Sandcastles | Completed

1 | kensley parker

• • •

"Ken, can you make a Frappe?"

"Ken, can you make a Frappe?" I mocked in a whisper before speaking in a louder voice, "Yeah."

My manager, Maria, gave me a smile, one I'm sure was supposed to thank me for doing her job and pulled out her phone while walking towards the back.

The customer was barely paying attention, looking at the display of muffins in the front glass, "Blueberry?"

"We just sold out." I lied, without looking away from the blender in front of me.

There was one blueberry muffin left but I wanted to eat it when I took my break and didn't feel like baking anymore until I came back.

It took him a while to respond, "Ain't no blueberry."

"Yeah. I just said that."

"What you want me to do?"

I turned to face him, "You can come back here and bake some if you want."

A smirk appeared on his face, "Nah, the girl in here thought I was talking to her. She said you gotta make your own shit."

By then I'd realized the dreads that'd strayed from the ones atop his head had kept me from realizing he had an Airpod in his ear and was having a conversation with whomever he was on the phone with, not me.

I was embarrassed, so I gave my most polite smile and tried to perfectly swirl the whipped cream. I hoped he wouldn't make a complaint, and after handing him the Frappe, I tried to save face, "I think it's a muffin in the back. Hold on."

Breaking into a near run, I hurried to get my sacred muffin and walked back out to see another man had joined the previous customer, standing alongside him as they spoke in hushed tones, "Can't even get a damn muffin. This bullshit city."

"Here's your muffin." I mumbled, "Sorry about that."

"Now say you sorry." His raspy-voiced friend snickered.

The guy who'd come in when I was in the back looked towards me and put on what I was assuming to be his apologetic face, "Thank you for the muffin..." He looked at my nametag, "Ken."

It wasn't until then that I tried to pay more attention to his features, but he turned away from me, looking into the bag as they exited the coffee shop.

Blowing out a breath, I started cleaning the blender in preparation for my now muffin-less break.

• • •

My dad laugh's filled my ears as I ascended the steps to mine and my roommate, Jailyn's apartment, "I keep telling you that your mouth is gonna get you in trouble."

"Why he didn't say he wasn't talking to me when he heard me say something back? That was rude."

"Ken, you have a story for me every day. I'm starting to think it's you."

"I never thought I'd see the day where my daddy was an opp."

He was the furthest thing from an opp, but I liked to hear him explain to me all the ways that he wasn't. While he launched into his long list of fatherly accomplishments, I tossed my book bag onto the chair and trudged into my room in search of clothes that didn't smell like coffee.

"And don't forget when you got diarrhea at school. I was the one who came and got you."

"Thank you father," I replied sweetly, before dropping my voice an octave, "For being a father. You want a cookie?"