Sweet Consumption

Chapter 15

I get back to my apartment with 15 minutes to spare, so I quickly gather up the ingredients needed and wait for the next interview. It's half past two and I'm a little disappointed the guy isn’t going to show. He had a great resume and recently moved here, so I was looking forward to seeing what he offered. 

A knock sounds on the door while I'm putting up the ingredients and when I open the door, there's a young Asian boy standing there in a dark t-shirt, cargo shorts and flip flops. Considering it is 50 degrees outside in the middle of the day, I'm a little confused.

“Can I help you?” I ask him. 

“Yes, I'm here for the assistant interview. I’m Chris Hogan,” he replies with a serious expression. 

“You’re interview was at two.”

“Yes, I know and I’m sorry I’m late, but, man, there was this accident on the highway. Then, my mom called and needed me to pick her up something from the store. And, man, I was gonna call, but I didn’t have your number and just thought that I’d try and come anyway and…” He shrugs his shoulders. “here I am.” He smiles widely and my head is spinning. He not only talks fast, but his hands were moving rapidly in all directions, punctuating his words, making me dizzy.

“So, can I come in?” Chris asks, expectantly. I nod and open the door, thinking this at least might be entertaining. 

“Thanks, hey you have a cool apartment, man.” 

“Ms. Martin,” I correct, feeling out of breath due to his sheer energy. 

“Right, Ms. Martin. So, are we going to be making something or what?” He's looking over the ingredients that are left on the island in the kitchen.

“I’m not, you are,” I reply, sitting down on a stool. I explain to him what I want him to do and he nods enthusiastically. 

“Cool, I can do that.” The next 30 minutes is a whirlwind of activity. He's moving rapidly through the kitchen measuring out ingredients and throwing them in a bowl, making an incredible mess in the process. His finished product is something I've never seen before and I pray in the back of my mind that whatever it might be, is edible. 

“So, do you have any questions to ask me? Ya know, like, interview questions?” He leans casually against the island, his shirt spattered with various bits of flour and goo. I’m taken so off guard by his casual demeanor, that I sit there for a minute, staring at a particular piece of goo that is stuck to the collar of his shirt, wondering how he was able to get it there. 

“Ms. Martin, are you alright? Do you need, like, a doctor or something?” I shake my head and focus on his face, which is looking at me worriedly. I’ve never met a person so at ease with themselves. Most people would be nervous in an interview, but he's so laid back and confident that I find myself giving him a point, despite my reservations about his tardiness, casual clothes, and messiness in the kitchen. 

“I’m fine, Chris. So, where did you learn how to cook?”