Half Baked

Chapter 21

"You didn't have to get a job here."

"Don't be silly, Allen. If I wasn't going to work here, then who would you have to talk to?" Oliver paused in his cleaning to glance back at Al.

Al looked up from the dough he was folding and lifted an eyebrow. "My coworkers?"

Oliver's eyes traveled to the rest of the small-town bakery, seeing a grand count of two other people in the building—neither of them customers. "Mhm. You know, baking really sucks you in, doesn't it?" Oliver went back to cleaning the counter and organizing the system behind it.

"Yeah," Al murmured as he continued folding. "It's therapeutic. It's nice. Kinda like playing with clay, but there's more stuff to do with it." His lips pulled into a grin. "And the dough's bouncier."

"Is it keeping your mind off Arthur?"

Al's sounds of scraping dough from the bowl's sides halted.

Oliver stared out at the tables and decided they could use a quick clean.

"Oliver."

"Yes, Allen?"

"I thought we weren't gonna bring Arthur up?"

"Yes, Allen."

"So why're you bringing him up?"

"We're friends." Oliver shrugged and picked up the sanitation cloth. He gripped it and wrung out the extra sanitizing solution into the bright yellow bucket. "I'm friends with Arthur. You're friends with me. You're head over heels for Arthur—it just makes sense to try and talk through your problems concerning him."

"Because you're the local love expert."

Oliver chuckled, stepped out from behind the counter, and began rubbing down the tables. "You learn a lot about a subject you hate when everyone keeps shoving it in your face."

"You're the one that's bringing it up this time."

Oliver smacked a hand down on a table and sent Al an annoyed glare.

"… Yeah. Alright. Comes up too much. Got it. Might as well join in by telling everyone how much of an idiot they are."

"Well, you are!"

An elderly coworker behind the cake counter cleared their throat.

Oliver gave them an apologetic smile and began cleaning his table again. "Well, Allen, you can't argue that people do dumb things when they're in love, and they insist everyone else can feel it, too. They're so self-absorbed. Is it wrong of me to try and make up for the lack of my type of people in the world?"

"Nah." Al slung the ball of dough into a bowl and covered it with cling wrap. "Sorry. I guess I've been… It's been getting to me, but I'm one of the idiots, remember?"

"Yeah."

Al set the first ball of dough aside and set another couple bowls in his workspace. He watched the analog clock on the wall, contemplating. "… What can I do? Like this? I… I really wanna be friends with him again, but I'm not even gonna see him until September. And that's if he even wants to see me."

"Well… The places we are aren't too far away. With a dedicated drive, you two could meet each other." Oliver rubbed particularly hard at a spot on the table. "I mean— I think. He's just up at the lake. It's around a two-hour drive. Not that bad."

"Okay, but how am I gonna look if I take my car up there and surprise him? He hung up on me."

Oliver sighed.

After a couple seconds, Al coated the empty bowl with oil and set it aside before picking up a smaller bowl with yeast and salt. He poured the yeast and salt mix evenly in the water-and-flour mix bowl.

"I'll keep texting with him to make sure things are moving along in his forgiving process, but you'll have to entertain the idea that he may not want to be friends." Oliver's rubbing slowed to a stop. "I just…don't want to see you destroy yourself over this. … Maybe that's why it's all so infuriating to me… People will screw their entire lives up and force themselves into unhappiness just because someone doesn't return their feelings. It's… It's madness. It's… I love not being a part of it, but it's so frustrating watching the people you love willingly… I don't know! Willingly chug a bottle of acid or something!"

Al stared at Oliver with clear, undeniable worry in his eyes.

Oliver looked to Al for a moment before his body flinched in understanding. "Not that someone I love has actually chugged acid. I meant. Metaphorically. You know."

Al's eyes gradually fell back onto his work, and he picked up his dough spatula. He mumbled to himself as he folded over the dough and twisted the bowl at a mechanical pace.

"…Allen?"

Al didn't pause in his movements, but he spoke up. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. Don't worry about it."

Oliver remained locked in his position, leaning over a table with his hand wet and pressed into the sanitation cloth as he stared at Al who was shrouded in the dimmer kitchen. A wall of afternoon sun poured inside between them. "… Allen, you know my happiness is your happiness, right? And—same for Arthur. As well. Alfred can go choke on a—" He glanced to the elderly coworkers, "—…a meatball." His eyes flew back to Al. "And Matt, too. I'd like for Matt to be happy, but he's not the one struggling here. He's as fine as I am."

"Alright, so?" Al stared at the mix inside the bowl, occasionally glancing up at the clock on the wall. "Thanks. I want you to be happy, too."

"Do you?"

Al froze and looked over the counter at Oliver. "Yeah. Is that even a question? You think I don't give a shit about you?"

"No, no, I know you care." Oliver finished cleaning off the table he was on and quickly worked on another. "I meant that— That's not your overall goal in life. My goal is to make those around me happy because that fuels me. I love making people happy; that's where I find my happiness. What do you feel?"

"Oliver, I don't think now's the time to talk about existential…junk."

"Okay, well, if you're not going to talk about things that deeply affect you during the Dead Shift, then when are you?"

"The dead shift."

"Yes, the Dead Shift." Oliver sat up and gestured towards the empty seating area around him. "The time between the lunch rush and the dinner rush? It's so small here; there's so many old people."

The elderly coworkers cleared their throats again. Bless them.

Oliver bit his bottom lip and leaned over the tables to finish the section. "Not that that's a bad thing by any means. People just eat earlier around here, and we're a bakery mainly. So despite our soups and sandwiches, we're not as popular after noon."

"Which bakery have you've been working in?" Al chuckled to himself as he continued folding over the dough. "You forgetting about the morning rush and our homemade recipes?"

"Yes, yes, you don't have to sell me on it, Allen. I'm already here." Oliver finished up the booths and headed back behind the counter. "So. Your hopes and dreams and aspirations." The sanitation cloth fell in the sanitation bucket, and Oliver leaned against the counter.

Al sighed and stared down as the mix absorbed the yeast and salt. "I want… I dunno. I wanna make it through college. Get a degree in something generic so I can get a job in anything. … And I want Arthur to be happy. I wanna be happy with him, but… I just want him safe and happy. It's just…really frustrating that I can't pick him up and put him in a different room and just have everything be fine like watching a toddler."

"It's that easy to watch a toddler?"

"S'easier than watching an 18-year-old destroy himself."

"Allen."

"Tell me I'm wrong."

Oliver watched Al turn the bowl and fold the dough with precise movements. "Well. You're not wrong." He reached his hand into the sanitation bucket and picked up the sanitation cloth again before squeezing all the excess liquid out of it. "But it's not for forever. Arthur's smart. Despite his…recent decisions. And you haven't exactly made it easy on him."

"Okay, don't pretend you didn't encourage me to deck Alfred."

"Yes. I did ask you to punch him for me in addition to your punch, but I never asked you to try and bruise his kidneys." Oliver tossed the sanitation cloth in the trash. "He's just…scared right now. Focus on yourself. Cross the Arthur Bridge when you come to it. You're good at being honest and swallowing your pride when you have to. Arthur's the type of person to appreciate that. Just focus on what makes you happy."

Al scraped the dough spatula around the sides of the bowl and kept folding.

Oliver stepped past the dimmer veil of dark into the kitchen and rested a hand on Al's back. He looked down at Al's hands working through the dough as he folded it.

Al paused and looked to Oliver.

Oliver gave him a soft smile and patted his back.

Al focused on folding.

"Tell me more," Oliver murmured, "about why you like it."