Page 120 of Rush of Jealousy

I nod my head and then make my way over to the “Employees Only” door that appears to be an office area. I knock and wait.

The door opens.

“You must be Angela,” the man answers. He has a name tag on that says “Manager Lawrence Woods” and appears to be my age. “It is nice to meet you. I’m Larry.”

“Thank you.”

He moves back to his desk and pulls out a file with my name on it. “You have years of experience in customer service, I see. The bakery owners gave you a glowing recommendation. So, really all that’s left is the practicum portion. If you get hired, you will probably be shadowing Paul for the first week, since he has a similar schedule to what you are looking for.”

I inwardly sigh in relief. I was hoping our schedules would overlap and specifically tried my best to learn Paul’s before I put down my own availability. “That sounds great.”

“So, here is a new work shirt you can slip on over what you are wearing. We’ll head out and have you start making some drinks. Just be sure to wash your hands and not touch your face or hair in any way. If you do, wash up again. All of our ingredients are scooped or poured, so no need for gloves—unless you have a current hand injury. I will sit off to the side and just observe. Try to relax. You have obviously served people before in your previous bakery job. So just treat it as such.”

I smile and relax my shoulders. I slip the T-shirt that says “Got Smoothies?” over my head and follow Larry out of the office. I put my belongings in a cubby below the bar and wash my hands. Paul is making drinks for a few people in line. He winks at me as he turns on the blender.

“You know how to work a register, so how about you take the next person in line,” Larry says softly, sitting up on one of the bar stools at the far end of the counter.

I make my way over to the register and look up at the next customer. I about choke when I see my asshole ex, Russell, standing there with his tanned face and stupid shades on top of his head. He is wearing khaki shorts and probably still pretending he is on an island somewhere—despite it being a chilly fifty degrees in Portland.

“How can I help you?” I ask professionally. I try to smile, and I’m sure it is more like a grimace. His eyes rake over me, and I feel like I need to shower.

I can feel Paul’s eyes on me as well, and I instantly get nervous that I am going to mess this whole job interview up just because my ex has thrown me off my game. I pull my shoulders back and take a deep breath. I can do this.

“Keto Chocolate with an extra scoop of protein powder. Small.”

I punch in his order and calculate the total with the add-on. I then move over to the workstation and scoop up the powders, ice, heavy cream, and almond milk. I put the lid on the blender and turn it on. I grab a small cup, write the name of the smoothie along the side with a Sharpie, and then fill it with the blended concoction. It smells better than I think it probably tastes. But I was never one for skipping the sugar. I snap the flat lid on and grab a straw.

“Here you go, that will be four dollars and ninety-six cents.” I take the crisp five-dollar bill from Russell’s hand. Preppy Boy probably starches and irons his money after he takes it out of his trust fund.

“I want the change,” he says aggressively, as if I would have shorted him.

I nod, place the money into the register, and pull out four pennies. He takes a sip of his beverage and his face is expressionless. He then takes the pennies and drops them dramatically into the tip jar—one by one. What did I ever see in him? He is such an asshole.

He moves over to the bar and sits by himself and just follows my moves with his eyes as I wait on the next customer. I sanitize my hands and fall into a rhythm working beside Paul. We don’t communicate with words, and I’m careful not to lose my focus.

Larry gets into line, and I make him a medium Peaches N’ Cream smoothie—which ends my practicum.

“This is really good, Angie. I think I have enough information to officially congratulate you on being hired. You can start next Monday. I’ll email you the schedule and you can confirm it this week.”

“Thank you so much.”

I reach into the cubby behind the bar and grab my bag. I notice that Paul has his book bag in a separate section and marvel at how easily I would be able to snoop through it if he was taking a break. I say my goodbyes and exit the shop.

It only takes me a few minutes to get to Zander’s townhouse. The place is quiet, for once, with the roommates gone. I ring the doorbell, and Zander lets me inside.

“Hey, Angie,” he says softly. He looks down at my shirt, and I realize I forgot to take off the added layer.

“I just got hired at the smoothie shop today. I start next week.”

He gives me a nod. “Seems like we’re both working entry level jobs.”

For some reason, his comment stings. Maybe because I have been working relentlessly to follow my dream at being an investigative journalist, and within the next two months, I will either succeed or fail. “It’s just temporary.”

He gives me a lopsided smile. “Hope so…only speaking for me.”

The once carefree Zander who always saw the bright side to life is now just a deflated version of himself. I would only be lying to myself if I didn’t take some responsibility for his outlook change. It stabs at my heart.

He points to the couch, and I sit on one end while he takes up the other. The kitten climbs onto my lap, and I rub at its fur.

---