On Air with Zoe Washington

“Are you excited?” I asked Marcus from the back seat. “Or nervous?”
“I guess both,” he said with a laugh. “But more excited. It’ll be nice to make cupcakes in the kitchen instead of the boring, tasteless meals I helped cook in prison.”
“Is that the only thing you’re excited about?” I asked. “The baking?”
Marcus pretended to think. “Yeah.” He paused. “I think that’s it.”
I leaned forward in my seat and nudged him in the shoulder. He laughed. “Of course I’m excited to work with you.” He looked back at me and smiled. “It’s the best part of this whole job.”
I smiled back. “Same here.”
When we got to Beacon Hill, Marcus and I said goodbye to Grandma and walked inside the bakery. I breathed in the comforting smells of sugar and frosting, mixed with coffee. I looked around the shop and soaked it all in. The cupcakes displayed behind the glass counter in a rainbow of colors, including my Froot Loop cupcake recipe, which Ari still sold two years later. The pale-blue walls that matched the Ari’s Cakes T- shirt I was wearing. The little bud vases holding fresh flowers that sat on every table and next to the cash register. The ambient, cheery music playing lightly over the speakers. This was my home away from home.
I waved at Gabe, who was currently taking orders. There were a few customers in line already.
“Zoe! Perfect timing,” he said.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m just gonna put my backpack away.”
I followed Marcus to the kitchen and left my bag in a cubby.
Ariana waved at us from across the kitchen, where she was helping Vincent with something. “Hey, you two. Marcus, grab an apron and come over. We have a big order to work on. Zoe, Gabe will get you settled up front.”
“Okay.” I stood there for a second and watched Marcus put his apron on over his jeans and black T-shirt. I wished I got to wear one, but since I wasn’t working in the kitchen, it wasn’t part of my uniform anymore.
I was finally old enough to work full-time at the bakery all summer and get paychecks just like every other employee. But because I wasn’t sixteen years old, I wasn’t legally allowed to bake in the kitchen. I’d gotten away with helping in the kitchen as an intern because I hadn’t been an official employee. I’d only helped for a couple of hours, once a week. Now that I was old enough, I had to follow the rules. I’d work Monday through Friday at the front of the shop. At least I’d get to do more than fold boxes and refill napkin dispensers. I was allowed to take cupcake orders, pack them, and use the cash register.
“All right, Little T,” Marcus said. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck. You got this.”
Marcus grinned wide. “You too.”
As I stood there watching Marcus go over to Ariana and Vincent, I felt like the parent watching their kid go off to their first day of school. There was a tiny bit of envy in my gut since Marcus would get to bake. I wondered what the big order Ariana mentioned was, and if it involved a special recipe or interesting decorations. It suddenly hit me how much I wanted to bake, instead of handing out the cupcakes up front. But there was nothing I could do about that. In two years, I’d be allowed to work in the kitchen again. And in the meantime, I’d bake as much as I could at home.
Back up front, I dove right into work. The line of customers kept growing with the morning rush, so I helped pour coffee and box up cupcakes while Gabe worked the register. Once things quieted down, he showed me how the register worked. It was simple once I figured out which buttons to press.
“How’s it going out here?” Ariana asked me a while later.
“Great!” I said.
“Awesome. If you want to take a lunch break now, you can. I
“Okay.”
“Want to grab a slice of pizza or something?” he asked me.
told Marcus the same.” Just then, Marcus came out of the kitchen without his apron.
“Yes, please.”
When we got outside, I pulled out my phone. “Who are you calling?” Marcus asked.
“Oh, I’m going to search for a pizza place. There’s an app that tells you about the best restaurants in the area you’re in.”
Marcus laughed. “Right. There’re apps for everything.” He pulled his new cell phone out of his pocket. “Before I was in prison, I had this flip phone that still had actual buttons. Now I can unlock this phone with my face. It’s amazing.”
“There’s a pizza place with good ratings a two-minute walk away,” I said.
“Sounds great.”
We walked a few blocks, past restaurants, a small grocery store, a flower shop, and lots of brownstones.
When we got to the pizza place, we each ordered two pepperoni slices and a soda. I asked for pineapple to be added to my pizza. Then we found a nearby bench to sit on. It was such a perfect day out. Sunny, not too hot, and slightly breezy. I loved Boston in the summer.
“Did you know they have a Black Heritage Trail around here?” Marcus asked after we spent a few minutes quietly eating our pizza.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a tour you can take of different African American landmarks around here. There used to be a community of free Black people in Beacon Hill, before the Civil War.”
“How do you know that?”
“My parents took me here a few times as a kid,” Marcus said. “We did the self-guided tour. They liked to talk to me and my brother about Black history growing up.”
“That’s cool.” I wiped some pizza sauce off my chin with a
napkin. “You should show me the trail. We can do it together during our lunch breaks.” “I like that idea.” Marcus smiled. “How’s your first day at the
bakery going?”
“Pretty good. It was busy up front, which made the time fly.
What about you? Do you like working in the kitchen?”
“Yeah. Vincent’s showing me the ropes.”
There was that envy again. I wished I could help Vincent mix cupcake batter.
“But you know,” Marcus continued, “being in a professional kitchen is bringing up this dream that I’ve had for a while. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“What dream?”
“I’d really love to open up my own restaurant someday,” he said.
“Oh wow, really?”
“Yeah. Sometimes when I couldn’t fall asleep in my cell, I’d close my eyes and make up possible menus. Or I’d think about what the inside of the restaurant could look like.”
“What kind of food would you want it to have?” I asked.
“I’m thinking barbecue. It wouldn’t even need to be a big place to start. Growing up, there was this hole-in-the-wall Haitian spot not far from our house. It was tiny inside, only enough space for two tables and the counter where they served the food. Plus, a fridge with beverages. But it was always crowded because the food was so good.” Marcus nodded. “Yeah. A small barbecue spot would be perfect.”
I smiled. “I love it. You’d have to serve the ribs you made at your birthday party.”
“Yeah. I think I could do it. Come up with a menu that people would like.”
“You could totally do it.”
And then it hit me: an idea so perfect, it made me drop my pizza slice.