a bevy of orders with controlled chaos, just the way I like it.

"This is just beautiful," Tanya says. She grabs both of my hands. "Baby, we can do this! It's meant to be."

"Can you excuse us for a moment, Misty?" I ask.

Misty nods and disappears from the kitchen.

"We're already in the hole from Pho Pho Food Truck," Tanya says. "But the rent on this place is so cheap, we can swing it for a few months 'til we pick up steam."

"The price is rock-bottom," I say. "But I just can't shake this nagging feeling it's too good to be true."

"What have we got to lose?" Tanya asks. "Just because those other restaurants failed doesn't mean we will. We'll be different, you and me!"

"She's part of the Sherman family," I say.

"So what?" Tanya says.

I stew in my juices of indignation and exhale. "Let me just look at the basement before we make a decision," I say. "This area's prone to flooding."

"That's the closest to a yes I've gotten all morning," Tanya says. "Go for it."

"Misty?" I call. "Can we take a quick look downstairs? I want to check for any water damage."

As we descend the stairs into the dank basement, the wind howls outside, rustling tree branches. Out of nowhere, a storm front appears, and rain beats against the double-paned glass. Downstairs, it smells like wet socks and cold concrete.

"Ew," Tanya says, peering around in distaste. "I'm good. I'm going to go back upstairs and take some measurements for furniture." She scampers up the stairwell.

"Previous tenants," Misty says, "have not had any issues with the storm drain. We get it routed every year in case tree branches get into the pipe."

"Can I borrow your pen?" I ask. She hands it to me, and I scribble notes on my paper listing.

A door in the corner gleams, clean and new, unlike the rest of the gray basement.

"What's in there?" I ask.

"Storage closet," Misty says.

Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I need to inspect the closet. I swear I smell musty seawater. She must be lying about the water damage. Everyone in this country is trying to get a piece of the pie. If it's too good to be true, it probably is, right?

"Mind if I take a look?" I ask.

Misty smiles, but her eyes widen. She jiggles the key and unlocks the door, pushes it open with a creak. It's a big closet, more like a large storage room, and inside lie some old Halloween decorations, an air purifier, bucket, and a mop.

"Not very exciting in here, I'm afraid," Misty says. "Mostly leftover stuff from the Pizza Palace lease."

A magnetic pull draws me in, and I glimpse the flash of rainbow-colored lights. I feel like a minnow getting flushed down a toilet bowl. I walk to the furthest corner of the room.

"There's nothing to see down here, trust me," Misty says, her voice ending with a squeak. "The Peppers took everything with them."

I walk deeper into the room and see a calm pool of water on the ground in a perfect circle. It reminds me of the bowl of holy water at the church where I took piano lessons as a kid.

"Condensation can happen over time," Misty says, flipping through her portfolio. "I can have the inspector take a look tomorrow if you want." But I see her toes curl in those Gucci heels, and single bead of sweat drips down her temple.

The puddle calls to me, clear and bottomless. Top notes of brine and algae float through the air, and distant voices call from the water. I step into the puddle, and the chill of the water ripples from my toes to my core.

"No!" Misty shouts, grabbing me by the hair, but we're falling, falling, and I scream, but no sound comes out, and I clench my fists, still clutching Misty's clicky pen in my right hand. In the puddle, I see the life of this restaurant.

I see the dining room mural that Niko Papadakis uncovered during renovations. In it, the giant squid eviscerates a wooden lake freighter on Lake Michigan. Each squid tentacle houses dozens of suckers with serrated teeth, and they rip into the ship's hull like razorblades. From a schooner nearby, Sam Sherman blasts the monster with a punt gun.

Next, I see Niko clutching his chest and collapsing to the ground at Sunday brunch service.

I see Paula Lavigne baking macaroons and hiring an exterminator for the mice in the wall. They break through drywall and uncover a tunnel leading to a vast underground reservoir. Paula suffers a nervous breakdown and has to be hospitalized.

I see Edwin Pepper operating the sump pump in the basement, and a giant beak attached to a translucent pink body rises from the floor.

I am underwater but somehow can still breathe. I wonder if the squid will peck me to pieces with its beak first or if I'll feel my skin being digested alive. At this point, if I could just drown like a normal person, I'd consider it a gift. Then, I hear a voice in my head.

"Is it already time?" A single giant eye stares at me, and I know the squid must be talking to Misty.

I look up to see Misty bobbing with ease in the water, Gucci heels and all. Her glamorous blonde hair undulates like a Barbie Color Reveal doll.

"She's not signed her lease yet," Misty says in an echoey voice. "I won't get my bonus, but feeding you takes priority, my Lord."

No. I am not going out like this. Not to a giant soul-sucking squid.

My thoughts drift into vapors, like cigarette smoke wafting in swirls, dissipating, equilibrating, out of my brain. I know I don't have much time.

I grip Misty's pen in my hand. The squid places its tentacles on my skull and I feel my brain lighten, taking the burden of my ambition, my will, my worries away. It's not unpleasant, and I am lulled into the space before sleep. My father's voice enters my mind.

Don't let them fool you.

With all the strength I can muster, I drive Misty's pen into the plate-sized pupil of the squid's eye. A current pulses through the water and Misty and I launch out from the underwater tomb like Pinocchio spat from a whale's blowhole.

Misty and I stare at each other in ragged, soaked silence, panting, on the cold concrete floor.

My dad was right. I shouldn't have trusted Misty. But I don't want to be part of this cursed space for lease—at least, not in the way it's been for hundreds of years.

"I have a proposition," I say, wiping water from my eyes. "Because you're right, Misty. You really can't beat this location."

#

"Salt and pepper squid is our specialty," Tanya says to the couple at the bar.

"It's just delicious," the man says. "I haven't tasted calamari this good since I left Hanoi."

"There's plenty more where that came from," I say, wiping the countertop. "Can I get you another lychee martini?"

The man nods, mouth full, chewing.

"I hear Pepper's Pizza Kitchen is reopening?" the woman says, dipping her calamari in lemongrass chili sauce.

"Sure is," I say. "City repossessed the properties after Shorefront Realty defaulted. Edwin Pepper's son Brian took over after his dad fell ill. Brian knows a good deal when he sees one."

"Sherman Heights really has it all," the man says. "I hear they're putting up a fountain where the old squid statue was?"

I hold Misty's pen in my hand like a talisman. "Yes," I say. "Who needs to be always reminded of the past?"

© 2025 Vivian Chou