Chapter Text
October 2016, New York
"Kip, you're gonna be late," George Grady, with both hands on his hips, sighed with an endearing smile, having watched his 25-year-old son change clothes for the past 10 minutes.
"I know, Dad. I just... Let me be, for a bit, alright?" Kip frowned, looking at himself in the mirror. He had changed into nearly 10 different outfits for his first day of work, and you'd think he was working for some high-end fashion magazine.
"You're gonna do good, alright? Forget about your last job," George walked over, gently turning his son to face his shiny head, smoothening the collars of Kip's cream-coloured button-up.
Kip's eyes softened almost immediately, his anxiety seemingly quelled as he reminisced about his previous job at some high-end corporate place. He had been offered a job by his uncle a few days after NYU nearly 3 years ago, and it had been the most... Soul-sucking job he ever had. Days drew on, 9am to 5pm, the same soulless job of typing away, data entry and so on. He was able to stomach it for only 3 years, despite his uncle's plea to stay, which he still didn't understand. He wasn't the most efficient, nor the fastest typist or even employee in the entire firm, so why the heck was his uncle so adamant on him staying?
"Now go. You look striking, I'd have thought you were going on Love Island or something," George beamed with pride, gently nudging Kip out of his room.
With that, Kip let his suburban house, located in the higher-end of New York. To Kip, it was only a mere 10-minute walk, which was only possible at the speed he walked.
To others? It would've been better to drive instead.
He walked the familiar streets, seeing the skyscraper of his uncle's company in the distance. He instead made a sharp turn left, walking until it disappeared, the familiar maroon sign of Straw+Berry instead coming into view.
Kip took a deep breath, steeling himself for his first day of work, taking in a deep breath, nearly choking at the disgusting, typical air of New York.
"Good morning, I'm Kip Grady, reporting in for my first day of work," Kip greeted the single Latina working behind the counter, seeing only 3 other customers in the otherwise empty smoothie shop.
"Morning. You don't have to be so formal, amigo. Come on over," She flashed a smile that was nestled between assessing and friendly, gesturing Kip to come around the counter. She pulled out a dark blue apron, similar to her own. "Though, I have to admit, you look a bit too... atractivo to be a smoothie barista, no?" She playfully winked, handing him said apron and a silver nametag.
"I get that a lot," Kip breathed out with a smile, beyond glad that his first co-worker was a stark contrast to the person he first met in his uncle's company, he reached out and took the apron, smiling at the Latina's attempt at flirtation.
"So, you single? I don't see any ring," She mused, clearly checking Kip out.
"Yes. And before you get any ideas," Kip smirked, flourishing his hand, a subtle sign which screamed I'm gay.
"Of course. All the hot men are gay nowadays," She huffed, yet less towards actual anger or irritation, and more towards playfulness.
"Now, come on. I'm supposed to teach you how to do smoothies." She stepped away, gesturing Kip to follow, leading him towards the row of blenders, nestled next to a rack of fruits.
For nearly 2 hours, during which Kip was surprised at the fact that no other customers had sauntered into the smoothie shop, Maria taught him the basics of smoothie blending, which, turns out, was way more complicated than just throwing in random fruits, cordials, and praying for the best.
"Jesus. That does make a difference," Kip mused, tasting two small cups of the same smoothie, appropriately called Mango Sunrise, utterly surprised to find it tasted imperceptibly different.
"You'd be surprised, cariño. There's a lot for you to learn," Maria mused, finding Kip's childlike awe rather endearing.
"Now go clear those tables. Once you're done, I'll teach you the other half of the menu after," She gently nudged Kip, ushering him out of the cashier counter, gesturing towards the three previously-occupied tables.
"Okay, boss," Kip rolled his eyes with a smile, already enjoying the first day of his new work, which involved a lot less typing and soul-sucking.
A few hours later...
"How's your first day?" George asked over dinner, later that night.
"It's... a lot better. Way more colorful. Plus, Maria's a lot of fun! I get to talk, joke, accidentally short-circuit a blender," Kip mused between chews.
Somehow, his first day in, he'd fried an entire blender, which resulted in the entire shop short-circuiting.
"Glad to hear that, bud. As long as you have fun," His dad chimed in, beyond glad to see his son coming back from work glowing, instead of looking like he was close to smashing a computer into the wall.
"I have tickets to an upcoming hockey game this weekend. My buddy had to opt out, something about his wife giving birth." George shrugged a few moments later, while Kip was doing the dishes.
"No. Don't tell me Mr. Fester's having another child? This would be his, what, 10th one?" Kip gasped, utterly confused at how someone at such an old age was still so... fertile.
"Correction, 8th. But yeah. His poor wife," George answered with an empathic frown, shaking his head.
"Jesus." Kip groaned, beyond glad that he didn't have to worry about pregnancy. Not that he got much action anyway.
"I'd love to go, actually. It's been... what, 3 years since we went to a hockey game?" Kip hummed curiously, wiping his hand on a nearby towel, leaning against the sink.
"Perfect! It'll be right after your shift. I'll pick you up at 6, then we'll drive directly down to the ice rink you used to love," George beamed, beyond excited to be able to spent time with his son.
Truthfully, it had been taxing for both of them. While it was soul-sucking for Kip, it was heartbreaking for George, seeing his prodigal son slowly lose his spark working in a corporate setting, he had less and less time to spend with Kip. Not only had Kip been working his ass off, he barely had time for his own father while he was studying in NYU.
Later on that night, Kip found himself lying in bed, scrolling idly through his phone, musing at his friends' Facebook posts, occasionally replying to comments, only setting down his phone and drifting off to sleep once his eyes began aching.
Tomorrow is another day. Kip thought to himself, a mantra he always recited before sleep.