A Part-Time Job?
Monday morning.
I said goodbye to Luca as he babbled in his teacher’s arms, then stopped by the break room for a cup of warm coffee before heading into the office. Someone walked in behind me.
“Jun…!”
Maria swept in with light practically pouring off her face and clapped me on the shoulder. If it felt a little like a proud mother thumping her grown son’s shoulder, that was probably just my imagination.
“I heard the good news! Your first video goes up next week?”
So Cassandra must have told her about Snow Lily. Word traveled fast. But next week?
“That’s news to me, too.”
Maria laughed out loud. I took a sip of coffee and added,
“Still, do you think that timeline’s realistic? Turns out there’s a ton of prep work. It might be cutting it pretty close…”
“Well, you can just take it as a sign of how fired up Cassandra is, don’t you think?”
Maria said that when she’d gone to comfort Cassandra last Friday, her heart had ached for her—and now she was so glad to see her full of drive again.
“Jun. Thank you for letting Cassandra keep her memories of her mother alive. Really—I’m grateful on her behalf.”
The warmth she felt for a longtime coworker was genuine and touching.
“I’m glad I can help. And it’ll help me, too.”
We hadn’t made a single dollar yet, and maybe we never would make much. For all our effort, things might not pan out.
But there was no point in getting gloomy ahead of time. For now, I decided to focus on doing my best.
As if she’d read my mind, Maria squeezed my arm in encouragement.
“Don’t worry so much! I’ll be your first customer! And I’ll promote the heck out of it! At the very least, I’ll strong-arm everyone in the office, all my friends, and every relative I have into—”
“Yes, please. Thank you so much.”
I laughed softly and offered my thanks.
At the office I lost myself in the almost meditative monotony of chart work. After clocking out I took care of Luca, put him to bed, and then worked clay. By Thursday the routine already felt familiar.
Our plan going forward looked like this:
Since it wasn’t practical for me to keep trekking over to Cassandra’s place every time, I would make the pieces at home. Every few days she would swing by in her car to pick them up, then handle the bisque firing, glazing, and final firing at her place.
And once the YouTube channel was live, whenever orders came in, Cassandra would take them, pack the pieces, and ship them out.
Today’s piece was a decorative bottle that looked like a little skiff floating on waves.
I named it Fleet of Little Boats.
I set out a water bowl, sponge, and the rest of the tools, fixed a wooden bat onto the wheel head, and flipped the power on.
Whirr, whirr-whirr…
I pressed the pedal and the wheel began to spin. I dampened the center of the turning bat with a wet sponge. It was nothing special, and yet I was already having fun.
I stopped the wheel, slapped a lump of clay onto the center as if throwing it, and pounded it firm with a rhythmic thwap-thwap-thwap.
“Ah—”
Before I got properly started, I double-checked that everything was recording properly, then sat back down.
I began shaping the clay, feeding water over it as I worked.
The spinning speed of the wheel might have intimidated someone else, but all I could think about was how good the wet clay felt under my hands.
I pulled the clay up tall, then pressed it back down. Cupping my hands, I pressed outward to widen it, then drew it up high again.
I opened the center with my fingers into a bowl shape, then returned it to its earlier form. Sprinkling water as I went, I slowly coaxed the shape into being.
Once the cylinder was wide enough in the middle, I rounded out the interior with a sponge, smoothing it like a polish. To thin the walls I raised the height again, then worked both hands—one inside, one outside—refining the form.
Bulging out, then narrowing. Growing taller, then shrinking back down.
I repeated the little game until the thickness and silhouette were just right for piercing—neither too thin nor too thick.
Closing the mouth of the bottle where the cylinder narrowed at the top took special care. I finished the rim cleanly with a carving tool.
Then I cut the finished bottle free from its base with a wire and set it aside to dry.
“All right. That one can dry just like that…”
Next I mounted a bottle I had thrown a few days earlier and left to dry. Time to refine the surface and do the cutwork.
With the wheel spinning again, I switched through tools stage by stage, scraping and carving so the surface gained depth and dimension.
Lifting and pressing the pedal in short bursts etched the signature wave pattern into this particular piece. It felt lighthearted, almost playful.
I went over each new wave with a damp brush, then smoothed the interior with a sponge.
Finishing work done. I stopped the wheel and picked up a pencil, compass, and measuring tape.
Using each tool in turn, I marked out the positions for the sleek little fleet of boats that would cut across the waves—then took up the piercing knife.
Scritch. The blade traced crescent-shaped skiffs free of the clay.
Later this piece would need a painting of deep blue dotted with bright white flecks.
Even unfinished it would be pretty—but once light struck the finished work, it would pour out through the gaps between the pierced boats and scatter in beautiful rays.
It was Friday.
Friday.
It bore repeating. My steps were light on the Friday walk home from work. Luca leaned against my chest, bright-eyed as he watched the street, and I whispered to him,
“Luca, today’s Friday.”
“Eh…”
“Friday’s a good day. If today’s Friday, that means tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“Bu…”
Ah—maybe I should treat myself to dinner after a long week.
“Luca, should Daddy skip cooking tonight?”
“Eh…”
His babble was quiet. Too much trouble to answer?
Come to think of it, the café on the first floor of our building had a nice variety of sandwiches. Or a blueberry bagel piled high with onion cream cheese wouldn’t be bad either…
“Luca, let’s grab something tasty from the café.”
“A-bu.”
“But Daddy’s gonna eat it all by himself.”
“Ehhh…”
“Jealous?”
“Ungh…!”
“Oh? Was that our Luca answering me?”
Ding-a-ling!
The cheerful little bell rang as I pushed open the café door.
“Welcome! Beautiful Friday night, isn’t it?”
“Ah—yes. Hello.”
The café’s owner was a solidly built man with ruddy cheeks and a kindly face. He clearly took enormous pride in the place.
And I thought that pride was more than justified. Every dessert and sandwich was made from his own recipes, and everything on display looked so fresh and gleaming it made your mouth water.
I was paying for the sandwich and cookies the enthusiastic owner had recommended when a help-wanted flyer taped beside the counter snagged my eye.
Seeking a passionate baker who knows the beauty of baking.
Minimum $40/hour — pay negotiable.
Flexible hours available.
“….”
The terms were tempting enough that I hesitated for a moment.
I was prepping the YouTube channel with Cassandra, but who knew when that would start paying—and even if it did, the money wouldn’t pour in from day one.
I still needed to earn whatever I could.
“….”
Though without any formal experience, I’d probably get screened out at the résumé stage.
“Sir?”
“Ah—yes. Here.”
I took my card back with an awkward smile.
But the owner’s eyes lit up. He looked for all the world like a kindly bakery uncle who’d stepped straight out of a picture book.
“Sir, by any chance—”
Ding-a-ling.
Both of our heads turned toward the door.
“Ah—good evening. Lovely night.”
Blond hair and blue eyes greeted us with a polite nod.
The blond with the blue eyes caught me just as I was about to leave.
“Come to think of it, we still haven’t even shared a cup of tea.”
“Ah… right.”
…Even if the café was in the same building, did we really have to run into each other like this?
“Since we’re neighbors now, and fate clearly brought us together—how about coming up to my place for a cup of tea this evening?”
I was pretty sure “fate” had already introduced us before we became neighbors. And it felt less like fate and more like bad luck.
Why keep talking when my answers were so half-hearted? Did he enjoy being ignored?
Whether he’d seen the refusal coming or simply needed a plausible excuse to share a cup of tea with me, he quickly added,
“I’ve realized I never properly repaid you for that cake last time. I’d really like to treat you to tea.”
What exactly were we supposed to do while drinking tea together?
“I appreciate it, but maybe another day? It’s already evening—I couldn’t possibly intrude on a family’s quiet Friday night.”
I smiled and declined with careful politeness. I do not want to spend my precious Friday evening with you. I don’t want to spend a Monday evening with you either.
“And I still need to bathe the baby and put him to bed.”
The man glanced at Luca.
Luca yawned.
Ding-a-ling!
I was halfway through picking out a sandwich and paying when yet another second-floor neighbor pushed open the café door.
Ah. So this was the hot spot for the building’s residents at this hour. I was never coming here at this time again.
“Good evening… Oh my, young Dad Neighbor! First time seeing you since moving day!”
“Yes, hello.”
I might not need to get close to the blond couple, but staying on good terms with this side of the building mattered—so I returned the greeting with extra brightness.
“That cake you made that day was absolutely delicious. Are you by chance a pastry chef? If so, Rose said she simply must find out which bakery you work at.”
I couldn’t remember whether Rose was the older or younger sister, but that meant this was Lily.
“Thank you, Lily. Baking’s just a hobby I pick up now and then. Next time I bake something, I’ll share it with you.”
It had been a polite answer, but Lily’s face lit up and she suddenly grabbed my arm.
“Oh! Then might I ask a small favor? We have a very special guest coming tomorrow evening, and that cake would be perfect for dessert.”
Just like that, out of nowhere?
My expression must have said everything without words, because she hurried to add,
“I’m so sorry for springing this on you. If you were a real professional pastry chef, asking like this would be terribly rude…”
Even so, she didn’t let go of my hand.
“…We pride ourselves on having tried every cake from every high-end bakery you can name—and of course James’s desserts are wonderful too! But this place doesn’t do whole cakes.”
Lily flashed a thumbs-up toward the owner, carefully preserving his pride.
“Anyway, my sister and I take dessert very seriously, hoho. …And nothing wins a guest’s heart quite like a dazzling dessert.”
Her words poured out like a machine gun before I could answer. Judging by the look in her eyes, this really was an important guest.
What now? Was this something I needed to do for the sake of good neighborly relations…?
“Of course I’ll pay generously for the ingredients and your time! And going forward, if you ever need anything, I’ll help however I can.”
Ah. Well, if she put it that way…
I felt a little sheepish about how quickly I folded the moment money entered the conversation—but right now I needed money.
And with no way of knowing what the future held, earning a little goodwill from the people around me could only be a good thing.
“Then I’ll make you the same cake by tomorrow evening.”
I smiled as I answered, and Lily suddenly seized both my hands, eyes sparkling. I nearly dropped the sandwich.
But whether I was flustered or not, Lily seemed genuinely delighted and kept right on talking.
“Actually—if it wouldn’t be an imposition, and if our young dad neighbor isn’t too terribly busy—I’d love to place an order every week… Is there any chance that could work?”
Pardon…?
I lost the power of speech and my mouth fell slightly open—when Luca suddenly let out a loud babble.
“A-bu!”
Lily laughed mischievously.
“Oh my, I think our adorable little one is saying he likes the idea.”
There’s no way that’s what he meant.
“Ungh…!”
Luca, please stop answering!