Half Baked

by Justin Creps

“What do you mean you’re high?!” Ruthie punched Chris in his shoulder—not as hard as she could, but hard enough for it to hurt.

“I didn’t know I was working today.” He winced, rubbing the area his sister had hit. “It’s Friday; I never work on Fridays.”

“This has been on the calendar for months!”

“Yeah, but I never look at the calendar.”

“You’re such a fucking idiot.” She shook her head. “I need this job, you know.”

“I need it, too! How do you think I pay for the drugs?” He smirked.

She pretended not to hear his question and slouched against the “S&S” logo on the side of their delivery truck—short for Savory and Sweets, the local catering company who employed them. “Today of all days…”

“What’s so special about today?”

“Hello?!” She waved her arms in front of his face—Chris stumbled, struggling to keep his balance—“We’re going to Solutions Incorporated today. Or did you forget to look that up, too?”

Chris stared blankly.

Ruthie glared.

“Annnnddd?” He finally admitted his ignorance.

“And? AND what?!” Her hands balled into vibrating fists once again.

“Like… and why should I care?” Chris asked.

She launched a flurry of jabs into his chest. “WHY SHOULD YOU CARE?? Solutions Inc. is literally my dream place to work! And today is my best chance to make an impression on them! But why should you care about your little sister’s future, right? All you care about is yourself and maybe—if you can muster the foresight to plan far enough ahead—how you’re getting your next buzz!”

“Okay, okay, okay! I’m sorry. Settle down,” Chris begged. “Besides, it was just a couple gummies. I’m not that high.”

Ruthie lurched forward, feigning a headbutt. Chris squealed and crumpled to the ground.

It was her turn to smirk, but it faded quickly. “I just wish you could take your responsibilities seriously for once in your life. Or care enough about this job… about me… to give even the tiniest of shits.”

He drew a deep breath, his face softening slightly. “You sound like Mom. Lighten up.”

“And you sound like your dad.” Ruthie raised her brow.

Chris stood up, suddenly steady. “Hey, fuck that. You know that crosses a line.”

She ignored him. “If Roy finds out about this, you’re so fucking fired.”

“Well, he’s not going to find out about it, is he?”

Ruthie shrugged. “Help me load the truck. And remember to mark the box of walnut-free pastries; Mrs. Allegro is allergic to tree nuts.”

“Tree nuts?” He grinned.

“Please. Don’t.”

“How ‘bout Deez nutz?”

It was going to be a very long day…

***

The headquarters of Solutions Incorporated had every amenity one could want a fortune-five-hundred office building to have: an employees-only gym, an in-house kitchen, and a conference room large enough to fit a swimming pool. (There wasn’t actually a swimming pool, but there could have been…)

On this day, the conference room could pass for an elegant ballroom, adorning gold and silver decor—table settings, linens, floral arrangements—all for Mrs. Allegro’s retirement party. The CEO had grown the company from relative obscurity to a global brand in the software-consulting industry, and so the board spared no expense in celebrating her retirement.

Chris was unloading boxes of ingredients from the truck while Ruthie assembled the warming trays in the dining area. After carefully lighting the last burner, an awful thought occurred to her: I haven’t seen Chris in over five minutes. She strode into the hallway with urgency, while nervously smoothing her blouse, trying to maintain an illusion of professionalism.

Luckily, her search was short-lived. Chris stood in front of a display just outside Mrs. Allegro’s office, staring—mouth agape—at a portrait of the CEO from her younger years. Ruthie approached him and whispered, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s uncanny… eerie even,” his voice trailed away.

Ruthie inspected the painting. It seemed perfectly normal. “Do I want to know what ridiculous thoughts are currently floating around in that spaced-out head of yours?”

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Are you telling me you don’t see it?” Chris rolled back his sleeve; revealing rows of hair follicles standing at attention. “I have literal goosebumps.”

She looked again. “What do you think you’re seeing?”

“Rue, are you serious? Why do they have a painting of you here?”

Outside of their dark hair, fair skin, and the fact that they were both female, Mrs. Allegro and Ruthie looked nothing alike.

Grabbing her older brother by his bare forearm, Ruthie pulled him from the display. “How long does it take for this shit to wear off? I can’t be your fucking babysitter today.”

At precisely that moment, Mrs. Allegro exited her office. A petite woman in a navy pantsuit followed at her heels, tapping away on the screen of a tablet. “Well, hello,” Mrs. Allegro said, extending a hand to Ruthie. “You must be from Savory and Sweets?”

“Mrs. Allegro!” Ruthie bowed nervously before remembering to shake her hand. “It’s such a pleasure.”

“Please, call me Sarah.” She gestured to the woman next to her. “And this is my assistant, Georgia.”

Chris looked at Mrs. Allegro, then at Ruthie, then back at Mrs. Allegro—his pupils widening. Ruthie elbowed him in the ribs. Georgia noticed, looking perplexed.

Mrs. Allegro continued, “Your company once catered my niece’s wedding—the short rib croissant sandwiches were exquisite! When Georgia started planning my retirement party, I insisted she book you.”

“Wow, we’re so glad you enjoyed the meal.” Ruthie smiled.

            “The short rib is my specialty,” Chris bragged.

            “I was really impressed with your website,” Georgia commented, looking back at her tablet. “Super user friendly. It actually reminded me of our work.”

            “Thanks, I coded it myself!” Ruthie blushed.

            Both Mrs. Allegro and Georgia turned their heads.

            “I’ve studied dozens of your websites to learn best practices. It was definitely a source of inspiration.”

            “How old are you, darling?” Mrs. Allegro asked.

            “Seventeen, but I’ll be eighteen next month.”

            “Where do you plan to study?” Georgia followed-up.

            “Well… that’s actually why I work for S&S. I’m hoping to save up enough to attend Elmwood Community College.”

            Georgia and Mrs. Allegro shared a glance. “Let’s connect.” Georgia extended a card. “Send me what you have: resume, cover letter, references. We have an internship program here at Solutions that offers tuition reimbursement. Anyone who can code a website like that would definitely qualify as an applicant.”

            Ruthie tried not to pass out.

            Chris tried to stop Mrs. Allegro’s face from melting.

“Th-thank you!” Ruthie beamed. “I’ll reach out to you as soon as possible.”

            Chris’ gawking was becoming noticeable. Mrs. Allegro addressed him with an unsure tone, “And who is this?”

            “I–I–I–” he stammered.

            “This is my half-brother, Chris,” Ruthie answered for him, grasping his shoulders.

            “Half? Half? Really emphasizing that part, eh Rue?” He tilted his head.

            Neither Georgia nor Mrs. Allegro were quite sure how to react. “Well… I’m sure you both have plenty to do.” Mrs. Allegro turned. “It’s been a pleasure.” She strode down the hallway, Georgia following close behind.

            “Can. You. Believe. What. Just. Happened??” Ruthie tried to suppress a scream.

            “You saw it, too?” Chris looked astonished. “I thought it was just because I was high.”

            Ruthie’s excitement faded. “I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to—”

            “Her face… it just… kept… melting.”

***

Not many office buildings have a kitchen-area worthy of a four-star restaurant, but not many office buildings were like the Solution’s Incorporated headquarters. Not only did this make preparing the food so much easier, but it also allowed Ruthie to keep Chris hidden out of sight.

Even though the edibles had left him with the social and reasoning skills of a toddler, his culinary ability remained unaffected… and his ability was legitimate. The smell of braising short ribs was intoxicating, as the broth simmered softly atop the stainless gas stovetops.

Ruthie was cutting and buttering warm croissants, while Chris decorated the pastries with chocolate piping. He worked like an artist, each dessert looking worthy of a baking reality-TV show.

“You really are good at this, you know?” Ruthie said, slicing through a roll.

“I know.”

“Have you ever thought about doing more? Like opening your own restaurant? Going to culinary school or something?”

“More? Why would I want more?”

“I don’t know. Why wouldn’t you? Isn’t it good to push yourself outside your comfort zone?”

“I like it in my comfort zone just fine. Nice. And. Comfy.” He snickered. “No pressure. No expectations. Hell, I can show up high and still do my job.”

“I guess.” She shrugged. “But don’t you have any ambition? Any dreams?”

“I’ll leave the dreaming to you, baby sister.” A hint of pride glimmered in his eyes. “Sorry… half-sister. That’s what we’re saying now, isn’t it?”

“Shut up.” She hid her face in her hands.

“I guess we each inherited our fathers’ work ethic.”

“I guess.” Ruthie concentrated hard on the next croissant. It wasn’t like Chris to bring up their fathers.

“Plus, I love this job.” He smiled—not one to linger on heavy topics for long.

“You do?”

“Yeah, free munchies!” He laughed, popping one of the pastries into his mouth.

“Chris!” she half-heatedly protested. “We don’t have many extras.”

“Calm down, Rue. You gotta let yourself have some fun every once in a while. Life’s too short.”

***

Five courses were done, two were still to go.

Everything had gone—almost—perfectly. Chris stumbled a few times while serving the hour d’ourves, but never fully wiped out. Ruthie envisioned bacon-wrapped scallops or brie-stuffed porcini cascading onto guests, but luckily, all food remained on their silver platters.

On a few occasions, while refilling a drink, Chris would smack his tongue against his lips. “Drink some water,” Ruthie insisted.

“Wouldn’t help. Dry mouth is a thing.”

When it was time for course four—a lovely beet and goat cheese salad—Chris was completely lost in a daydream… but it was nothing a strong slap to the back of the head couldn’t rouse him from.

All-in-all, Ruthie was able to manage most of the damage-control without too much effort, and Chris seemed to be sobering up as the evening progressed. The plating and serving of the fifth course—Chris’ short rib on croissant sandwiches—went off without a hitch.

They were actually going to survive this. With their jobs!

But then came course six: the palate-cleanser…

Georgia stood behind a podium at the front of the conference room (turned banquet hall)—voicing a tearful goodbye to her retiring boss—while dozens of fellow employees dined on champagne-flavored sorbet.

Meanwhile, Chris and Ruthie were plating the chocolate-walnut tarts—their most famous dessert—as quickly and efficiently as possible.

“Don’t forget,” Chris said without looking up. “The gold plates have pumpkin seeds substituted for walnuts for those with tree nut allergies.”

“But you’re serving those tables, I thought.”

“Right. Right.” He wiped his sleeve across his forehead.

Chris was sweating. Like… a lot.

“Are you okay?” Ruthie asked, noticing the redness of his face.

He looked up, skin turning green, lips frowning. “I don’t feel so good, Rue.”

Ruthie grabbed her brother and swept him away to the nearest bathroom, shoving him into a stall just in time for him to empty his guts into the toilet.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating between heaves. “I’m such a fuck-up.”

“It’s okay Chris. It’s going to be okay.” She rubbed his back.

“No, for real.” He looked up from the porcelain, making eye contact, wiping his lip with his sleeve. “I’m really sorry for being such a fucking asshole. This is such a great opportunity for you and I’ve been nothing but a burden.”

“You’re not a burden, Chris,” she half-lied. “It’s okay.”

“No.” He was crying now. “I am. I’m just like him.”

“You’re nothing like him.” Ruthie crouched beside her brother, embracing him in a half hug. “He wouldn’t keep showing up. He wouldn’t be crying over a toilet, apologizing and admitting he was wrong. He’s not self-aware enough to do that.”

“I guess that’s true.” Chris’ breathing slowed.

“And you’re seriously a mad-genius in the kitchen. I would never even have gotten this job if it wasn’t for how skilled you are as a cook.”

He looked back into the toilet bowl, bashfully. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Of course.” She shrugged. “You’re my brother. I love you.”

“Half-brother.” He smirked.

“Well then I guess I half love you.”

“I half love you, too.”

At that moment, Georgia burst into the bathroom. “Oh, thank God I found you!” she said through gasping breaths. “Is he okay?”

“Been better…” Chris sighed.

“They’re waiting on dessert… and these aren’t the most patient people in the world…”

“We’ll be right on it.” Ruthie stood.

“Ummm… he can’t serve people looking like that,” Georgia’s hand trembled as she pointed at Chris. “Sorry… I just can’t stand vomit. I’ll help you serve; let’s go.”

And so, Ruthie and Georgia ran back to the kitchen and began serving desserts to the patrons—Georgia taking care of Chris’ plates for him. When the last silver plate was laid on golden linen, the two women shared a high-five.

It was only when Mrs. Allegro stood up, over her silver plate, gasping for air, fingers clawing at her neck, that Ruthie realized her mistake. The golden plates. Walnuts. Mrs. Allegros allergy! She had forgotten to tell Georgia!

The assistant kicked off her heels and launched herself into a dead sprint towards Mrs. Allegro’s office. Ruthie rushed to the retiring CEOs side and prepared to administer CPR. “Call 911!” someone shouted.

Mrs. Allegro lost consciousness, and Ruthie placed her hands on her chest. At that exact moment, Georgia pulled Ruthie off of her boss. “GET OUT OF MY WAY!” she yelled, armed with an epipen.

She jabbed it into Mrs. Allegro’s leg and administered the medication. The whole crowd waited for a tense few seconds. Chris stumbled into the conference room—his shirt stained green with vomit—his expression more sober than it had been all day.

Desperate coughing broke the silence as air escaped Mrs. Allegro’s lungs, and the crowd erupted in cheers. The jubilance hadn’t completely subsided when Georgia pulled Ruthie aside. “How the FUCK did you not know about Sarah’s food allergy? I must have sent a half-dozen memos and reminders.”

“I know, I know. I just—”

“It was me,” Chris interrupted.

Both Georgia and Ruthie snapped their necks.

“Rue reminded me over and over; I just forgot.”

“Chris, that’s not–”

He gestured for her to stop talking. “Full disclosure: I’m high as fuck right now, and Ruthie’s been covering for my mistakes all night.”

Georgia’s mouth swung open in shock.

“I just plain forgot about the walnuts, even though Ruthie told me a million times. This is completely my fault.”

“I… I can’t believe this,” Georgia stammered. “In my fifteen years of working with event planning, this is—by far—the most unprofessional experience I’ve ever had. I will of course be speaking with your employer.”

“I know.” Chris sighed.

***

“You fucking asshole.” Ruthie punched Chris in his shoulder—not as hard as she could, but hard enough for it to hurt. “Now I’m going to owe you for like, the rest of my life.”

“I know.” He smiled, rubbing his arm. “I guess I deserved that.”

Ruthie slouched back against the “S&S” logo on the delivery truck and drew in a deep breath.

“Roy is totally going to fire me, isn’t he?”

“Oh yeah; you’re totally fucked,” Ruthie agreed.

“Damn.” He looked up at the stars. “I really did like this job.”

“I know you did.”

“But you should be safe, right? Still saving up that money for college?”

“Thanks to you.” She leaned her head forward, forcing their eyes to meet. “I think so.”

“That’s good.” He nodded. “That’s way more important.”

“For real; thank you.”

“You’re meant for better things than this, baby sister. That much is obvious. I’m proud as hell of you.” He scraped his shoes against the pavement. “Or, ya know… half-proud or whatever?”

It was Ruthie’s turn to look up at the stars. “What will you do next?”

“I don’t know,” Chris admitted. “I guess it might finally be time for me to leave my comfort zone. Maybe culinary school? Open my own restaurant or something?”

Ruthie leaned her head against his shoulder. “Nothing could make me half as happy.”