Crazy (BoyxBoy)

Donuts

It's quiet today. Erin is across the kitchen, baking a cake for a special order, and I'm decorating the donuts. Vaughn is in the back, doing his morning paperwork and the radio is white noise in the background on some jazz station. It's nice. It's a good day today. I feel good, like I'm normal.

I'm using a spoon to shovel the frosting into the piping bag. When I first started here, I had no idea how to bake. I loved to watch, but it was harder to learn how to do it. Especially since I'm a terrible learner. But Frieda helped me focus. She had that kind of authority.

I remember when I first started taking cooking lessons from her. Mom was skeptical of it, thought Frieda was trying to lure me to her house, but I never thought that. And I'm the paranoid one. I always felt safe with Frieda around. And when I turned 16, she offered me a job. I had to beg for my parents to let me. It would take time away from my home schooling, but it made me happy.

I was happy that I was finally doing something independent.

And then Frieda fell ill. She died when I was 17 and it hurt more than I thought it would. Sent me over the edge. I was put into the hospital for about a month. I was having suicidal thoughts. It was depression. Not schizophrenia. I was depressed and I knew it had nothing to do with the other illness I had.

It's funny. The one time things go to shit and it would be acceptable to have a psychotic break, I check myself into the hospital. Frieda told me life was worth living. She said that nothing lasts forever. She taught me that, and I got better.

Was back at work with the new owner, her son. He's never liked me. That would have made me sad if I thought too hard about it, but that's why I never did. I try not to think a lot about bad stuff.

The first batch of donuts is done and I start placing them on the display rack.

"You've been awfully quiet today," Erin says as she brings her used items over to the sink to be washed. I shrug. "Well, I guess you're always quite. It just feels like you're more quiet than usual." I shrug again. I don't know what to say.

These are situations I hate. I can't really keep a conversation going. My therapist says that's a result of my anxiety, but what if it's just my personality? What if I'm this socially awkward person and there's not fixing me?

"Hey, Cam?" It's Vaughn. I hadn't even noticed he'd come up from the back office. He was standing at the other end of my table with a few papers in hand. I look up to him. He's got glasses on his face. I bite my lip and look back down at my display rack.

"I just noticed you've never had an employee evaluation. You've been working here for four years, going on five." I shrugged. My mom always handled things with the old boss. Told her that I'm not very social and that something one on one would probably send me into a panic attack.

Vaughn tsk's with his tongue. "That won't do. We'll have one tomorrow after you finish up your shift, alright? Nothing too bad, just a few questions. I'll be getting around to everyone pretty soon." He sets his paper's down and pulls his glasses off, taking a look at my work. He whistles.

"You know how to decorate a donut. Have you done a cake before?" I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to say anything. He seemed like such an easy person to talk to, but I just couldn't open up my mouth to speak. It was like I'd swallowed my tongue. Could that actually happen?

He turned his gaze to me and after I didn't answer him and chuckled. "You're shy, I get it. I was too, believe me. Nice work, keep it up." Erin was finished with her dishes and joined the conversation. "He doesn't talk much. But that's alright, that's what we love about him. He's got enough charm without the words, don't you think?"

Erin was my mom's friend. They first met when I got my job here. Erin always used to bake pies and bring them over when I wasn't feeling well. She's sort of my aunt, in a way. My mom would trust her with my life, plus she has an uncle with schizophrenia that she used to take care of back in the day.

"That's alright. Talking isn't mandatory...just expected." I picked the rack off of the table and walked it carefully out front, setting it inside the display case under the counter. I didn't want to hear people talking about me when I was in the room.

It wasn't their fault. But was it mine?

When I got back to my table, Erin was taking her cake from the oven and Vaughn was still there, writing things down on his paper with a pen. His brown curly hair hung over his face as he looked down, glasses now tucked into his shirt pocket. He was dressed casually today, with a gray t-shirt with a breast pocket, dark jeans, and boots.

There was a tattoo peeking from underneath the short sleeve of his shirt. I tried to decipher what it was on my own, but I just couldn't. There was a splotch of red, swirling black lines, and greens in the mixture. It could be anything.

"What's your tattoo of?" I asked quietly. He looked up at me startled, then down at his arm. Attentively he set his pen down and lifted his sleeve up a little. The splotches of red turned into the beginnings of a blossoming rose and the green turned into leaves. The black swirls were vines. It was beautiful. I reached a hand out the touch his arm, and then pulled it back, face flushing.

"Sorry, I,"

"No it's fine. Go ahead." So I lifted my hand, and even though it was shaking, I touched his arm. The raised skin where the black was, it was warm to the touch. "It's new?" Vaughn nodded. "Yeah. My mom loved roses. Over the weekend, I thought I would commemorate her with a tattoo that matched her first tattoo." I couldn't help but smile.

"That's sweet. What happened to her?" I asked. "She died of a heart attack. It was sudden, I didn't have a chance to fully say goodbye." I looked up from his tattoo. His eyes were a shocking grey. I couldn't help getting emotional.

"I'm sorry. I can't imagine...if my mom ever left me, and I didn't get the chance to say goodbye...I don't know, I'd go insane. More insane than I already am." Vaughn nodded, like he understood what I was saying. Like he knew I'd have an absolute break down. He didn't. But he was trying to understand.

His hand came up to wipe something wet from my face. "No need to cry. Life's precious, but she lived a full and happy life. I was blessed to have her through most of my adolescent life and young adulthood. Everybody's got to die sometime, right?" I nodded, now wiping my own tears.

"I...need to start the pastries." I muttered in response. Vaughn nodded in understanding again, completely ignoring my shut down. I hated talking about death. It was so morbid. So inevitable.

"Can I help? I'm not a master in the kitchen by any means, but since I'm managing a bakery it wouldn't hurt to learn, would it?" I smiled. I hated people helping me with my cooking, it only reminded me that Frieda was never coming back. I hated that fact. But I had to believe that when we had her funeral, she passed onto a better place. The world was scary, sometimes I think we needed a little help.

I nodded. "I can teach you. It's really easy." Vaughn smiled and slipped his glasses back onto his face, walking over to the sink to wash his hands. I watched him with that same ghost of a smile on my face and looked up, across the room.

Erin was grinning at me, frosting in the metal bowl being mixed by one hand and a thumbs up being cast in my direction with the other.

***
What's this? Another update in less than a week? That won't last lmao.

I liked writing this, I love writing dialogue. Hope you like this one!