Page 25 of Simmer Down
I’m still shaking my head, struggling to process the words she’s speaking. How in the world can she just send me out of the country when we have a make-or-break career moment hanging over our heads?
“It’s not costing us anything. Your auntie and uncle offered to pay. They miss you like crazy and are so excited to see you. You haven’t seen them since you were what, twelve? Thirteen?”
I mumble a “yes.” That’s the downside of having family all over the globe. Unless you’re made of money, regular visits are virtually impossible. It hasn’t dampened our relationship though. Mom and I Skype or FaceTime with them a couple times a month, and Mom’s been to London to visit them a few times in the last several years. It would be a dream to visit them. Just not now, not when we’re preparing for the festival and money is so tight.
She files the last dish into the rack and shuts the door of thedishwasher. When she looks at me, I try to focus on her face, try to decipher if this is an elaborate joke. But nothing. Her expression is oddly relaxed.
“You’re staying with them at their house, so you won’t even have to pay for a hotel,” she says.
Brushing past me, she heads down the hall to the bathroom. I tug her arm. “Mom, wait. Okay, fine, yes, a vacation would be nice, but I can’t just leave you alone to take care of the food truck. That’s too much stress. And we can’t afford to close for a week, either, while I’m gone. What about prepping for the festival?”
She does her signature brush-off motion with her hand, like none of these are valid concerns. “Mrs. Tokushige’s nephew just moved in with her, and he needs a temporary job. I talked to him the other night while we played mahjong, and he said he could help out at the food truck if we ever needed it. He used to work at a food truck in San Francisco, so he knows what he’s doing. The festival is more than a month away, and all the dishes we’ve been trying out with the customers have been a hit. So don’t worry.”
I open my mouth, but she shakes her head, her favorite way to cut me off.
“And don’t give me some lecture about how your dad would want me to take it easy. I’ll still take my normal day off. I promise.”
Just then Lemon rubs against my leg. “What about Lemon? She’s pregnant.”
Mom raises her eyebrow at me, a telltale sign that she’s unimpressed with my excuse. “All she’s been doing is eating and napping, and I don’t think that’s going to change for the week that you’re gone. She’ll be just fine.”
I stutter once more. She must have been planning this for weeks behind my back. I’m impressed, shocked, and a little unnerved at her ability to orchestrate such elaborate plans in secret.
“Um...”
“No ums, no buts, no nothing. I worked in restaurants my whole life until I had you, remember? I’ll be just fine.” She pats my arm. “You deserve a break. Have some fun while you’re gone, okay? Your flight leaves on Wednesday. I’ll drive you to the airport before I go to work.”
I try and fail to say something in response. So instead, I stumble the few steps back to the counter and stare at the flight information on her phone screen.
She stands up and points to Dad’s urn in the living room. “I thought of everything, Harold. Aren’t you proud? I’m the one telling people to slow down and take a break now.”
She shuffles down the hall. “Better start packing,anak,” she hollers from her bedroom. “Only two days until you leave!”
I’ve got no choice. It looks like I’m going to London.
Chapter 7
I shove my carry-on in the overhead compartment and fall into the window seat. Leg one of my journey is down. Five hours in the air from Hawaii to Seattle, a three-hour layover at the airport, and now I’m finally on the plane to Heathrow.
I’m crossing my fingers for a smooth rest of the journey. It’s been good so far. No crying babies, no delays, no bad turbulence.
I take a sip from my water bottle and pull a book from my purse. A fun, light read that should take up a chunk of this nine-hour flight. I crack it open to the first page, barely paying attention to the passengers shuffling through the aisle next to me. Everyone seems to be operating under some unspoken guise of decency I don’t often see before a long-haul flight. People say, “Excuse me” and “Oops! Sorry!” when they accidentally bump into someone. Everyone is taking care to move out of the way to let others through, so as to avoid jamming up the aisles. A guy at the front of the plane even stops to help an older woman lift her suitcase into the overhead bin.
I let out a happy sigh. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe this tripwill be the reset I need, the break from real life that will help me feel refreshed and return home reenergized.
Everyone takes their seats on the plane, and I turn back to my book. A heavy plop noise pulls my focus away. I turn to my left and see a backpack sitting on the seat next to me. When I look up, I almost drop my book. There’s Callum James standing above me, chest heaving as he catches his breath.
“What the...” My voice is a rasp. It’s the best I can do while my body struggles to process this influx of information.
Callum will be sitting next to me for the next nine hours.
His eyebrows crinkle together as he shoves the backpack above him. Lowering himself into the seat, he tugs on the seat belt. “Were you expecting someone else?”
His tone reads unamused. I can’t possibly be the only one out of the two of us surprised that we’re seated next to each other. Of all the people on this airplane—of all the people who booked a flight from Seattle to London on this day—how the hell did Callum and I end up seated together?
The universe is a sick bastard with an even sicker sense of humor.
“What... what in the world are you doing here?” I finally ask.
