When Droplets Collide

Nine

I concentrate on the piping bag between my hands, watching as the creamy yellow filling falls out of the rounded tip and onto the shortbread base of the tartlet. The smell of the custard sets off an onslaught of nausea in the pit of my stomach. My hands tremble slightly, causing the pattern of my piping to waver while I focus my concentration into forcing down the bile that threatens it’s way up.

Knowing the strict no food contamination rule Louie lives by, I doubt he or the customers would appreciate my throw up amidst HuggaMug’s infamous tartlets.

I let out a breath of relief when the urge passes and my empty stomach halts it’s war on my trembling body. This relief is short-lived, though, because as soon as I put the finishing sprinkle of white powder on the tartlets, the hairs on the back of my arms stand at attention, alerting me to his presence before the steady approach of his booming steps can be heard.

His hairnet peaked over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of his teachings at work. Slightly unnerved by his proximity, I creep slightly to the side in order to establish some distance between us. If he catches sight of this, his unwavering eyes give no indication. Instead, they fill with a pride for the many tartlets lined up systematically on the metal tray.

“You're getting better at this,” he praises. “In fact, I'd give it a few more weeks until Em lets you work back here with me.”

I flash him a small smile before turning away to transfer the newly finished tartlets off of the metal table and onto their respective trays.
“Thanks, but you don’t need to bother Emily with the details of my employment. I like working out on the floor as a server.”

Louie observes me for a while longer. I know what he sees. I can feel his eyes stray from the creases in my dark attire to the limp state of my hair. It's only when they linger on the sunken skin under my cheekbones and the haggard purple tinge under my eyes that he lets out a dramatic sigh looks away.

I know he senses something is terribly wrong, but once again he chooses to overlook it. And once again I'm left feeling indebted to him.

That is, of course, until he opens his mouth.

“Well, the offer still stands,” he says, dropping the large bucket of dishes onto the shiny metal surface. The impact of the action resonates throughout the room, bouncing off the walls and causing the hairs on my arms to jolt up in surprise. His voice continues to carry over to me as he focuses on unloading the freshly dried mugs onto the table. “As soon as Jenny gets too much, you come and tell me and you'll be working back here with me in no time.”

“Lou—”
“Em hates that girl just as much as you do,” he reminds me, cutting off my protest. “In fact, you and I are her favourites. Especially you.”
At my silence, he turns around to see me raising an incredulous eyebrow at him. “Emily's a manager. Managers don’t have favourites.”

He scoffs and returns to his aggressive unloading, the blubber of his arms jiggling as he does. “Shows how little you know about this place.”
I feel the corners of my mouth lift up against my will and immediately force them back down. I turn away from the man to finish up the tartlets.
We work in comfortable silence for a few more minutes. It's a silence I welcome, because it allows me to be left alone with my thoughts for the first time today.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Like school?"

I should've known he wouldn't be silent for long.

I glance up at the clock on the wall and release a breath of relief at the sight of the position of the longer hand. “I do, but not for half an hour.”
“Cutting it a bit close, kid, don’t you think? I mean, you don’t even have to be here in the mornings, yet I find you here way too early almost every day now.”