American Love Affair (5 Seconds of Summer fan fiction)

Chapter 4

We arrive at the house, which is starting feel more like home, and I peel off my clothes in a sleepy haze.  It is late, some time past one, and my eyelids cannot remain open any longer.  My mom and I stayed much later than we expected.  Sitting around the fire was nice and kept my bare legs warm.  The boys almost lost it when Mrs. Hemmings announced that she brought s'mores.  After Luke's three slices of cake and five s'mores, I thought he would throw up, but he managed to hold it all down.  My mom tried to talk a little bit more business, but the minute dessert started their attention spans dwindled. 

"So, Mom.  Who were they?"  I asked when we finally got into the car.  "They look familiar, maybe, I don't know.  

"5 Seconds of Summer.  They're the reason we moved here, honey."

One month in Sydney went by fast.  I spent more hours than I ever thought I would with my mom and 5 Seconds of Summer.  The first couple times were a little awkward, especially when my mom would excuse herself to go to the restroom, or get on another call.  But eventually, I started to settle in more with them.  I wouldn't say we're friends, but we're getting there.  And it helps that they seem nice and grounded.  They're not the crazy drugs, sex, alcohol, rock and roll obsessed teen pop stars I see in the tabloids. 

I pop into my mom's blue Audi and drive to the bakery.  Working part time at the bakery has given me some structure in the craziness of helping my mom and getting to know the boys.  It is sometime around 6 am when I walk into the shop.  The smell of bread and sugar always makes me smile.  In the back, I put my bag on the hook in my cubby and pull out my freshly washed apron.  Anna, my mentor, is already working on baking.

"Should I start on the cupcakes?"  I ask.

"Yes, do chocolate, vanilla, red velvet, and Nutella."  She doesn't even look up, but continues working on the dough for the scones.

Anna is an older woman, somewhere between fifty and sixty with fiery hair, tanned skin, and hands that are worn from working here.  Everyone else who works here is a little older too.  I think I am the only person who works here who is under thirty-five.  I think I am also the only person here who did not grow up in Australia.

"Planning anything fun for this weekend?"  Anna inquires; conversation always makes the tedious mixing of ingredients, transferring them into the pan, and frosting go by faster.  "Hot date with your boyfriend?"

"Um..." I smile.  "Not really.  I was planning on staying in.  My friends aren't doing anything.  Probably just the usual.  Going for a run, reading, and watching some tv."

        I accentuate the word friends in my sentence.  Anna thinks that every young guy who walks in here is my boyfriend. She does not understand how someone so, and I quote, "pretty, sweet, smart, and a good baker too," has such trouble finding a boyfriend.  As if reading my mind, Anna rolls into one of her love rants.

"Sweetie, that's what you need: friends, a boyfriend. Then you can stop spending time with oldies like myself.  I remember when I met my husband. We were high school sweethearts. We were in the same drama class.  He was such a dork back then, I don't know why I fell for him.  He was the kind of guy who would take me out to a dinner date, pay for the meal, open the car door for me, and hold open the doors behind me.  Do those kinds of gentlemen even exist nowadays?"

I smile to myself, my back is turned away from Anna. I let the sound of her voice, high and soft, like a grandmother's, fill the room.  I pull the cupcakes out of the oven and start preparing the frosting while they are cooling.  Anna has moved on to working on the cookies. The cupcakes have puffed up out of the muffing pans and cooled, so I begin frosting them.  When I am finished I take one of the trays and delicately place the cupcakes in the glass showcase.  Then I go back for the rest of the cupcakes and the scones. Arranging them is like an art.  They have to be in organized rows close enough to not leave gaps but not too close to smudge the frosting.  At 8:29am, I flip the sign in the window so it reads OPEN from the outside and flick on the lights. Anna decides to take the cash register first, because hardly anyone ever comes once it opens. Most people filter through between 10 and 2.  But I get off at noon, so only three hours and thirty-one more minutes.  I move to the back and start tidying the workspace until Anna reminds me about the coffeecake a customer had placed an order for.  So I spend my time on that.