by Amal Awad
‘Maggie, did you hire me because Leo asked you to?’
Maggie looks mildly taken aback, but she recovers.
I look down at the apples, the discarded cores in one bowl, the skins in another. ‘Sorry,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve just heard that he has a lot of influence.’
‘Leo is my business partner. We also happen to be related. He doesn’t interfere with what he doesn’t know. And he doesn’t know sweets.’ Maggie softens, leans in a bit closer and places a hand on my shoulder. ‘Don’t look for meaning that isn’t there, Sahar. Life is hard, but you seem to make it harder with that big mind of yours. You belong here. I would never risk my business with a handout.’ She drops back onto the stool with a small sigh. ‘I understand you better than you think, Sahar. I’m someone who finds it easy to see the light in the dark. But I was a wog when wogs had to laugh at the name. I know what it’s like to make yourself smaller to fit into someone else’s space.’
‘It’s not just being in a minority,’ I say. ‘Sometimes I feel like I don’t have a centre and I’m constantly trying to find my balance.’
I’m surprised by my own admission, how my worries have now crystallised. I don’t know who I am, constructed or authentically, and it’s like having emotional vertigo.
‘My father was an immigrant,’ Maggie says, a bit wistful and reflective. ‘Came from a tiny village in Italy, and it’s like he carried it on his back every single day for the rest of his life. Worked himself to the bone – hard, back-breaking work; the kind no one respects. Even when I was a kid, I used to wonder why he struggled so much. It didn’t make sense to me. He never got to enjoy life. Died of a heart attack at fifty-five. My mother never recovered.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Maggie shakes her head. ‘I used it. I wasn’t going to be like them. And you are not what your parents told you to be either. Don’t be a prisoner to anyone. I know how guilt works, and you can’t let it take over you.’ She squeezes my shoulder again. ‘You are not what you’ve been through; just use it and power on. Be the rock in the stream. Things flow around you, not the other way around. Got it?’
I nod. ‘Can I do more days?’
‘Oh, the trial is over. I’d like you to come onboard full-time now.’
‘Oh my God. Really?’
‘Yes. We’re getting busier. Do you want to do some time in the chocolate studio?’
‘Of course. Yes.’
‘We’ll see how we go. Let’s see if we can find your voice in there.’
I have no idea what this means, but Maggie has just shown that she has a genuine interest in my development. So often I feel like I’m trying to inflate a balloon with holes in it, but this affirmation tells me otherwise. I smile, a flutter of excitement rising in my chest.
‘Let me know your size and I’ll arrange the chef’s whites,’ Maggie says.
I haven’t quite figured Maggie out yet, but she’s hard not to like.
I’m about to return my focus to the fruit I’m preparing when Inez and Kat trail in. Maggie pretends to be unimpressed. ‘Bludgers.’
Kat scrunches up her fingers and kisses them, throwing it towards Maggie.
But Maggie doesn’t leave. She walks to the side bench and glances at the chunky, colourful watch on her wrist. A few seconds later, Luke enters, and the juniors also gather. Maggie takes a deep breath and claps her hands together. ‘All right, then. Listen up, everyone! End of year approaches. Huzzah! December is always crazy for us. So to get ready, we’re doing a team-building exercise on Monday.’
There’s a collective groan, but Maggie waves it away and continues speaking over the rising din. ‘This means your day off is not a day off if you’re full-time. And if you’re very good, I might even buy you lunch. OK? If this is going to be a problem, come see me before you leave today.’
Maggie commands respect, not fear, and I appreciate the difference. But team building? I’ve just been promoted and my first instinct is to contemplate escape.
As if she’s reading my thoughts, Maggie stops at my bench on her way out and taps it with her index finger. ‘As I said, you need to come out of your shell.’ Then she winks and I feel like she’s tricked me, even if it’s not in a malicious way.
Predictably, my face responds while the words are stuck in my throat. I can feel my embarrassment colour my cheeks and my emotions rising.
Maggie’s eyes glitter and she does her little head shake of delight. ‘Fun,’ she says, gently squeezing my arm. ‘We’re going to have fun.’
I offer a faint smile and Maggie begins a slow walk away, giving a couple of thunderous claps and yelling out for us to quicken our pace. ‘Fun, fun!’
I watch her leave then catch Luke glancing at me. He looks pissed off, and this time I can appreciate his frustration. I manage a smile as I return my gaze to the ingredients. Fun. Fun, fun, fun, fun.
Chapter 11
I wish there were gentler, less embarrassing ways to truth.
Samira was once forced to abseil and scream her way down a flying fox for a team-building exercise. I baked her a cake in honour of the great feat, although it should be said that she was the one who booked it in the first place.
I am reminded of this as I stand in the Improv Parlour Theatrette with the bakery staff – Maggie, Luke, Kat, Inez, Justin and Olivia – and three cafe staff members I’ve never properly met: Jen, Harry and Dimitri.
The small warehouse we’re in clearly has multiple uses. Against one wall are large wooden boxes, which I assume form a stage, and rows of conjoined seats line the opposite end. A small kitchen with a microwave, plastic toaster and matching kettle sit on top of a mini fridge.
We are about to do improvised theatre, and I am terrified. Right now, I would prefer to be scrambling down a cliff face attached to a harness than standing in this small performance space with my co-workers for the next two hours. Glancing around, I get the sense I’m not alone in this feeling. Only Maggie is alive to the experience, her eyes shining in anticipation, her mouth fixed in a closed grin.
To ease us in, our instructor, Zach, a dorky type in jeans, a hoodie and Converse sneakers, begins with ‘icebreakers’, including a zombie name game. He talks like it’s the most exciting thing in the world, pausing, stretching out words and practically high-fiving himself.
We play games. Kat and Inez find a way into it. Eventually, Kat is no longer mumbling ‘Fucken hell’ under her breath whenever it’s her turn to speak, and Inez actually appears excited, pumping her arms when she or someone else is clever in a game. I look for the light and find it when I see that Luke is struggling far more than I am. He has his arms crossed, and when he smiles, it’s the conciliatory kind you give an enemy in a tournament. He hates it, and when we’re forced to make eye contact during a game called Mirror – where one person leads the other with body movements – for once it’s not a challenge. Somehow, both of us are able to do this without looking away, and for a moment, we seem to connect as the outsiders in this strange ritual. When we’re done, he rolls his eyes and shrugs.
There’s a notable difference in Luke beyond the almost-smile. He’s dressed like a civilian – black pants and a short-sleeved shirt – and something in his demeanour is different because of it. The chef’s whites give him a status he doesn’t carry with him everywhere. But now he doesn’t loom as large in my eyes. I see it so clearly that I am stunned.
‘OK! Our next game is called Convergence!’
Oh for—
No. I don’t swear.
I am barely over Convergence when Zach leads us into Musical Hotspot, where someone stands in the middle of a circle, belting out a song until someone steps in to save them. I make a beeline for the bathroom, but Maggie grabs my shirt, pulling me back towards her. She loops her arm through mine, then standing tall, taps me on the hand, I guess to reassure me before the slaughter. I get away with not singing by not stepping into the circle, but there’s no escaping Word-at-a-time Story. I’m the worst at this because I pause f
or too long, disrupting the fast pace, not appeased when Zach says there’s no good or bad. This is only partly true, because none of us are very good. Only Harry and Dimitri seem to speak the language, and this is because they’re aspiring actors. The only person who gets as stuck as I do is Luke. Everyone else is starting to give in to the cheer and cringey hilarity, but while I’m plagued by excruciating stage fright, Luke is simply uncomfortable. I’m so mortified that during one game, when it’s my turn to speak, I just stand there, frozen, and everyone laughs. It breaks the tension, and even I smile. Luke grins too, probably relieved that my mess-ups conceal his own embarrassment.
When Zach calls a break, I am filled with relief, but there’s no chance for escape. Maggie makes sure of it. ‘No one leave, it’s only a five-minute break!’
When the break is over, Zach says he’s going to slow things down. ‘No more silly games, I swear!’ He laughs, but we know it’s a lie because we still have forty-five minutes left to endure.
‘It’s called … Drum roll please …’ he taps the air with his hands, ‘I … Love! Guys, I love this game. Each of you is going to get up here, and for one minute, talk about something you love.’
‘Just one thing?’ says Dimitri.
‘A bunch of things is fine, so long as you can cram it into one minute. Don’t try to be funny,’ he continues, and Kat says, ‘Ha! Nothing to worry about there,’ and we all laugh.
Kat’s monologue has us in stitches. She swears liberally then praises cussing. ‘I fucken love what I do, but the best thing is showing people that you have more going for you than they think. My dad will always eat my desserts, and I fucken love that. And fuck using Cointreau in desserts. It doesn’t work.’
When Inez speaks, she sways a little, hands knotted together at her lower back, as she explains her love of aerial performance. ‘I love the way my body knows what to do without me needing to think about it. I love the feeling of movement, like I can float but I feel safe at the same time. And I love the sexy outfits!’ she says, winking then giving us a cheeky hip swing, which is met with whoops and cheers.
Luke’s runs for about ten seconds. ‘I love the end product after a long trial period. Everything is experimentation, but sometimes you feel like you’ve reached the perfect ending and you have to move on.’
When it’s my turn, I don’t try to be funny.
‘I love … I love that I’m here. About ten years ago, I was a very different person. You wouldn’t recognise me. I wore a headscarf. I practically lived in my home kitchen. I would never be in a place like this, or working with other people, or wearing my hair out like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Then my whole world changed. I went overseas and I felt like everything I knew was out of reach. I built a whole new world, but about a year ago, it all came to an end. I nearly died. For a little while, I thought it would have been better if I had. I feel ashamed saying that.’
I stop, momentarily panicked because I have said more than I intended, or would ever wish to share. But it came out, unbidden. I look over the faces watching me without judgement or even pity and I feel safe. Maggie has a maternal warmth to her expression, while Kat nods at me, encouraging. Inez gives me a mournful smile. Luke studies me, his expression intense but not telling me what he thinks. I look away. ‘It does something to you, seeing real life up close. I’m glad I didn’t give in to that feeling. I love that I’m here with you.’
Afterwards, we emerge into the fresh air and afternoon light like survivors of the Kokoda Trail, undeniably linked by the challenge but also filled with relief that we survived it. Kat pulls me in and ruffles my hair like a big sister, then releases me, allowing Inez to loop her arm through mine. I glance at Luke, who studies me, a curious look on his face.
We retreat to a nearby cafe for lunch, and the staff scurry around to move tables together to accommodate our group. Maggie takes a seat and orders a prosecco, to cheers from Kat.
‘I’ve earned it!’ Maggie says, looking delighted.
‘We all have,’ says Kat. ‘But I want wine.’
Everyone is in high spirits, because in spite of our collective resistance to the team-building event, we had fun, and I think, even in that short space of time, shed some dead skin. I didn’t expect it to unfold as it did. I knew we were meant to bond, but perhaps something about being forced to step outside of my shyness made me feel free, even if for a moment.
The drinks arrive and I take a sip of my lemon, lime and bitters, cherishing it like it’s a long-desired reward. Maybe, just maybe, for the first time in my life, I’m starting to feel comfortable in a group, even if I’m not exactly at home in it yet.
Maggie makes a toast. ‘To a successful afternoon of laughter and silliness. But please don’t try for a job in comedy; you’re much better at your current ones.’
There is gentle laughter, some half-hearted whooping from Kat, and we raise our bottles and glasses. It’s a sound I never heard growing up except on television. Even with non-alcoholic drinks, my mother frowned upon toasts because of their association with non-Muslim celebrations.
As we wait for our meals to arrive, we start conversations between ourselves, chattering as we study the menu. Only Luke is quiet, sitting at one end of the table beside Inez. We make eye contact and his expression is new to me. He looks concerned, but I smile and he nods once before taking a sip of his beer.
After we’ve eaten, Kat tries to recruit Maggie for drinks, but she refuses. ‘Early to bed tonight for me.’ She rises from the table and says her goodbyes.
I wonder if she’s going home to anyone. I’ve never thought about Maggie’s personal life, and I realise it’s because of her confidence. Sweets by Maggie and the chocolate shop are Maggie, and like she said once about Luke, how we are in life is how we are at work.
Kat turns her attention to me next. Neck craned, she extends an arm, reaching out to take hold of mine. ‘You never come.’
‘I have a gym class.’
Her hold on me tightens. ‘Sahar.’
‘I don’t drink. I’m boring!’
By now, Kat has both arms locked around my waist and I feel embarrassed by the attention.
‘Just come for one drink,’ Inez says. ‘I’ll distract Kat so that you can escape early.’
I chuckle as Kat starts to shake me gently. ‘OK, OK, I’ll come.’
Kat leads the way to a bar down the street, talking Luke’s ear off as he listens, head down, hands jammed in his pockets. Behind them are the juniors and cafe staff. Inez falls into step beside me, zipping up a light jacket, radiating calm as always.
‘I’m not a big drinker, so you’re not alone,’ she tells me, raising her voice just enough to be heard over the traffic and Kat’s guffaws.
‘I don’t understand why Kat insists on me coming. I’m happy to be the quiet, boring one.’
‘She likes you,’ Inez says.
‘I know.’
‘Do you?’ says Inez.
‘I’m grateful for you both. You know that, right?’
‘Of course. And you’re not boring,’ Inez says with a sigh. ‘Just intense.’
We continue in silence for a few moments before Inez speaks again. ‘Sorry,’ she says, bumping gently into my side. ‘That came out sounding harsher than I meant it to. It’s just nice to see you interacting with everyone. It’s important. Especially with Maggie. We’re not her staff, we’re like her family. You won’t have a future at Maggie’s if you keep to yourself the whole time. And I know you want this.’
I’d almost forgotten the blunt scrape of shame, but my skin tingles in recognition and I immediately want to take back everything I did badly.
‘Thanks. I guess I needed to hear that,’ I say, my head down. ‘I’m not a snob, I swear. I’m just not used to working like this, to being in a group.’
I’m not used to people wanting me in their group. Even in Jordan, I worked alone.
Inez gives me a long look. ‘Today was good. It explained a lot. You’re talented
, Sahar. Keep going, OK? I know you’re starting out a bit older, and it feels like it’s going to take forever, but you came in with knowledge and experience, and so much passion. Do you see Maggie promoting the other juniors? Everything you did before you joined us counts.’ Then she chuckles. ‘God. I’ve been looking at Maggie’s motivational posters for too long, haven’t I?’
We slow down as we approach the door to the bar.
‘You were really good today. Are you ever scared?’ I say.
‘Yes. All the time. I just don’t want to lose myself trying to do better. I don’t want to be a perfectionist. I get excited by experiences,’ she says.
The bar is a dimly lit, wood-panelled, classy kind of place, where the music plays at a low hum and the bartenders wear aprons and have handlebar moustaches.
Inez, Kat, Luke and I find a booth and I manoeuvre myself into a seat. The other juniors and cafe staff have formed their own clique, but it was a natural separation. There was no tension, just an understanding of a natural divide. I’m surprised about which side I landed on, but choose not to overthink it.
Just as I’m wondering how anyone finds this noisy, dark place appealing, someone dumps two baskets of spiced popcorn on the table and I perk up.
‘I want to know what kind of drunk you are,’ Kat tells me with a luminous smile. She’s already a little tipsy. ‘My guess is, you’re always thinking, so you’ll be a sad sack.’
Inez shakes her head. ‘She’ll be on the tables dancing. I say happy drunk; tells everyone how she feels deep down.’
Kat raises her hands, like she’s about to reveal the answer to life’s great mysteries. ‘She’ll be both. Happy then sad. I love it. I want to see drunk Sahar.’
They look to Luke to cast the final vote. He’s less sullen now, but not cheerful. ‘Militant.’
Inez gasps.