Page 12 of Cupcake of the Month
“Keep your left up.” There wouldn’t be anything from Zach’s parents because they didn’t have their latest address.
Zach obliged, adding his middle finger along with it.
“Smart ass. Make sure you do that the next time your caseworker shows up.”
His brother settled in with his cereal and opened his textbook. The comfortable silence of the kitchen was broken only by his turning pages and Josh flipping through the mail.
“Oh, shit, I’m gonna be late.” Zach closed his book and scurried out of his seat.
“Language,” Josh admonished, but his brother was already in his bedroom.
He soon reappeared and hiked his backpack onto his thin shoulders. “See you, big brother.”
“Make good choices,” Josh responded. They bumped fists and Zach was out the door.
The echo of his footsteps bounced off the staircase. Josh glanced at the clock on the microwave. There was time before he had to leave for his soul-sucking eight hours at the wholesale store. The single bed in Zach’s room was tempting, but the punching bag wouldn’t leave him with mindless thoughts of Jordan.
He worked up a good sweat for the next half hour, then showered it all off under the weak trickle of water and got ready for work. When he hit the lobby, the door to the first-floor apartment creaked open and Berry popped his head out. The man must have installed monitors and sensors in the building. Or he was just that perceptive.
“Okay.” Berry’s mouth moved like he was chewing on something. “It’s you.”
“Yeah.”
Berry scanned the hallway. “All right. Take care now.”
Josh biked to the post office to check his box. He first got one because constantly updating his address every time they moved was too much work. Then it became a way of keeping Zach from knowing about the letters his parents sent. The ones still full of lies and excuses. The ones he reported to the FBI.
A couple of bills, an advertisement to a sport supply store opening nearby. And shit, one of those envelopes with an artsy logo and fancy font. Letters were never good when hoping for a phone call. He opened it anyway, knowing what it was going to say.
Dear Mr. Lukasik, blah blah blah, many qualified candidates for the sous chef position, yada yada yada, sorry and good luck. He crumpled the letter in a ball and tossed it into the trash.
Even with helping Barb in the kitchen during catering jobs, his credentials weren’t enough to convince any upscale restaurant he was worthy of a chance.
He hefted his backpack onto his shoulders. The bike ride in the humid August air obliterated the good of his morning shower, but it saved a ton on gas. Nothing a few minutes in the meat freezer wouldn’t cure.
He pushed through the double doors to the back of the meat department and grabbed the stupid green Essie’s apron off his hook before pulling open the heavy metal door.
“Dude.” Kenny said his usual greeting as he shoved a crate onto a shelf. His slow gaze took in Josh from his head to his toes.
“Hey,” Josh answered. He stood among the stacks of frozen meat and fish and let the air cool him down.
The younger man stared at him for a few seconds, his shaggy brows creating a V on his forehead, then shook his head, his voice full of sympathy. “Dude.”
“I know.”
“Okay.” Kenny nodded, then took a box of frozen seafood and left Josh alone.
Josh closed his eyes until his skin was dry and pebbling. This is what he had needed after seeing Jordan last night, but he could hardly sneak into Essie’s after hours for it.
He left the freezer and washed up, then brushed by his manager to dig into the ground beef. The people of this town liked their meat red and in large quantities.
“Lukasik, you’re late,” George barked at him.
Josh wasn’t, but he didn’t acknowledge his manager beyond a nod.
“This has to be the fifth time this month. Any more and I’ll have to write you up for it.”
His timesheets would bear witness that George was mistaken—or lying. Josh continued measuring the meat.
