Summer Heacock - The Awkward Path To Getting Lucky

I salute her. “You’ve got it, Captain.” I head over to the teeny desk we have crammed in between the fridge and the wall and open up our shop laptop. A picture of a breast-shaped cake appears. “Uh... Shannon? Why is there an edible tit on the laptop?”

“Oh, yeah. We got an order for a boob-cake for a party. Liz?”

Liz slumps. “I knew today was going too well.”

“What’s the boob-cake for?” Butter asks.

“It’s a breastfeeding support group thing. Their one-year anniversary of meetings or something? Looks doable.”

Liz comes up behind me and looks over my shoulder, wincing. “Yeah, I think I can do that with fondant pretty easily.”

“Boob-cake.” Butter shrugs. “Who knew?”

I sit back in my chair and click open a new browser tab. “I fucking love this job.”

I take my phone out and, for a moment, think of texting Ryan to tell him about the hubbub in the shop. Is that something we can do on a break? I never thought to ask how we’d proceed with the nonsexual trappings of coupledom while separated.

Suddenly I realize that he hasn’t texted me since we hit the bricks. Is he as conflicted as I am? I don’t know what to do with the sad feeling that comes with having to question whether it’s proper protocol to message one of the most important people in my life.

I quietly tuck my phone back in my pocket as Shannon, standing at her station scribbling in her notebook, looks up at me. “Okay, this is just a loose estimate here,” she begins. “But I’m pretty sure that with the money from this contract, we would be able to hire on another employee.”

I whip around. “Seriously? An actual, full-time employee?”

Looking back at her scribbles, she says, “I’ve been trying to make it work for weeks. I think we’re already at the point where we could take on someone part-time right now, but someone full-time would be tight, and I hate to risk it. But with the contract, I think we could absolutely do a full-timer.”

“Whoa,” Butter says, staring off into the void. “That’s the dream, baby.”

I lean back in the chair. “What would we even do with ourselves if we could split the schedule with a new person? Life not working eighty hours a week seems like crazy talk.”

“I think I’d hire a closer,” Shannon says, gazing moonily at me. “And then I could see my kids for longer than an hour every night before they have to go to bed. I could make it to more than one football game each season. I could cook actual dinners like I used to. Or at least be there to order the takeout.”

Considering the free-time possibilities, I offer, “I wouldn’t have to have only scheduled date nights with Ryan. Plus, I could stop using the whole married-to-my-job notion and maybe not let my special go ignored for two years.”

“That there is an important goal,” Butter says seriously. “I’d date, too. That’s all I’d do with my free time. I’d ask out all the pretty boys and girls. Then maybe my parents would shut up about the horror of me being single.”

I frown. “They know you’re only twenty-six, right?”

“I don’t think logic is crazy important when it comes to familial shame,” she says with a flick of her hand.

“Ooh.” I turn back to Shannon. “What about a delivery van? We’ve been looking into that for over a year, man.”

She starts poking her notebook with the pen. “We can do a van now, actually. I just hate making the commitment for that kind of expense when we’re getting by just fine with what we have.”

Butter snorts. “No offense, but your minivan isn’t exactly the pinnacle of rides.”

“Hey,” Shannon scoffs. “It’s got a DVD player in the back. Don’t hate on my minivan.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’ll never get over you driving a beige minivan. If we get a delivery van, you don’t get to pick the color.”

Rolling her eyes and straightening her apron, Shannon ignores me. “Okay, the presentation is on the twenty-second, so we need to get to work. It’s focus time, people.”

“Isn’t your lady bits deadline on the twenty-seventh?” Butter asks me.

I frown. “Yeah. But that’s okay. I can multitask my major life events.”

Shannon looks amusingly unconvinced as she tucks her notebook into her apron and goes to wash her hands. Butter winks at me and returns to her cakes.

I turn back to the laptop and stare at fondant and buttercream chesticles of varying quality. There’s a surprising number of boob-cake images online. But then, I’m always surprised when we get odd cake requests and discover we aren’t the first to tackle them.

The four-foot edible mermaid last year was particularly shocking. To think there could be more than one of those in the world.

Just under a month until the presentation. A month and change until my deadline. I can absolutely handle this.

7

Everyone is setting up their stations before the Monday morning rush in silence, as per the usual. No one has had time to let any coffee take effect by this point, so the most we usually muster is a grunt or two in recognition of the other humans in the room.

We’ve got only a few minutes until the hordes come crashing in, so I am trying to chug as much caffeine as I can while I tie on my apron and get my station in somewhat working order.

“So,” Butter says, breaking our unwritten code of silence. “How’d the stuff work over the weekend?”

Liz pops her head up, and Shannon stops in her tracks, holding a tray of brownies she’s taking to the display case out front.

I yawn. “Pretty good. I’ve got some preliminary sketches done. I think I’ll come up with some solid ideas for the presentation.”

Everyone is looking at me like I’m maybe the stupidest person they’ve ever encountered. “The stuff,” Shannon parrots. “Like, vagina stuff, lady.”

I slowly blink at her. “Oh. I didn’t get to that. I was working on the Coopertown ideas until really late every night and was too tired. I’ll break it all out tonight.”

Shannon looks personally offended. “Kat! You have to do it every day! Otherwise it won’t work. While I appreciate your dedication to the contract, you can’t put therapy off! That’s how you got into this whole two-year mess in the first place.”

My nature is to be indignant and sassy back to her, but even in my sleep-deprived state, I know she’s right. I take another swallow of coffee and say, “Fine. You’re right. I promise I’ll work on it tonight, okay?”

The front door bell jingles, letting us know our first customer of the day has arrived, and we know a whole gaggle isn’t far behind. Shannon races off with her brownies, and I grab a tray of orange muffins with warm cinnamon glaze and follow her.

The rush hits, and Shannon and I are working hard to take care of all the customers while Liz and Butter make sure our display shelves are fully stocked.

An hour or so in, I see a face in line I recognize—a coworker of Ryan’s whose name I’m pretty sure is Alice. I smile as she reaches the counter and say, “Hey! Good morning!”

“Hi, Kat!” she says, all sparkling teeth and perkiness, despite it being so early. “How are you?”

“I’m great,” I say, keeping my customer service face on, despite the caffeine in my system being severely underwhelming to combat her level of cheer. “What can I get for you, Alice?”

She points at the blueberry muffins and says, “One of those, and a large drip coffee to go.”

I grab a to-go cup and start pouring her coffee. I find most customers like to get that to their lips as fast as possible. Hell, I’ve known people to finish their cups before they even get to the cash register. I admire that kind of dedication.

“How’re things?” I ask Alice as I pop a lid on her drink.