Page 83 of Simmer Down
Not now. Not ever.
Chapter 19
I toss the last of the supplies into the truck and shut the back door before spinning around and taking in the view. Every booth is empty, and every food truck has pulled away. I’m the only one left. I stretch my neck before checking my phone and see a text from Mom.
Made it home safe. Mrs. Tokushige said you did a wonderful job today! So proud of you, anak!
Thankfully, Mom didn’t put up a fight when I asked Mrs. Tokushige to give her a ride home after the festival while I stayed to clean up. I think she could tell by my frosty demeanor and the way I made zero chitchat for the rest of the day that I was barely hanging on by a thread for some mysterious reason. I needed some time alone to collect myself. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing for the past three hours since the festival ended. I offered to stay and pack everything up myself because I wanted the alone time to process the tailspin of the last several hours.
Everything festival-wise was a dream. Customers raved about our food. I lost count of how many people stopped by and said they voted for us. It was a heartening distraction from what a disaster I wason the inside. Even though I managed to maintain my professionalism the whole rest of the day at the festival, the damage was done. The Maui food scene now knew what I’d been up to in my personal life these past couple of months. Every time I took an order and handed out a plate of food, I wondered what that person was thinking. Were they at my truck because they genuinely wanted to enjoy our food? Or was I a sideshow to them? Were they only there to gawk at me because they heard about Callum’s and my soap opera breakup?
I shove open the driver’s side door and push away the thought. It doesn’t matter. All there is left to do now is drive home, down a cold beer, and pass out in bed to avoid thinking about how Callum and I are done forever.
“Nikki!” a voice shouts from behind me.
I spin around and spot Penelope jogging toward me. I hop back out of the truck and start to ask what’s wrong, but she cuts me off, pulling me down into another one of her death hugs.
“You did it!” she yells, her voice giddy.
She breaks the hug, grips me by the shoulder, and holds me in front of her.
I stare at her painfully wide smile and try to muster a small one of my own. “Did what?”
She shoves her phone an inch from my face. “You and your mom! You got the highest score at the festival! Look!”
My stomach leaps up my chest when I focus on the screen. At the top of the Maui Food Festival webpage are the results of the poll. Tiva’s Filipina Kusina sits at the top in bright red letters, the number ninety-seven next to our name. My breath comes out in a huff. I can’t make words.
“Holy... wow...”
I don’t let myself blink when I look at the results. I don’t want that bright red number going anywhere.
Still grinning wide, Penelope nods her head while laughing giddily. “Hell yes, holy wow! You freaking did it!”
Slowly, I nod my head. Processing is still a struggle, but after another few seconds of Penelope’s giddy squeals and congratulations, it finally sinks in. We won. Mom and I, we did it. We established ourselves as the top eatery on the island, beating every other restaurant and food truck in the festival. We just won twenty thousand dollars. Nothing else even close to matters.
I wait for the wave of emotion to hit, for the joy, the relief, the adrenaline rush of success to paint me from the inside out. But it never comes. Inside every muscle is tense. My blood pumps like slow-moving sludge. There is not one iota of joy, happiness, or excitement inside of me.
“This calls for champagne!” Penelope says.
She pulls away and chatters on about a new cocktail place near her apartment. Her words fade into the background, though, the longer I stand there.
Champagne.
The last time I had champagne was with Callum, cuddled next to him on his couch, just before we screwed each other’s brains out. I’ll never, ever have champagne with him again—I’ll never have anything with him again.
Our win means he and Finn won’t share a food truck spot with us anymore.
I won’t see Callum’s face every time I look up from the truck window. I’ll never get another eyebrow wag that serves as a secret smile between us. We’ll never share another champagne-drinking contest, another kiss, another cuddle, or another flirty conversation.
Hot tears burn my eyes. Penelope doesn’t seem to notice as she’s still chattering away, looking up an address on her phone. I pull outmy phone from my pocket, call up the Maui Food Festival site, and check the results once more. And then I see it. I zero in on the text that rests below Tiva’s ranking. Hungry Chaps is in second place, scoring two points lower than us.
“Um...”
Penelope glances up at me. “What?”
I turn my phone to her, remarking just how close Callum and Finn were to beating us.
She shrugs, a look of ease lighting up her face. “A win is a win. Besides”—she beams and pats my shoulder—“he’s your boyfriend. He loves you and he’ll be happy for you, promise.”
