Take Out Chef

Chapter Five

I spoke too early. Bryan was bossy and somewhat of a jerk whenever he could.

Two days in and one of my obligations was to make coffee. It didn't sound too bad, if I had a freaking normal coffee machine. Instead, I had to deal with an Italian monstrosity that seemed more complicated than every algebra lesson I'd had in high school.

It didn't matter how much time and effort I put into. The stupid machine didn't brew coffee. I'd been struggling with it for the last hour, cursing a million times over and over, grabbing every handle with the utmost care, because to top it all, it was so pretty that looked like a piece of art.

It shone under the lamppost as I rubbed the back of my palm against my forehead. I'd been at this for the last hour. Hour. As in sixty freaking minutes and I couldn't get it to work. I was tired and emotional.

My cheeks felt hot. Two hours ago, I was reading the next set of applications Bryan gave me. The stories were heartbreaking. All of them. Most of the applicants had a rough past. They either moved from one foster home to the other or had some kind of violent past. Most of them had problems with drugs or alcohol, but every person applying wanted more in life. They wanted a job, they wanted to have a better life, to be seen as a normal person, not a pariah.

I didn't notice the tears rolling down my cheeks until Bryan placed a box of tissues in front of me. The stories touched a chord in my heart. I remembered about my father. His screams, how I used to hide under the bed while the house rattled every time he was in a bad mood. Especially when he was drunk. He left the house when Mom announced her pregnancy. I was nine at the time, and when we moved out of the house to live with Juno, it felt as if it was Christmas. I always felt that Seth was the little angel that made him leave.

Talk about being awkward. Obviously, my tears made Bryan uncomfortable. He took away the files and asked me to make coffee. He probably regretted it now.

The coffee machine made a weird noise. Steam burst from within and I started to pull every lever trying to stop the noise.

"You have to be kidding me," Bryan muttered as he took my place in front of the machine and pressed a few buttons. The machine died. His jaw clenched as he turned to glare at me.

"Sorry." I felt small as he kept glaring at me. Slowly, his gaze started to soften until he turned away.

Taking a deep breath, he added, "I should have showed you how to use it first." He gestured to an itsy-bitsy lever on the side of the machine. "This is the start button. You must turn it on and let the machine warm up for a few minutes until you start using it. It's an old-school Italian coffee machine, so you know, try to be more careful the next time you use it, okay?"

"Yes, sir." I wasn't trying to be snappy. It slipped out.

His head snapped to me and his eyes narrowed. "This is the coffee grinder, you place the coffee beans here and you choose how fine you want them..." he kept talking and showing me how to properly use the machine. After his explanation, it didn't seem as hard as I thought.

When I finally made an acceptable black coffee, after several tries, he sent me home. I cleaned the mess I made before saying good bye and grabbing my backpack.

I walked out of the building but I still felt like the world was leaning on me. I stopped for a moment and took a deep breath closing my eyes. Flashes of my father's fist appeared in my head. Fuck. It had been so long ago, I'd completely blocked it out of my mind.

A shaky breath left my mouth as my eyes brimmed with tears. It was in the past. No need to think about it anymore. Truth is, that neither Mom or I talked about it. Not even with June. We were free. There was no need to go back to it, even with our thoughts. However, I had the occasional nightmare here and there, but I always kept it to myself.