The D-day has finally come. All of the major staff of the Mall of Canada has come to witness the grand opening of The Espresso Machine. Many businessmen also came to witness the success of the 21-year-old Kaizer Licht Woodsworth, Jr. While there are many other prodigies in the business world, none can compare to this asshole. To be honest, sans his character, I would’ve wished the best of his endeavors. But, no. I can only see hypocrisy in them.

Kaizer changed from his casual wear to a more formal attire–an open black suit with a button white polo shirt, partnered with a tight black pants and a black pair of leather shoes. He also changed his eyewear, that from an eye-glassed bully to a contact-lensed businessman. He would’ve been a more formal Kaizer if he hadn’t retained his earrings. He looks more like a Sicilian mafia than an innocent businessman, in my opinion. But nonetheless, I have to admit he is quite classy.

Kaizer told us to change clothes, which he had customized for us. It was a light blue collared long-sleeves with the logo of the company at the left ear of the collar. It was partnered with a light blue French hat (a beret, as Kaizer calls it) and a pair of dark blue pants. All is finished with a pair of brown pointy shoes. If he added that kerchief in our necks for the uniform then he should’ve just told us to cosplay some French and go “oui, oui.”

Sean started to mimic some stereotypical Frenchmen’s styles as goes doing chef kisses and spouting, “Oui-oui-oui oui, oui-oui? Oui-oui” out of nowhere at all, and Luke beside me is face-palming in embarrassment. I smirked at his reaction and patted his back. Just then, I saw Gale doing the fucking same thing and spouting the same French bullshit in reply. I can’t help but also cover my face in defeat. Luckily, Kaizer gestured them to act professionally as the priest (Catholic or not, I do not know, actually; I’d say a Catholic though because Kaizer is, well, a Catholic) has made its way in front of the stall. The crowd fell silent as the mass for the building’s blessing began. All while that is happening, a few men brought sets of wreaths of blue orchids and other blue flowers that are placed beside the entrance of the stall. That actually was a culture shock for me, and I almost burst out laughing because, as far as my Filipino three-megabyte brain can recall, wreaths are typically used for a deceased person’s wake. What? Does this imply that the stall is on the verge of dying and will soon be in a cemetery? Kaizer nudged me to stop laughing, and the joy in me died out and was replaced by disgust. I rolled my eyes and mouthed killjoy in front of him.

He didn’t, to my surprise, bickered back. Usually, during junior high, he’d be pissed when someone talks back or murmur behind his back.

After the priest has done his usual antics (the liturgy of the word and the liturgy of the bread, with the blessing of the building by sprinkling holy water on the whole of the stall), the CEO has given to Kaizer the scissors to cut the blue ribbon that spans door to door, signaling the official opening of the stall. Kaizer tasked Gale and Sean to be the baristas for this shift. I meanwhile will be manning the counter and serving the customers their requested cup of coffees. Luke a while ago actually messed up more cups of coffee than I do, but given his techie background, “Luke will be manning the desk,” Kaizer said.

News reporters came flinging in the stall, trying to interview Kaizer and the opening of his new branch in Edmonton. To be honest, I just found from them that The Espresso Machine is not just like some one-hit-wonder coffee shop, rather when The Espresso was founded, his father, the senior Kaizer, had been laying on dry rags before rising to the riches, probably after hitting the right ratio of sweetness and lusciousness of his coffees, after many, many practices.

“With you stepping up after your father died,” one of the reporters asked, her microphone towards Kaizer’s unprepared mouth, “how will you manage to be at par with his success in The Espresso?”

Wait, rewind–what? His father what now? I took a glimpse at Kaizer, and he seemed distressed by the question; needless to point out, the aura of the two seemed like predator and prey, but he held his emotions back and smiled. Obviously, the smile was so fake it shone through the whole of the stall. Any unresolved trauma, perchance? I dared not to talk more about it, and just as I was about to take my eyes away from him, a customer called for me to take their order. I never heard the end of what Kaizer had said, but instead, I saw him go back to the counter and help Gale and Sean brew the pending coffees. I have to admit, the question was blunt, maybe too blunt for someone who is supposed to act professionally in the fields of bloody journalism. A newbie, perhaps?

“Arthur, the order!” Luke called as I woke up from my subconscious curiosity and raced towards the counter to have the order recorded.

I took another peek at our asshole boss, only to see another melancholic businessman faking another laugh and smile. I sighed at the thought. Even I would act like that if a random stranger asked me that.

“Le olde boss seems tense after that shitty Zhenya Petrovitch asked that,” Luke whispered, so as not to catch Kaizer’s attention. “She seems not so into Kaizer, I guess? From what I’ve heard–” Luke halted in speaking after we heard the metal pitcher clacking to the ground. He coughed consciously and continued, lowering his voice more and speaking closer to me. “From what I’ve heard, Petrovitch was Amadeo’s last girlfriend before well, that.”

“What do you mean, ‘that’?”

Luke leaned further into my ears, trying to say something, when a customer wailed for his order. Luke jumped back to his senses, roving his eyes to the crowd, worrying about making a mistake. “Oh, shit–Sean! Is customer 25’s order done?”

“We’re just adding the milk,” Gale answered. I looked at the counter and saw Sean slowly pouring the milk on the coffee. Gale meanwhile looked at me and smiled. Kaizer, well, was off wandering in his own mind while making another batch of orders. Probably thinking something about Zhenya whatever-her-last-name-is. Petrosky? That doesn’t seem right. Gale nudged Kaizer if he could pass the coffee to us so that we could serve it quickly, bringing the mindless boy back to reality.

Kaizer went outside the work area holding a tray of coffee—cortados, cappuccinos, café au laits, and, oddly, an americano—in a waiter-esque fashion; he held the whole tray with one hand underneath, fingers curving towards the base. He gestured for me to get the tray to serve them to the raging customers. Each cup is clipped with small slab of wood, numbers carved into it, helping me in finding out who I will give these ceramic round cups to. A variety of faces greeted me as I carefully placed the tray to the ground and took the corresponding coffee cup to the right person before moving to another customer.

Yes, my goal is to be a barista and not a waiter, but somehow after the practice a while ago, being a barista is easier said than done. I should get a book about it and learn on my own before trying again.

The clock strucked one in the afternoon, signalling the end of my morning shift. I removed the beret from my head and took my ID from my green satchel. Holding the lanyard, I keep thinking how I’m still amazed by how I got into this university, and I will do anything not to mess up. That includes restraining myself from lashing out to the other guy. As I wore the maroon-and-gold lanyard around my neck, I felt someone’s arms wrapped around my shoulders. The scent was faint—the smell of a manly eau de parfum—and I knew, it was the one and only Gale.

“Already leaving? You have classes today?” I looked at Gale and his puppy eyes. His voice was already enough for my thing to become stone hard. I blushed and covered my neck as I nervously chuckled.

“Yeah . . . I have Marketing today.”

“Professor McFarlane, is it?”

My face lit up as he said that name. From what I saw in my schedule, our professor was Alexis McFarlane. Could he be that—

Gale cut me in the middle of my mental talk and smiled. “Yes, he’s our prof today too. Small world.”

“You’re taking Marketing?”

“Pre-requisite. I had to. Although, spoiler alert, you have to read the paper before coming to his class or you’ll get kicked out from the class record even before he actually gets to know you.” Harsh, but luckily, I did skim throughout the papers that Professor McFarlane had sent to my email. Introduction to Marketing. “I’m sure he sent you a copy, yes?” I nodded and smiled.

“I have read the material, even before actually landing in Canada.” The last part piqued his interest; I saw him raised an eyebrow, as if wanting me to tell more about it. “I’m not a maple citizen, but you could say that I’m planning to. I’m Filipino, actually. Well, sort of.”

“Mestizo? Half-Spanish?”

“I’m actually three-quarter-Spanish. Dad’s the half. Mom’s a full-time español y le encanta discutir.”

“But you’re a Seymour; doesn’t that make you British?”

“That’s supposed to be Simur. S-i-m-u-r. It’ll take more than our time to explain the whole, and would probably bore you.” I hung the satchel on my shoulder and walked outside The Espresso as Gale followed suit. “But to oversimplify the history of the Simurs, the civil registrar erred in penning our grandfather’s last name.” I heard Gale chuckle behind my back. “They weren’t that perfectionist when it came to that, and has stilled in our generation since. I mean, Seymour does sound a bit rich-like than Simur.” And that explains how I’m never even connected to Lady Jane even if we wanted to.

I glimpsed towards the store on accident and saw Kaizer’s ginger irises staring right at me a few nanoseconds before quickly shifting his pace towards his work. I swear to the heavens above that I saw him, and I can feel something burning in it. He went to grab his phone to type in something and the moment that he turned the phone down, a chime rang in my phone. Oh, goddammit. I took my phone from the bottomless pit of my wallet and, voila, Kaizer sent a message to my Portfolio account.

You and Gale are too obvious to us and oblivious to each other at the same time. Kinda hard to watch in cringe.

“What with it to you, hmm?” I muttered beneath my breath. Gale, in a ninja-esque fashion, slithered towards my phone and saw the tempest’s message.

“I’d say the same, if I were him. You’re kinda oblivious, though.” I looked at him with utter confusion. I gaped my mouth open in response; Gale clarified his words like a sword being buffered to perfection, slaying with such perfection as he locks his eyes into mine and chuckled. “I like you, Arthur.”

I like you, Arthur. I–I’m sorry, w­–wh­at? As though time stopped on its tracks, Gale’s words passed by into my brain and stayed there for a solid ten seconds. The cogs in my brain stopped rolling as if there was something that barred it from doing so. All I can feel right now is shock, confusion, . . . no wait; that’s not the right word. It’s warmer than that and it’s bubbling up inside me.

I looked at him in the eye to confirm if he was just kidding around, but I see no signs of that. He sure doesn’t beat around the bush. And to think someone from the figment of my imagination hours ago became an actual living being in front of me and now telling me that he likes me? I breathed heavily and shook my head. A smile was stuck in my lips as I turned my back against him and held my burning neck.

“W–wow,” I confided, “that was quick for someone you’ve only met for 5 hours.” I swallowed without thinking. “B–but, I could . . .  I could say the same.” I looked at Gale in the eye. “I also like you to the point that I’ve jerked”–holy shit, wait, calm down Art–“no; never mind that.” I turned my eyes away from him and changed the topic as we approach the entrance-slash-exit of MoC.

I could not see Gale’s reaction as I am trying to avoid making eye contact with him after that, but I could sense the surprise that he had when I blurted my deeds out in public, where people may hear me. “You’re something else, Art.” I heard Gale chuckle softly. He then overtook in our long death march and stopped me from my tracks. He looked me in the eye, and held both of my shoulders before smiling. “After our afternoon shift, do you mind if I take you on a quick date? A garden date will be fine or even a bar, if you’re into that.”

I paused for a second, and smiled before looking at him in his bright azure eyes. “Why not?”