Page 152 of Until August
Can you please make sure my little brother’s heart is good and strong? He’s so small, and I kind of want to have him around for a long time.
And can you bring my dad something to make him happy? Like Nicola did.
There was more to it, but this kid… he sure as hell knew how to tug at the old heartstrings.
“Guess we’ll see,” I said in answer to his question.
I tasted the spicy mango glaze for the wings and added more honey. Then whipped up the habanero mayo.
Thanks to Ari’s social media skills, I’d had long lines from the day I opened this food truck.
I was a one-man show. A nomadic chef on wheels.
My menu changed almost daily. As did my location. Today I had a spot in front of an office building across from the marina.
My daily dose of Nicola came from her brother, who climbed into the truck and fist-bumped Sage. “Hey, little buddy. What you got there?”
“Here. Try it.” Sage held his burger up for Luca, who leaned down and took a big bite.
“Shit. That’s good.”
“Watch the language,” I said half-heartedly while I prepared my shrimp empanadas.
“You need some help?” Luca asked, coming to stand next to me. He picked up a container and gave it a sniff. “Is that ceviche?”
I side-eyed him. “Don’t you have a restaurant to run?”
“Yeah. Just wanted to stop by and say hi.” He sighed, tasted my ceviche, and sighed again, then leaned his hip against the metal counter, watching me chop chilis.
It was an invitation, a silent plea.Ask me about Nicola.
For the past two months, I’d tried to shove thoughts of her out of my head. Big surprise that it never worked.
If I had a penny for every time I thought about her in a day, I’d have enough to get out of this food truck and open my own restaurant.
I didn’t want to ask, but the masochist in me prevailed. “Okay, I’ll bite. How is she?”
He shook his head and let out another weary sigh. “I think she’s losing it, man.”
Nicola carried a lot of guilt. So I knew this had to be ripping her apart and weighing heavy on her shoulders. “Can you blame her?”
“Guess not,” Luca said with another sigh. “But she’s been coming to work and acting like nothing is wrong. She’s been working non-stop since the day after she lost him. Tell me that’s not freaky.”
I kept my mouth shut, but I knew work was her coping mechanism.
“I don’t even think she’s sleeping,” he continued. “Last night, I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and I heard noises from downstairs, so I went to investigate. She was making sugar cookies. Like, dozens of them. When I asked her why she was making sugar cookies in the middle of the night, she said, ‘It’s a Christmas tradition. Cruz and I always make them before Christmas.’ Like, what the fuck, man? It’s like she’s pretending that Cruz is away on a business trip and he’ll be home soon.”
What the hell was I supposed to do about any of this?
I was the jilted lover. Couldn’t anyone see that I was the wrong person to confide in?
But no. Luca kept talking like this was a therapy session, and I was the man who would help Nicola face reality and mourn the death of her husband.
“She had a big fight with our parents when they insisted on planning a funeral for Cruz, and now she’s refusing to speak to them.”
He went on and on until finally, after he’d gotten it all off his chest, he clapped me on the shoulder and said, “Thanks for listening, man. Gotta run.”
Yeah, you do that. Take off and leave me holding the baggage.
