Ensconce

Chapter 2: Talking About Nothing

It was 30 minutes after their shifts, but Amapola and Hasmik had just finished laminating tomorrow's croissants. After placing them carefully in the fridge, they washed their hands and went about collecting their things preparing to go home. 

"Ah...." Hasmik sighed. "This is my favorite part of the day."

"Going home?" Amapola carefully folded her apron. 

"No, you dummy," Hasmik threw her apron against the hooks on the wall, not bothering to see if it landed on a hook. "Laminating pesky dough and washing dishes." She shrugged on her jean jacket. "Of course I meant going home!" She glanced at herself in the small mirror by the sink, catching stray mascara flecks and dabbing them away. "However, there isn't much to go home to." She sighed. "No mans for Hasmik Nikoghosyan. Ugh! Amapola what is life! This can't be it, girl. Like I'm 24, it's getting real. I have to get my shit together." She plopped down on a wooden stool, crossed her arms and pouted. 

"Why do you panic so much? We are 24 still. We're not dead yet." Amapola giggled and wrapped her arms around her sullen friend. "There is still much left in store for us. Remember we still have to see the world, right Princess Jasmine?" Amapola winked at her and went to collect her backpack.

"Ughhh...I hate having translated my name for you."

"I can show you the world...shining, shimmering....Spleeeendiiiid!" Amapola sang.

"Stahp-it! You know I hate it when you try to sing like a man. It's eerie."

"Eerily accurate! Come on! Let's go."

"Gimme a sec." Hasmik clambered  over to the door to the front of the store and peeked out, before turning back to Amapola. "They left...back to square one."

"Square one? You don't mean--But I thought he was gay."

"Fluid, my dear, fluid. But I'm not talking about him, but his friend. Mr. Razzyyyy. He was something, huh? A perfect 5 o'clock shadow, over his long strong jaw, dark thick I-just-had-sex hair. His arms were so muscular, too. Did you see after he took off his jacket? And don't even get me started on those eyebrows! A perfect frame for his gorgeous face." Hasmik started to fan herself, she was a sucker for good eyebrows. "Oof! I think I might get a nosebleed from all these visualizations of that divine sex god. I feel quite faint. Catch me Ama." She laid into Amapola's out-stretched arms.

"Didn't he have crooked teeth?" Amapola pushed Hasmik to stand.

"It's all a part of the charm! I can appreciate an Englishman." 

"He isn't English. And what about his nose?"

"I'm Armenian, I love his nose, it gives him personality." She trailed her finger along the ridge of her nose.

"Hasmik, you can't be serious, he didn't even talk to you!"

"Whoa, whoa! What makes you think I'm talking about me?"

"Wait, you mean me?!"

"Yes, you! The biggest hoe I know." She threw her head back and laughed. "I'm kidding. But didn't you see how he wouldn't stop looking at you? It was so obvious! I saw him walk in and the second he saw you in the corner kneading that dough, I knew." Hasmik opened the side-door to the alley and motioned for Amapola to exit.

"Knew what?" Amapola walked over and went through the door.

"That he wanted you to knead HIS dough!" Hasmik erupted in laughter, cackling like a mad woman as she made sure the door was locked.

"Is it always sex with you?" Amapola shook her head. "I thought you were being serious."

"I am being serious here. It has been forever since a gentleman graced your bed."