Obanai Novels & Stories

Anthony gave us five hours and we’d barely used two. “I hope you know what you're doing, Eira?” there was an ounce of fear in Daisy’s voice. “Does it matter? Stop killing the vibe.” couldn't believe I'm already sounding like a drunk Eira even before getting drunk. Daisy made to speak another word but was cut off by the barman who brought in our order just as Sophia had instructed. Th

she said, chin high. Another voice joined. “I do.” An older man pushed through the crowd, glasses perched on a crooked nose, hands ink-stained and callused. Eamon, the old scholar. The man who taught Noah to read his first words. “I’ve seen the man you’ve become,” Eamon said. “Your mother would’ve been proud. And I stand with you now.” Then the voices came like a flood. “I do.” “You have my claws.” “For the Luna!” Then came Rakesh.

Uncle Radu stirred mămăligă. Mom chopped onions—German efficiency, Japanese silence, tears streaming. Mom (to Ana, Japanese): 「玉ねぎが目に入るね…」 “Onions always get in my eyes…” Ana (handing tissue, Romanian): “Tante, you cry every time. Obaachan’s genes.” Celeste (rolling a lumpy one): “Mine looks like a burrito.” Uncle Radu (snorting): “American-German-Japanese-Romanian burrito.