Page 15 of Roommate
It’s seven o’clock in the morning, but I am vividly awake and wondering how I’m supposed to work elbow to elbow with this guy. He’s back. And I am not ready.
They sing the whole damn song before I snap out of it and hang my jacket on a hook.
“Is that you, Kieran?” Audrey calls.
“Yeah,” I rasp awkwardly. “Morning.”
“I’m covered in cream-cheese frosting!” Audrey calls. “Want a pumpkin muffin? Although you should know there are bagels, and they are spectacular.”
“Good tip,” I mumble as my heart sinks.
If Roderick made spectacular bagels, he’s probably here to stay. This is terrible. Working at the Busy Bean isn’t my life’s goal. I started here to help my cousin’s wife, and to save up for my own place. But it’s comfortable, or at least it used to be. Now I have to work with him? Not possible.
* * *
Sure enough, Roderick comes out of the kitchen ten minutes later to work the morning rush with me. “Just tell me if I screw something up,” he says in a chipper voice. “Okay?”
I jerk my chin in a nod, avoiding eye contact. What is he thinking right now? Oh right. Now it’s time to serve coffee with the creep who used to watch me blow guys under the bleachers.
I want to die. Preferably quickly.
Unfortunately, the next few hours move at a snail’s pace. Ordinarily I’m a perfectly competent barista, quick, but bad at small talk.
Today I am all thumbs. Whenever Roderick stands close to me, I lose my train of thought. He smells like baked goods and citrus. Sometimes he hums a bit of a tune under his breath, and the notes bounce like rubber balls inside my chest.
And every time I catch myself paying too much attention to him, I become a little more of a self-conscious wreck. Each order takes twice as long to fill as it should.
Still, I hold it all together until Roderick suggests that we work assembly-line style to clear out the line. “Do you want to fill the orders or work the register?”
“Fill the orders,” I grunt. Because I’m better at coffee than people.
On the one hand, this new arrangement is a relief because it keeps Roderick out of my personal space. I no longer have to take so much care to avoid bumping into him. But now I have a new problem. Roderick jots the orders on the cups, and he has terrible handwriting. So, and this is an introvert’s nightmare, I have to ask him questions.
“Dark soul? Dark scar?” I guess, squinting at a cup.
“Dark roast with a scone,” Roderick says with a flinch. “Sorry. I’ll do better.”
Of course that says scone. My face reddens as I dive into the pastry case. He’s more careful on the next few cups. But then the Retired Teachers Knitting Club descends on the Busy Bean, and the line grows long again.
“You guys okay out here?” Audrey asks, dropping a fresh tray of muffins into the case.
“No problem,” Roderick says with a quick smile, although his blue eyes flash with panic.
A busy shop doesn’t rattle me, so long as I don’t have to make small talk with anyone. Maybe that’s why I don’t ask him what the next few scribbles say. I start guessing instead. It goes fine, until I fill an order that asks for “BB and BCH”, and I serve up a breakfast blend with a buttered chive biscuit.
One minute later though, Mrs. DeAngelo, my third-grade teacher, is standing in front of me yelling. “Coffee? I asked for a Berry Buster Tea. And this biscuit looks good, but it is not the bagel with cream cheese I ordered.” Naturally, Audrey sticks her head out of the kitchen just then, a question on her face.
“Sorry, Mrs. DeAngelo,” I stammer. “Let me fix that.” I take the coffee out of her hand and look for the tea bags.
“Oh, shit. Sorry,” Roderick says. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was that hard to understand.
“S’okay,” I mutter. Everyone is staring at me, which is my least favorite thing in the whole entire world.
“You could have asked,” Roderick says under his breath, reaching for a bagel while I make Mrs. DeAngelo’s tea.
Yeah, I could have. But talking to you is like crossing a bed of hot lava.
“It’s a shame that you’re still so distracted,” Mrs. DeAngelo says loudly to the whole planet. “Always doodling in class instead of listening.”
