Read on for an exclusive excerpt of All the Tomorrows After by Joanne Yi!
Prologue
Four thousand, two hundred sixty-seven dollars and fifty-five cents.
This is what I’m worth: stacks of crumpled bills, light in my palms. If I’m not careful, they might slip away, spiraling into the night like smoke.
I cram the ragged envelope back into its spot behind the dresser. At my desk, I scribble the amount in my notebook and study the column of numbers preceding it.
Five thousand, seven hundred thirty-two dollars and forty-five cents to go.
Then I can disappear.
Chapter 1
When I was five, my halmoni taught me how to make origami cranes. I watched the paper squares transform into proud creatures, each intricate fold hidden from view. Peacock blue, marigold yellow, inky violet peppered with stars.
Sometimes I think of those cranes. How existence can sprout from nothing. How I’ve mastered the art of folding into myself, pleat by tiny pleat. How I wait, yet, for the majestic to unfurl.
Sometimes I head up to the roof and peer over the crumbling wall, six stories to the ground. The thrill of falling, without the fall. My body both drained and energized, quaking with the reminder of being alive.
The view over this side of Sierra Park isn’t great. A grid of worn-out homes and strip malls, lawns yellowing from too much California sun. But it’s about the possibilities—the prospect of escape, the idea that I’ll become fully realized once I’m gone.
I subsist on it, that burrowing want. For emergence. A budding. A release.
I wait. And I wait.
Chapter 2
The TV is always on, flickering in the cramped bedroom. My grandma’s gaze stays on her favorite Saturday show, even as I offer up spoons of leftover vegetable jook.
“Just a little more, Halmoni, and I’ll bring you sikhye later,” I say in Korean. She nods at the mention of her favorite rice drink. Porridge drips onto her blanket-covered lap. I wipe it away with a finger.
Halmoni is a bird with a crest of white hair floating about her face. She swims in her faded blue shirt, which used to be mine. Soon, she might disappear completely, leaving only a mound of cotton behind.
“Bribery. No wonder she loves you,” my mother says from the doorway. I’m Sunny, the tag on her work shirt declares—the name she prefers over Sun-young. Ironic. She is anything but sunny.
Then she turns away, cursing the time, late for her shift as usual. There is the scramble for her things, followed by the slam of the door. Once she leaves, my body uncoils. I inhale and inhale, trying to fill up the crater inside me. The air is always stale here, almost solid in its mustiness. Like it hasn’t circulated since we first moved in a decade ago.
Halmoni pushes the bowl away, though it’s still half full. She taps my shoulder in a silent question, and I lie, as I do every morning, “Don’t worry, I’ve eaten.”
Breakfast has always been ours. The two of us at our tiny dining table, awaiting the day’s approach. A stack of toast, a mixing bowl of cereal, or a mound of sliced fruit between us. Our sanctum, the lull before school or work, before Sunny woke, before the neighbors started up their noise.
Halmoni nods and squeezes my hand. She barely talks anymore. Her life plods on without mercy, trapped within the yellowing walls of this apartment. Broken appliances and stained beige carpet, hiding decades of secrets. Warped furniture and not enough windows. A narrow room shared with Sunny. Sometimes she gazes up at the ceiling for hours, her face blank and drooping. Like a part of her is already gone.
Our morning ritual looks different now, but it still belongs to us. In these hushed moments together, Halmoni and I are okay.
I lay my head onto the edge of the bed and close my eyes. She pats my cheek with cool fingers. They feel like feathers.
Chapter 3
The customer is always right.
We aim to please and never fight.
This is our daily mantra at Café Sonata. Even with the most difficult customers, who find fault with every damn thing. Like the woman in the front now, whose clarion voice rises above the afternoon din. I watch while arranging desserts in the display case.
“Are you trying to give me diabetes?” She shoves her cup toward Eun-ji, the newest barista. The customer’s cropped hair is a helmet, plastered to her head. A red Chanel bag swings from her arm. “Remake it or give me a refund.”
“I’d be happy to remake it for you,” Eun-ji says. “But caramel lattes are supposed to be sweet.”
“They must be hiring idiots these days.” She picks up the cup and slams it back down. Milk splatters onto the marbled countertop. “Say ‘nae, I’m sorry,’ and make it again.”
Okay. Enough. I abandon the desserts and join Eun-ji at the register.
“What’s the problem?” I offer my best smile. The customer is always right.
“My drink is so sweet, my teeth are aching.” The woman bares said teeth.
“You’re welcome to change your—”
“If I get cavities, are you going to pay the bill? You can’t even afford it.” She purses her lips so hard, it looks painful.
“I check the cup for her order. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have asked for five pumps of caramel.” I manage to keep my tone pleasant, though the irritation is ballooning, blazing in my chest.
“Winter, it’s okay,” Eun-ji hisses, tugging my arm.
“Didn’t your mother teach you to respect your elders?” Spit flies from the woman’s mouth and lands on my arm. “My daughter would never—”
“Only if they deserve it,” I say. My mother hasn’t taught me much, I don’t add. My jaw aches from clenching.
“Winter.” The manager, Joo-hyun, appears to my left and pinches my side. She apologizes to the woman. “Jwesonghabnida. Let me remake your latte. And your next two drinks are on us.”
“Once we’re alone, she frowns at me. “What’s going on with you lately? Your only job is to make the customers happy.”
“And somehow make caramel lattes not sweet,” I say. I watch the woman yank a clump of napkins from the dispenser, followed by a handful of sugar packets. She drops them all into her bag.
“Consider this your last warning. You’re not indispensable.” Joo-hyun tucks a lock of chin-length hair behind her ear. Her earring looks like a silver egg, stretching out the lobe. “I know you need this job, but I’m not above asking you to leave. You’re bringing down our image.”
She turns away and begins to grind espresso beans, her movements brisk.
Image means Café Sonata’s spacious, slate-gray interior with marble accents and geometric light fixtures. Image means the four-star rating we have online—God forbid it drops to three point nine. Image means going along with the charade that we’re located in the affluent heart of Cheongdam, not an anonymous suburb no one cares about. Joo-hyun Image means Café Sonata’s spacious, slate-gray interior with marble accents and geometric light fixtures. Image means the four-star rating we have online—God forbid it drops to three point nine. Image means going along with the charade that we’re located in the affluent heart of Cheongdam, not an anonymous suburb no one cares about. Joo-hyun likes to believe this place is much more important than it is.
But it’s easier than other jobs I’ve had, and minimum wage is better than nothing. Plus, getting paid under the table, all cash, is the best I can ask for. Even if it’s only so I can work more hours than strictly legal. An actual paycheck would just be taken by Sunny, never to be seen again.
“Sorry,” I say to Joo-hyun’s back. “I’ll do better.”
“You need anger management classes.”
“Anger isn’t the issue. She deserved it.”
“Oh, yes. According to you, they always deserve it.” She shakes her head as she tamps the grounds. “You’re lucky to even be working here. Don’t make me regret taking a chance on you.”
She spouts some variation of this every week, like I should grovel at her feet with gratitude. But here’s the truth: the choice was between me and an older man who wouldn’t stop leering at the other baristas. I needed this job, and Joo-hyun needed me.
Sorry, Eun-ji mouths from nearby, looking embarrassed. I wave her apology away. She’s a year older than me, an international student at UC Irvine. Kind and patient and soft-spoken. Likable.
Not like me at all.
Pre-order your copy of All the Tomorrows After or add it to your Goodreads Shelf!