Page 5 of Simmer Down
I bite my lip to keep from chuckling. I shrug and tell her, “Bon appétit,” when I hand her the food. “Thank you again for letting us use your commercial kitchen, Mrs. Tokushige. You’ve helped us so much.”
She flashes a kind smile before dipping her finger in the soy sauce–vinegar mixture of theadoboand tasting it. She lets out a satisfied hum. “Of course, hon. Anything for you and your mom.”
She pats my hand, and I’m grateful again. Mrs. Tokushige is a widowed property owner who Mom got chummy with after first moving to Maui. They even belong to the same book club and mahjong club. I’m grateful to know her. Not only has she been a generous and supportive friend after we lost Dad, but she’s been invaluable to our food truck, letting us use her commercial kitchen, which is right next to our condo, at a deep discount. I don’t know if we would have made it had we been forced to pay regular prices to rent space.
“It’s always open for you and your mom, whenever you want it,” she says. “You’re practically family.”
She tiptoes up and smiles at Mom through the window. “Hi, Tiva! Smells yummy in there! And thisadobosauce, my goodness. Perfectly tangy and salty. I’ll never get tired of it.”
Mom beams. “Oh, Joan. You’re sweet. Thank you.”
Their conversation carries on while I inwardly gloat about my sneaky actions from this morning. It was petty as hell for me toarrive early to scrawl that sign. It was also petty to strategically place it at the perfect angle: leaning on the back tire of the Hungry Chaps food truck, facing away from the window and door. Callum and Finn can’t see it from inside their truck, but customers get a full, unobscured view.
I catch a glimpse of Callum. He’s sporting that same scowl he blinded me with yesterday. Not once does he let up, even when taking customers’ food orders. I wonder if anyone has ever told him that acting pleasant and smiling at the patrons is necessary in the food service industry.
I duck back inside. “How manylumpiaare left, Mom?”
She drops another order into the fryer. “We’ll be out in an hour probably, if orders keep up.”
I pat her shoulder, and she smiles. She and I have the exact same facial features: dark eyes, arched eyebrows, narrow button noses, high cheekbones. Even our smiles are the same. Our full mouths stretch across our faces in a straight line instead of curving up like most other people’s. It’s like gazing into a mirror of what I’ll look like in thirtyish years if I opt for a bob hairstyle and maintain an excellent skin care regimen. Considering all the emotional and financial stress she’s been through this past year, she’s wearing it like a champ. She’s a stunning mature woman.
She pats my lower back. “Don’t slouch,anak. It’s bad for you.”
I’m a good eight inches taller than her thanks to my dad’s genes. Emotion lodges in my throat, and I have to swallow. It’s the one physical trait of his I have. I’d give anything for one of his burly bear hugs right now, the kind where I’m engulfed entirely in his broad back and arms, the kind that made me feel like a dainty little kid even in my twenties. I wonder what he would think if he could see us, his wife and his only child, trying to carve a place for themselves in the Maui food truck scene.
I wipe away the thought and turn to help the next customer in line, who orders a basket oflumpia.
“They love Tiva’slumpia.” I flash Mom a thumbs-up. “Best on the island.”
It’s true. This egg roll–like Filipino dish isn’t a unique dish for Maui, not with the island’s strong Southeast Asian population. But Mom’s mixture of finely ground pork with cabbage, carrots, rice noodle, and secret spice blend is a hit with everyone who orders them.
She glances down at a handful of empty paper trays on the counter, waiting to be filled. “I don’t know about that. Just trying my best.” She shrugs before brushing away a chunk of her hair that’s come loose from her pinned-back style. Her deep brown eyes turn sad. “Now that we have this new competition close by, I have to try harder.”
I un-grit my teeth and flash her what I hope is a reassuring smile. When I broke the news about the obnoxious new food truck business encroaching on our territory, her anxiety was immediate. I could see it in her frown, in the way her gaze immediately fell to the floor when I told her.
“People have been driving from all the way across the island to try our food,” I tell her. “We’ll be just fine.”
Judging by the speedy way she turns back to the fryer without making eye contact, she’s not convinced. And the truth is, as much as I’m willing to wage war on our new competition, I’m not certain we’ll survive either.
An angry, English-accented bark causes us both to twist our heads in the direction of the Hungry Chaps food truck.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Callum booms.
When I stick my head out of the window, I see him stomping out of his truck in the direction of the cardboard sign.
“Mom, take over orders for a bit, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I zoom out of the truck and head straight for Callum, whispering apologies as I bump into people waiting in line to order. By the time I make it to Callum, he’s red-faced, clutching the sign in one hand. The other one he points at me.
“You,” he growls. “This is why we’ve had shit for business this entire day.”
I march up to him until we’re maybe a foot apart. He drops his hand; I rest mine on my hips and lean toward him.
“That’s part of the initiation at this spot,” I snarl back. “Deal with it.”
His chest heaves, his mouth splits open, and a gust of hot breath shoots out. I swear, this guy is part dragon with his prickly personality and the rough way he introduces oxygen into his body.
“Stop saying that.”
