Two
Zoe
Owning a bakery was a nice fantasy. A pretty shop with flowers in the lobby, all in blue and white, with decorative cakes sitting in glass displays. It was supposed to be a creative outlet and the fulfillment of a dream. The reality was, of course, much different.
Zoe’s Bakery was my slave ship. There was the baking and cleaning, a steady stream of customers, and monumental piles of dishes that kept me up late every night. If I allowed myself to rest, I wouldn’t be able to make my orders on time or keep up with the daily demand from the customers. People would stop coming, and I’d end up losing money until I had nothing left but a small business loan that I couldn’t pay.
I knew the risk I was taking when I opened the bakery. I thought it through and planned everything out. That was the only reason I was able to survive off of what I made, but I couldn’t plan everything, and there was always the chance that I’d make a fatal mistake and screw everything up.
I had to learn to live with the anxiety and find joy in little things, like making up new recipes and experimenting with different spices. Last month, all of my signature cookies had zest. The month before that, I was on a chocolate kick, experimenting with dark chocolate, chocolate with chilis, white chocolate, and, of course, the perfect chocolate filling. Those tiny obsessions kept the excitement going. It helped rejuvenate the place and make sure that the life didn’t go out of it.
By five o’clock, I could barely stand. The skin on my heels had worn away from walking around too much. Every time I moved my feet, the back of my shoes grated against the cut. I had to lean against the counter while I took orders just to keep my shoes from tearing into my heel.
There was an afternoon rush—mostly kids and college students ordering coffee and pastries. The onslaught lasted for more than an hour, and my feet were screaming for relief. When I was done with the customers, I limped back into the office and took a seat. My legs were burning, and there was an ache in my lower back that simply wouldn’t go away.
Chloe’s shift started in fifteen minutes. Usually, I waited until she arrived to sit down, but I couldn’t stand the pain any longer. The moment I sat down, the doorbell chimed, which meant that there was a customer. I sighed and dragged myself to my feet.
It was Mr. Beetle; that’s what Chloe called him. He wore nothing but baggy slacks that he had to keep pulling up and cheap t-shirts with stains on the front.
The funniest thing about him was the way he leaned in over the counter and squinted through his thick glasses that magnified his eyes. Chloe hated it. She said he stunk, and he did. His slicked back black hair smelled like a zoo, and the smell of his body was repulsive.
His head craned to the side like a bird, and he squinted up at the menu on the wall behind the counter. He moved his lips as he read over the menu in his head.
“Can I help you?” I asked, staying a step back from the counter.
He looked down as if I’d appeared out of thin air in front of him. “How are you, Zoe?”
“Good, and you?”
“Good, good.” He was missing some teeth. I could see the gaps in the front of his mouth.
“What can I get for you today?”
“Um.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. What do you like to eat?”
I wanted to climb over the counter, grab him, and tell him to hurry up, but I didn’t. Instead, I drummed my fingernails on the counter, just one quick swipe. He didn’t seem to notice. “I just made some blueberry scones.”
“Yes, but I need something to drink.” He seemed to mull it over as if it were the biggest decision he’d ever made.
“How about a hot cocoa?” I only suggested it because it was already made. I could just pour it up and get him out of here. He liked to hang around though and take his time. It was infuriating; he usually came in when I was ready to collapse.
“Blueberry scone and hot cocoa it is, then.” He shuffled around in his pockets and pulled out wadded up bills and an assortment of coins.
“That’ll be six eighty-four.”
“All right. Let’s see here.” He dumped the change on the counter. I checked the clock while he counted it. Chloe was already five minutes late, and I hoped for her sake that she didn’t keep me waiting any longer.
“One…two…” He was counting the last twenty cents in pennies. I counted them mentally then swept them up. He looked up at me as if he were a child that’d just gotten his toy taken away. I ignored him, grabbed a cup, and poured out his hot chocolate. Then I grabbed him a scone. He seemed anxious, bobbing back and forth on his heels like he was excited about getting a piece of candy.
“Here ya go,” I said.
He snatched the bag away and turned to walk outside. The door opened, and Chloe rushed in. Her nose wrinkled as she sidestepped him.
Chloe followed me into the back and leaned against the door frame while I took a seat. She was skinny, with short black hair that she kept in a ponytail, and that classic model beauty that everyone could appreciate. I’ve been told the same thing, but I usually just dismissed it as flattery. My blond hair was too flat and stringy, and my nose was too big, but I had a nice figure.
“You’re late,” I announced.
“Five minutes doesn’t matter.”
“It does when your boss has blisters on her heels.” I tried not to cringe as I pulled off my black kitchen shoes so I could change into my flats.
“Jesus, I’m sorry. I got out the door a little late.”
“It’s fine. I shouldn’t be mad at you anyway. You’re giving me a much-needed break.”
“Dude,” Chloe said, waving her hand over her nose. “What is wrong with that guy? Did you smell him? I could barely breathe.”
“He’s disabled. You shouldn’t make fun of him.”
“He’s creepy is what he is. Don’t let him in the store. We serve food here. People aren’t going to want to come in if it smells like that.”
I stood up and grabbed my water bottle from my desk, then I walked out of the office. “It doesn’t matter. If we banned every creep that came in here, we wouldn’t have any business.”
“You’re right.” Chloe shrugged and put on an apron.
I followed her into the kitchen. “Donuts are done. They just need icing. There’s a cake that needs finishing tomorrow. I left instructions.” Chloe nodded along. “I’ll need you to make a batch of apple scones, though.”
“Did you mix up the apples?” Chloe didn’t sound happy.
“No,” I groaned. “We ran out of blueberry during the lunch rush. I had to prep more. It was a complete disaster.”
“Geez, you should’ve called me.” She pulled a box of apples out of the walk-in.
“I didn’t want to bother you. It wasn’t that bad.”
“Listen,” Chloe said. “Get out of here. I’ve got this.”
“All right.” I felt like a new mother leaving my infant for the first time. I kept looking back at Chloe, a little uncertain.
“It’ll be fine,” Chloe said.
“Okay, Okay.” I grabbed my car keys. “Just let me know if there’s any trouble.”
“I will.” I knew I could trust Chloe, but I couldn’t get rid of the anxiety. I used to stay up at night wondering whether or not I should drive down there and make sure things were okay. I’d go over the books at two in the morning to be sure that everything was right. Then I’d go back to bed and have nightmares of gangs throwing bricks in the windows, or people battering down the back door to get to the safe. Everything in my life depended upon that one tiny shop. If it didn’t succeed, I’d be completely screwed.
It was cold and wet outside, halfway between one rainstorm and another. Usually, I didn’t mind, but I forgot to bring a jacket that morning. I was shivering all the way back to my car. When I got in, I took a second and let my head fall back against the seat. If I kept this up, I was going to have to be institutionalized.
The problem wasn’t the work. I could handle that, but having to worry every second of every day, it wasn’t healthy. But what other choice did I have? My worries kept me motivated. They woke me up in the morning and got me through the day. Without them, I’d have nothing.
I started the car and checked my rearview mirror before backing out. Mr. Beetle was standing next to a light pole staring at me with a line of blueberry filling smeared across his cheek. What was he doing there? I’d wondered more than once whether or not the man was homeless. It was hard to see somebody like that without feeling a little bit of sympathy. He didn’t deserve the treatment that Chloe gave him. His life was hard enough. I decided to be nice and give him a quick wave before I pulled out. His eyes went wide, and he gave me a toothless grin. It was sweet.