I did wonder how my aunt would react if she found out. Deep down, I wanted to believe she would be supportive and almost felt it with every bit of love she showed me, but not having had a chance to tell my mom made me so much more reluctant to take the chance.
With my exercise session finished, I grabbed a quick shower and walked back to the café. During my shower, I’d tried hard not to let my thoughts go where they had gone the night before. I had to make a decision that I would settle with being friends with Joel and nothing more. Let's face it, even if I was out, there was a substantial possibility he wouldn't be interested in me. Who knew what kind of guys he was into, and he may already have a boyfriend. He had mentioned his friend Max, and while it sounded as though they were just good friends like Isaac and me, I didn't know enough about their relationship to put my mind at ease that it was nothing more.
It was just before six when I got to the café. I pulled the set of keys out of my pocket, feeling their comforting weight and the jingling sound as familiar as the door they opened.
This had been my mom’s set of keys. I had no idea what half of them opened, but my mom had carried them everywhere, so I did too. Holding all the keys together was a keyring with the Heart of Viana, an intricate design that my mom had always loved.
I looked for the key that opened the back door of the café leading to the kitchen, and my eyes landed on an odd key that didn’t look like any of the others in the bunch.
I’d once gone around my apartment and the café trying to open everything that had a lock in an attempt to find out what it was that particular key unlocked, but that had turned out to be a fruitless search.
Maybe one day I’d find out. I held up the correct key and opened the café door.
I loved the smell of my kitchen in the morning. It was warm before I turned on the air conditioning, and it always smelled of baked goods, almost as though there was permanently something just ready to come out of the oven.
First thing in the morning, before the scent of my baking took over the space, I could also smell my mom. It was something that hit me every day, and I rejoiced in it, allowing myself to wallow in the warmth and smell of the kitchen. For those first few minutes of the day, I felt as though my mom was near me, enveloping me in her arms with the best hug a son could ask for.
I loved her so much and missed her like crazy, and I was so lucky to experience this every day. This feeling got me up every morning and made me look forward to going to work. I knew many people who’d lost loved ones wouldn't be lucky enough to have what I had, a daily dose of comfort, and I also knew people who wouldn’t even have that from their living relatives.
“Time to get to work, David,” I muttered as I made a cup of coffee and got started.
For all my uncle's shortcomings when it came to me, I couldn't fault his thoroughness when it came to keeping the kitchen spotless after my shift. It was a pleasure to have a kitchen that was ready for use first thing. We served light snacks throughout the day, which required the use of the kitchen and some of the equipment, but I always left it clean.
Sometimes I could swear my uncle recleaned some of the implements that I already had, even stuff that wouldn’t have been used during his shift after I left.
I started making the filling for the custard tarts, getting the ingredients from the pantry and lining them up on the counter in order of use. I always worked on the pastry throughout the day as it was all handmade and had to rest in the fridge in between being worked and folded to get the crispy flakes the tarts were known for.
I loved this part of the production: mixing ingredients, making sure the sugar was at the right point of boiling, and trying not to get any lumps in the flour-and-milk mix. Then there was the delicate balance of the lemon and cinnamon flavors. Leaving the cinnamon sticks in the milk too long would make the tarts taste too spicy. Not long enough and you couldn't taste it. I felt like an alchemist.
Once I had the custard prepared, I let it rest while I prepared the pastry. This part was a bit more automatic. I got the pre-made pastry dough out of the fridge and lined up the individual cases onto the trays. Then I stretched it, rolled it into a sausage shape, and cut the individual slices that would go in the cases. The best addition to my kitchen was a machine that helped shape the pastry dough. Before I had this equipment, the preparation stage of the custard tarts took me a whole hour longer as each piece of dough had to be pressed into the cases individually.
With the cases now ready, I added the custard and got them in the oven. I’d need to make two batches of one hundred and twenty-four each. Though this seemed like a lot, they were sure to sell out before the day was done.
With the tarts baking in one of the ovens, it was time to get the bread ready. I loved homemade bread and often made it for myself at home. In the café, however, we didn't have the capacity to make our own, so we sourced the best available from a company that sold it frozen. We only had to finish the baking stage in the oven. It was mainly used for sandwiches and to serve with other snacks, so I wasn't too particular about not making it myself.
At seven-thirty, we were ready to open. I usually did the first hour and a half on my own as we didn't quite have a rush of customers, but those that came in the morning for their espresso were fiercely loyal and deserved the early opening time.
On and off during the morning, I'd thought about the text I needed to send Joel, but I didn't have a chance to do it until midmorning.
David:“Hi, Joel, this is David. I forgot to mention yesterday that I have something to show you. If you want, we could grab a bite at some point, and I could tell you about it?”
As soon as I sent the text, I put the phone in my pocket and cleaned up the kitchen counters. Then I started preparing the pastry for tomorrow's custard tarts, followed by an order I had for a birthday cake.
It didn't take too long until I felt the phone vibrating in my pocket. My heart beat a little faster with the anticipation of seeing Joel's reply, assuming that was, in fact, a text message from Joel. It could also be Isaac asking for some help at the LGBTQ youth center he ran, but I wouldn't find out for a few more minutes as I had my hands in the dough.
I pulled my phone out as soon as I was able to wash my hands, and I couldn’t contain the wide smile that spread across my face when I saw the incoming text was from Joel.
Joel:“Hi, David. Wow, you got me curious. I've got nothing planned today, so if you like, I can meet you after work. How about a drink and snack at Pedro's? Are they still in business?”
Pedro's was a small snack bar on the beach. It was more accurately described as a shed, but Pedro, the owner, was a local man who knew everybody and had always shown a particular preference for the two of us since he had gone to school with our moms. I always thought he’d been that friendly so we would hang around there more often, which would allow him to report back to our moms. I still went there occasionally for a drink if I happened to do a run at the beach in the afternoon.
DAVID:“Pedro's is still there, as is Pedro. Meet me in the café at three?”
JOEL:“Sure, see you later! :-)”
