“Ma, c’mon.” She licks her thumb before smudging it through the pink mess.
“Oh, it’s just a little colour for your cheeks, booboo,” she croons as they sit down across from me, sitting closer together than I’ve ever seen a grown man sit with his mother. Her arm is still draped over his shoulders. I remain silent because I am so at a loss for words, I don’t even think sound would come out if Itried. I just stare at Cody and his mom as I take the last bite of my sandwich.
“Thank you for the sandwiches. They’re delicious,” I finally manage.
She tilts her head onto Cody’s shoulder, “Not a bother. I like seeing girls like you finally eat! It’s good for future babies and from what I can see, you’ve got very nice birthing hips!” Cody’s ma singsongs at me. Cody smiles along like some mama’s boy ventriloquist dummy and I suddenly feel like this is the beginning of either a prank show or a horror movie. The fact that this is my life right now might be the worst. At least a prank show ends and I’d be killed immediately in a horror movie, but this? This is truly a nightmare.
I look down at my hand squeezed tightly around a juice box and drop it as if it had burned me. My eyes dart over to the moms at the playground with their chunky toddlers waddling around and my veins freeze. I slowly turn back to Cody and his mom who are talking animatedly about Cody’s birth story. I hear the word “placenta” and jolt from my seat.
“I have to go. Right now. I’m sorry. Bye!” I practically yell at them and bolt back towards where I parked my car. I get to the bridge by the koi pond and make sure to watch my footing this time, lest I be saved by another mama’s boy who admires my birthing hips. I only stop when I get to the bronze koi statue, mocking me with its pouty fish lips. “Thanks a lot, fish fucker,” I whisper-yell at the statue before fleeing back to my car in hopes of never running into the two of them again. I quickly shoot a text off to Dominic once I reach my car demanding that his next pick is someone that ticks off aminimumof five attributes from The List. I sigh, putting my phone away.
At least it was a good sandwich.
TWELVE
Drip
Dominic
I tryto focus on the admissions application papers I got in the mail this week. The blank pages taunt me with questions like, “What previous culinary experience do you have?” and “Where did your love for cooking originate from?”
To which I can only answer honestly,none,andbecause I grew up starving and had to make shitty food taste as good as possible.
I mull over a few ways to make that sound less petulant and more eloquent. A soft laugh pulls my focus and my head snaps up to exactly where Celeste sits withJude “The Hair”on their date. Celeste is laughing politely at something he’s saying. It doesn’tfeellike a genuine laugh but what do I know? I turn my focus towards a psychology textbook I found upon my morning perusal of the stacks about a half hour ago.
To gauge the nature of the relationship between the two participants, one must examine the proxemics. If Individual A is interested, say through camaraderie, partnership or romantic interest in Individual B, then they may demonstrate the following bodily actions:
Leaning forward into Individual B’s intimate space - this zone is classified as zero to fifteen inches of space
Mirroring Individual B’s physical position, sitting or standing
Individual A will touch Individual B with unnecessary but sometimes involuntary movements (eg. touch their arm/back/hand)
Feet are an essential indicator - precisely pointing at the direction of interest
I glance up toward the table Celeste and Jude are sitting at. He’s leaning forwards, heavy on the eye contact, and hands outstretched in front of him, palms down on either side of the coffee I served him almost twenty minutes ago. Celeste is…leaning back, arms crossed over her chest and her legs are turned slightly away and crossed one leg over the other. Based on what I just read it seems like he is definitely interested whereas she…is not? I’m not an expert, but from here it seems she’s not exactly swooning over the guy. Celeste asked if it was okay to bring him here for their date so that it was a public setting and casual enough for just coffee, and not a mafia disaster or another ambush by someone’s mom.
A small smile passes across my lips and I turn back to my applications. Vic and Rick had coaxed me into at least thinking about starting the application process for culinary school. Fromthe day I arrived on their doorstep, fresh out of high school and financially unable to afford any kind of secondary schooling—let alone any interest in one—they took me in. I was shit at drawing despite my interest in becoming a tattoo artist. Rick laughed, but Vic asked me to help make some of the food for family dinner. It’s become a tradition for every family gathering since. She’d pushed my novice culinary skills to a new limit, throwing every intricate recipe she could find online or through heirloom cookbooks passed down through her family. My love for Italian food sprouted from Maria’s gentle nudge, but grew with Vic’s constant pushing and testing my culinary limits. She showed me how to measure by eye, and “never cook in a bad mood, it will only spoil the flavour.”
I sigh looking over the documents in hand. Can I really do this? I mean, financially I’ve been saving up every cent from first working clerical and clean up jobs for Rick and Vic at the parlour, to now working as a barista at the cafe. I can definitely apply for a loan to help make ends meet without going into unbearable debt. But mentally? I know I’m a decent home cook but in comparison to other applicants I feel like the admissions people would see mine and feel…underwhelmed. I have no experience in a professional kitchen and the closest thing to getting paid for food services I have is when people add a baked good to their coffee order here at Biblio & Brew.
I massage my temples. I shouldn’t have pulled out these papers during my break, it’s too stressful during the small window I have to relax. In reality, my job at the counter isn’t crazy, even during busier hours. The cafe is still new enough that it isn’t well-known, and most students are still away for summer break. It’s just me and Dazey, a single mom in her thirties. I run the cafe part, she runs the books part. Our manager spends most of her time at the on-campus bookstore as they hold all the inventory for current textbooks and things students actuallyneed for school life. I like the pace here though. It’s calming. I like not having a demanding manager to report to all the time.
