3. Avery
3
AVERY
F inding out my boss was following my vlog under a throwaway account was not on my bingo card for this year.
He’d let that slip about two weeks ago while he was criticizing my piping technique.
Much like experiencing a natural disaster, I remember exactly where I was when it happened—right here at this station.
That day, I’d been working on a rather unusual four-tiered wedding cake (which I would have likely remembered even without the drama from Henri).
No one in the family could agree on flavor or style during the consultation, so everyone ended up getting their own tier—one of my finer moments of conflict resolution, if I do say so myself.
Each of the cakes had been baked—maple pumpkin for the bride, coffee cream for the groom, blackberry elderflower for the bride’s parents, and last but not least, brown butter carrot cardamom for the groom’s parents (in case you were curious).
The base layer of icing was on, and I had just started the piping work when Henri zeroed in on me.
“You think you’re getting into an elite institution like Age Gap Academy when you can’t even pipe a straight line? They’re going to laugh you out the door on your first day, assuming you even get that far,” he says snidely.
I was so startled I dropped the piping bag.
“I didn’t tell anyone here that I applied except Mia, and I know she didn’t tell you. How did you find out?”
“I’m sure you let it slip sometime when you were here. We both know you can’t go five minutes without talking about yourself.”
“Henri, I never talk about my personal life at work, not even to Mia.”
Then it dawns on me.
I don’t want to provoke him, but I can’t keep the grin off my face.
“What are you smirking about?” he demands.
“I’m just happy to be here,” I say, hoping that’s enough to satisfy him and make him leave.
For good measure, I also try to make myself smaller and less of a target. I’ve learned from experience that it’s the best way to stay safe.
I know working in a kitchen environment always comes with a hotheaded chef. It’s part of the job, but Henri has always been on the extreme end of the spectrum.
Maybe if I get into the academy, I’ll be able to be choosier about the level of temper I’m willing to tolerate from a head chef and leave all of this behind me.
I’m practically holding my breath and praying he accepts my answer and leaves me alone.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get bored or walk away. He just seems to get angrier.
“Tell me right now what you think is so funny or I’m going to splash black food dye all over this cake.”
“Well,” I say meekly, “you could have only found out from my vlog that I applied to Age Gap Academy. I’m just flattered that you’ve made time to watch it. That’s all.”
“Check your stupid subscription list. You won’t see my name there. I have better things to do than watch your pathetic attempt at sculpting fake hands out of fondant.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from provoking him further by laughing.
It doesn’t take him long to figure out his misstep.
I’ve never seen someone go from pale to purple so quickly.
He slams his hand down hard on my workstation, hitting my piping bag. I don’t know if it was on purpose or just the result of blind rage, but the bag bursts and splatters icing everywhere.
Even he doesn’t escape the fallout. It’s on his eyebrows, his cheek, and there might even be some up his nose, but I’m not invested enough to confirm.
“You clean this up and get back to work,” he shouts, storming away.
Usually, after Henri flies off the handle, he’s a saint for a few days. I often find myself relieved when he starts screaming and swearing at me.
Don’t get me wrong, it terrifies me to the point of panic, and in those moments, I’m desperate to do whatever I can to appease him and make it stop.
When he’s blown himself out, though, I get a few days of peace, quiet, and even the rare flash of a smile. That’s where the relief comes from. It’s kind of like a guaranteed rainbow after a thunderstorm.
Compared to Kyle, Henri is practically easy to de-escalate.
Besides, my piping work had been a little crooked. He’d been right to point that out. I just wish he didn’t have to yell to do it.
This time, though, there’s been no rainbow in sight. There’s been no temporary peace for me to recover and get my bearings. It’s just been a never-ending hurricane of tantrums and cruelty.
How am I going to make it through this?
If I get accepted to Age Gap Academy, the verbal abuse and interference from Henri will only escalate.
The only silver lining to that situation is any abuse from Henri will have an end date. When the program finishes, I can start looking for a new position. If I’m lucky, I might even make some contacts during my enrollment session and have a job waiting for me when I’m done.
I can make it through anything as long as there’s an end date.
If I get rejected—which is far more likely—he’ll never let me hear the end of it.
Even though I put my whole heart into creating that application portfolio and gave it everything I had, I knew applying was a massive long shot.
I know they’re not going to want me.
The worst part about it all is that I’ll be trapped at Brookside Manor for at least four more years—if not longer, depending on when the birthday cutoff is for kindergarten.
There would be no escape from Henri until then.
I suppose I could take my parents up on their offer and move in.
There’s no way I could afford AGA from the proceeds of selling my condo, even if they’d be willing to accept me as a regular student, but there are other places I could enroll in to get formal culinary training.
But if you do that and he comes back, you’ll be a sitting duck. How many times did you sneak him into your bedroom as a teenager? He knows exactly how to get into the house.
I shake my head, forcing the thought away.
Don’t borrow trouble from tomorrow, Avery. Today has plenty.
The only thing I can be sure of is that no matter what happens with my application, Henri will find new and creative ways to punish me for it.
That’s what’s been keeping me up at night these past few weeks.
Before Henri found out about it, the inevitable rejection would have been bearable. I would have been able to deal with my heartbreak and disappointment privately.
I won’t be able to do that now that he’s found out.
“Why aren’t these cream puffs done?”
His voice over my shoulder makes me jump.
“It’s been half an hour and you’ve only filled half of them. You might be used to slacking off at home, but in a professional kitchen, we work quickly.”
Thirty minutes is a perfectly reasonable amount of time to fill fifty cream puffs and he knows it, but there’s no point reasoning with him when he’s like this.
I bite my tongue and continue loading the choux pastry into the filling machine to the soundtrack of his taunts and snide remarks. Honestly, I’m at the point where I could recite the litany of insults right along with him.
Suddenly, his posture changes.
“These look great. Keep up this pace and we’ll have the order done early. Nice work.”
He claps me on the shoulder encouragingly and moves back to his station.
Mr. Macklin must have walked in. I didn’t even know he’d be here today.
I glance up from the machine and see he’s heading straight toward me.
What does he want with me?
“You’re just the person I was hoping to see today,” he says with a smile. “Do you have a moment to chat with me in my office?”
Dread sits like a lead weight in my stomach.
What did I do wrong?
“Of course, sir. I’ll just need someone to keep an eye on the filling machine.”
“I can take care of that for you,” Henri offers.
“I’m sure you have more important things on your plate than worrying about filling pastries,” Mr. Macklin protests.
“Whatever helps you the most is always my top priority, sir.”
“Good man. Thank you.”
He turns on his heel without a backward glance and heads toward his office. I take that as my cue to follow.
“Let’s get right to business,” he says, settling behind his desk. “Why didn’t you tell me you applied for Age Gap Academy? I had to hear it from Henri well after the fact.”
I wring my apron nervously in my hands.
“Sir, I?—”
“I’ve known the chairman of the scholarship review committee since before he learned to walk. Went to the same yacht club as his family. I would have put in a good word for you if I’d known.”
That is the last thing I expected him to say, and I nearly rip my apron from the shock of it.
“I wasn’t sure how everyone would react so I didn’t really tell anyone at work. I didn’t want to upset anyone for no reason. I was surprised that Henri managed to find out about it.”
“Why would that upset anyone?” he asks, concerned. “If anything, they’d be thrilled, Henri especially. He’s always going on about what a great pastry chef you are.”
Any thoughts of telling him about how Henri’s been treating me fly right out the window.
He’ll never believe me.
“I guess I was just overly worried about how it might impact my availability here. I might have to adjust my hours a little depending on when the classes are.”
“AGA is all about working with their students’ pre-existing schedules. If after you get accepted there ends up being some scheduling conflicts, I’m sure it can get worked out. I’ve always found Henri to be incredibly flexible.”
“You really think I’ll get accepted?”
He smiles indulgently at me.
“I’ve seen and sampled your work firsthand. I’d be more shocked if you didn’t get in.”
“I’m just hoping I get offered one of the full scholarships,” I admit. “I’m not sure I’d be able to manage it with a partial award.”
He taps his fingers together thoughtfully.
“I’d have to sit down with legal, but if money’s the issue, Brookside would be happy to finance what’s not covered by the scholarship. In exchange for continuing on here for a set number of years, of course.”
“Sir, I… Wow. Thank you.”
I can’t see myself, but I’m pretty sure there are actual stars in my eyes.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, chuckling. “The offer is purely selfish on my part. You’ve become quite an asset to the company, and I’m determined to keep you here by any means necessary.”
Then fire Henri.
The thought sits dangerously on the tip of my tongue, but I press my lips together to keep it in. I’m not in a position to make demands like that yet.
But maybe I can if I get in…
“Now that I think of it,” he says, interrupting my train of thought, “shouldn’t you have heard by now? They’re usually fairly quick at making admissions decisions.”
“I’ve been checking pretty much every day, but I haven’t seen anything yet,” I say with a shrug.
“Have you checked today?”
Have I?
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, go on then, check it now and indulge an old man's whim, won't you?”
With shaking hands, I slide my phone from my pocket and navigate to my email.
There it is, larger than life on my little screen—Age Gap Academy, subject line Admission Status .
“It's here,” I say with a tone so soft I'm barely audible.
Mr. Macklin nods at me encouragingly.
I take a long, slow breath then tap on the message.
Dear Ms. Ross,
It is our pleasure to inform you that your application has been accepted for our upcoming sixteen-week session.
After careful deliberation and a close review of your portfolio, Age Gap Academy has decided to award you a full-merit scholarship.
Below is a secure link to set up your student account.
We await your official response of acceptance and look forward to partnering with you on your educational journey.
Warmest Regards,
Reginald Willard III
The phone slips from my hand and clatters loudly onto the hardwood floor. Tears well up in my eyes and threaten to spill over.
“So, does that mean it's good news?” asks Mr. Macklin. “I can never tell with you young people.”
All I can do is nod.