Page 92 of Simmer Down
We finish our soup in silence. I let her words soak in, wondering if she’s right.
I do a mindless scroll through my phone. Chic TV has tagged our food truck in another Instagram post, and I smile reading all the congratulations from commenters. Tweets and messages inquiring about my and Callum’s relationship are sprinkled throughout the mostly positive comments. I roll my eyes every time I come across an especially snarky one. But then I skim a few rebuttals from Penelope and smile to myself. It feels good to have a friend again.
A notification pops up that I have a message from a new follower. When I open the message, I almost drop my phone in my soup bowl. It’s from Madeline, my old housemate in Portland and one of my best friends from my old job. She and I spent countless late nights and busy shifts together, always laughing and venting about our days when we arrived home.
Hey, Nikki! I know it’s been ages, but I follow Chic TV on Instagram and I saw that you and your mom won the Maui Food Festival! Congratulations!! So incredibly happy for you both! And I’m super excited to see that you’re going to be in a commercial too! Just wanted to say that I’ve been rooting for you this whole time and I’m so, so proud of you
With teary eyes, I find the last text she sent me, which was more than eight months ago. I never even bothered to answer her.
MADELINE:Hey. I just want you to know that I’m still thinking of you. Always. I don’t mean to bother you when you’re grieving, but please reach out when you’re ready. Take all the time you need, okay? I’ll always be here for you, Nikki.
My eyes burn. When I blink, a tear falls. But I’m not sad. I’m hopeful. If spending time with Penelope has shown me anything, it’s that friendship is worth the effort.
I can still have my friend back. All I have to do is reach out. And that’s exactly what I do. I open Instagram again and reply to her message.
Hey, Madeline. Thank you so much. You have no idea what it means that you reached out to meI know it’s been forever... I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry. Life’s been kicking my ass, but I’m figuring it out. I totally understand if you’re not up for reconnecting, but I wanted to say that I really miss you, I hope you’re doing well, and I’d love to call you sometime if you’re up for it.
I hit send and hope for a miracle.
•••
“Not again,” I mutter, looking down at my phone.
The number flashing across the screen makes me want to chuck it out the food truck window.
Still no contact from Callum. The only phone calls I seem to get lately are from bloggers wanting details about my and Callum’s failed relationship or because they want us to name-drop them during our commercial slot with Chic TV, which we’re filming at the end of the summer.
I dismiss the call and shove my phone back in my pocket. I don’t have time for this madness when I have a gaggle of nosy vloggers and wannabe paparazzi crowding my food truck space. They’ve been hanging around, cutting in front of the customers in line, shoving people aside, and shouting questions at me sporadically throughout the day.
How any of them obtained my phone number is beyond me. Apparently, some of these food vloggers in Maui are aspiring to be paparazzi scum given how ruthlessly they’ve been behaving.
The warmth of Mom’s hand on my arm is a tiny comfort. She looks up at me. “You ready to start the day,anak?”
I take a breath and nod.
When I open the window to the food truck, I’m promptly greeted with our usual line of customers. But at the very front are a handful of food vloggers I recognize from local blogs and YouTube channels elbowing one another. When they look up and see me, they shove their phones and cameras in my face.
“Nikki! Congrats on your win at the Maui Food Festival! Would you be willing to mention my blog in your commercial?” a high school–aged boy asks. I roll my eyes and say nothing.
A woman in sunglasses and a fedora shoves the high school kid to the side with her free arm, her other hand pointing her phone at my face. “Was your relationship with Callum real, Nikki? Or did you do it for the publicity?”
Mrs. Tokushige and Penelope stare daggers at the back of the fedora’s head. Seeing them show up here day after day is much-needed comfort in this madness. There are a few more questions shouted from the crowd. And then someone asks if Callum is as skilled in the bedroom as he is in the kitchen. That’s when my blood turns to magma.
I slam my hands on top of the metal countertop. “Listen the hell up!”
My shout silences every last one of the vloggers. The high schooler looks on with a shocked expression and mutters, “Yes, ma’am.”
“My personal life isn’t up for discussion. I’m also not interested in name-dropping any of you in a commercial when you’ve been harassing me and my customers every day since the festival. I’m here to cook and serve food, and you goddamn piranhas are crowding around my truck, making it impossible for my mother and me to serve our customers. Either get the hell out of the way so my customers can order, or else.”
There’s silence, followed by soft mutters. A scrawny white guy in the back of the crowd tucks his phone into his pocket and crosses his arms, stubborn written across his frown. “Or else what?”
Leaning my head back, I puff out all the hot air pent up in my body. He’s the pissant who asked about Callum’s bedroom performance. I swipe a bottle of lemon-lime soda from the counter and give it a dozen of the most violent shakes I can manage. I stomp out of the truck and up to the offending vlogger.
Even when I’m standing two inches from him, he has the audacity to smirk. But when I twist off the cap, a stream of soda smashes him square in the face. My frustration dissipates with each violent burst of carbonated liquid.
Stumbling back, he heaves a breath, then coughs. He wrings his hands, then rubs his eyes. “You have—you have no right!” he sputters.
I can’t help but laugh, then turn around to the other vloggers. They all stand with dropped jaws and wide eyes. Slowly, they back away from the spectacle I’ve created, their gazes locked on me theentire time. It’s like I’m some wild animal they’ve been warned about.
