Page 85 of Severance

“Then it’s a deal.”

“Deal. I work Friday and Saturday, though.”

“Are you working Sunday?”

“No.”

“Then it’s set. We’re baking on Sunday. Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. I have to get some stuff done. I’ll text you later.”

After we say our goodbyes, I head to my room and begin my online cupcake recipe research.

23. After

I’m going to make macarons today after work. You’re welcome to stop by the bakery if you want to try some.

I reread my text again just to be sure there are no grammar mistakes or I don’t sound too pushy, because lately, Mikah hasn’t been very friendly. Although he probably doesn’t care about grammar and punctuation. He hasn’t even read my last text from two days ago.

“Alana?” Mrs. Kaminski’s voice drifts at me from the front as soon as I hit the send button. The loud chatter coming from the dining room is my cue to get back to my duties.

The job at the bakery has been great. Now that the semester’s over and I officially passed all my classes and no longer have a cloud of my father’s wrath looming over me, I can concentrate on something that interests me. Like blogging, baking, and social media.

Last week, Mrs. Kaminski and I finished working on the new look of the store’s website, and for the first time in months, I felt really good. It felt like I finally accomplished something without fucking it up in the process. She also agreed to let me try baking some of her signature cakes here at the store after closing, under the condition that I get enough content for Anna’s Pastry’s website and Instagram account without burning down the place in the process. I’ve been staying at work late almost every day since last Sunday, preparing and photographing cakes I couldn’t have done otherwise, simply because I don’t own half the equipment Mrs. Kaminski does. The oven itself is state-of-the-art. My mother would never be able to afford one like we have at the bakery, and even if she could, she wouldn’t buy it just to tickle my fancy.

A response from Mikah comes at around six when we’re in the middle of the dinner rush. I don’t have the willpower to wait for things to calm down, so I excuse myself and run to the bathroom to check my phone.

Locking myself in a stall, I read the message at least three times, my heart jumping around in my chest.

r u going to be alone?

A smile stretches my lips. We haven’t seen each other in a few weeks, not since we met at Patty’s and our attempt to clear the air ended up only complicating everything. And while the distance has been sort of good for me because I had fewer distractions during finals, I’ve found myself thinking about Mikah even more often. We’ve chatted a few times on the phone—the usual late-night calls that always happen after nightmares—but I’ve realized that’s not enough anymore. The needy side of me misses him. A lot. Misses his Marlboro scent and his crooked smile.

After a few minutes of staring at the text, I type a response.

Yes, it’s just me.

The answer comes instantly.

what time?

My heart leaps into my throat.

11:30

Ok, i’ll stop by. address?

I spend the rest of my shift in a daze with a stupid grin on my face and my stomach full of butterflies. I’ve never invited someone to the bakery after-hours, and it feels a lot like I’m committing a crime. A pleasant kind of crime but still a crime because even Dakota has never been here.

Mrs. Kaminski leaves shortly before eleven, after helping me prep some of the ingredients for the macarons. I blast through the dining floor with the broom like a tornado, my legs bumping into every single table and fixture. It’s probably the fastest I’ve ever closed up on my own. The idea of Mikah watching me bake makes me both anxious and excited. I rush to the bathroom right after cleanup to fix my falling-out-of-the-bun hair and put on some more eyeshadow.

At quarter till midnight, when I’ve separated all the egg whites and there’s still no sign of Mikah, I decide to text him.

Are you on your way?

My heart’s racing as I hit send and put the phone down on the table next to me so that I can see an incoming text.

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