Iz’s grandparents had built their own restaurant empire, starting with the original Mama O’s Tacos shop. Now Mama O’s was only beaten by Eegee’s for the number of shops spread around Tucson, and the Ochoas owned two more upscale restaurants, Los Vaqueros Steakhouse, and Nopalitos, specializing in Sonoran-style food. Ryan usually bartended at Nopalitos but had been around long enough he was a solid emergency sub at the steakhouse. Iz worked for their parents, doing all the marketing material. They would eventually strike out on their own, but for now the experience Iz earned while working for the family business was invaluable.
“I don’t know. We have a great set of bartenders right now. But wasn’t the idea to cut back so you had more time to work on your podcast?”
The podcast Ryan had been planning for the past couple of years. He could monetize it, turn it into his primary source of income. But seed money would help a fuckton.
“It was, but I need to prove to them I can make it without the trust fund. Only then will I have access to said trust fund.”
“Isn’t that circular logic?” They got out of the car, Ryan followed, and the doors slammed shut. “I mean, if you don’t need the money, then you can have the money?”
“Welcome to my world.” Ryan kicked at the rocks in the sand as they walked to the line, sending a few skittering under the truck.
“Rich people are weird.”
“Your family is rich, too.”
“Yeah, but we’re not used to it yet, so it doesn’t count. Why doesn’t your dad say what he means? Come work for me, and you can have whatever you want. Don’t and fuck you.”
“Can I help you?” the cashier asked when it was their turn, shutting Iz up for the moment.
“Hey, we’ll have two Sonorans, an order of fries, and two Mexicokes.” Ryan pulled out his wallet.
A couple minutes later, they sat down at a picnic bench under a pop-up canopy and waited for their number to be called. Ryan regretted not grabbing his favorite hoodie. He was used to the typical warm desert nights, but January was chilly once the sun went down. At least the stars shone brightly, even among the buildings of Midtown.
“I don’t get it.” Iz shook their head. “Why don’t you tell your dad what your plan is?”
Ryan glared at his friend. He could hear his father’s response. “He’d be happier with me as a bartender. At least that’s real work. Podcasting, that’s a hobby, especially a podcast about food.”
“But it’s not. You have to write, record, edit, market. Those are all valuable skills.”
“I know that, and you know that, but Alessandro DeMarco has a narrow definition of gainful employment. Podcasting is not on the list.” No matter if it was his son’s dream or not.
“Would working for your father be so awful? Just long enough for him to release your trust fund to you. Then you could do whatever the hell you wanted. I wish I had that option.”
The reality check hit Ryan in the gut, leaving him breathless for a moment. Iz’s family didn’t have the generational capital Ryan’s grandfather had mortgaged to amass the fortune his descendants currently enjoyed. Everything the Ochoas had, they had earned through hard work, luck, and Abuelo Ochoa’s preternatural business skill.
How bad could it be for Ryan to work for his family’s business for a couple of years? At thirty, he would have more than enough capital to provide a substantial cushion, no matter what he ended up doing for the rest of his life. Could he swallow his pride for two and a half years in order to live the rest of his life in comfort and freedom? Or would it kill every last creative brain cell?
Their order was ready, and Ryan collected the paper trays.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said as he returned, setting the food on the table. Iz smiled sadly. “But maybe I can get away with dating the socialite Mom keeps trying to inflict on Alex and presenting my business plan.”
“But Ry, don’t you need to have a plan before you can present it?” Iz laughed. They knew the plan was mostly in Ryan’s head and had more in common with a fever dream than a business document.
“One step at a time, Iz. Please, God, one step at a time.” Ryan smiled to take the bleak note out of his voice, and it might have worked. Maybe.
five
excellent taste
Elissa sat in her dilapidated old car, fiddling with her phone and thinking about anything other than what waited for her inside the restaurant. She needed a new car, but with so many memories attached to old Bertha, she had a hard time letting go. It had been her dad’s car all through middle and high school. She’d learned to drive with Bertha. There was still a stain in the backseat where her sister had spilled a strawberry Eegee’s slushy. Tucked in the driver’s cupholder was a Lego minifig, a gift from her brother when her dad had passed along the car. He’d insisted she needed a copilot.
She turned off the phone and put it into her plain, black clutch, but still couldn’t force herself out of the car, enjoying the gentle warmth of the desert sun that usually tried to kill her. Elissa hadn’t been on a date since her mom’s diagnosis. Life had been great in the weeks before Dana had made the phone call that began the whole mess of last year. Elissa’s live-in boyfriend had received a job offer in Denver, and she planned to tell her family she would be moving with him.
Her first instinct had been a nice Sunday dinner conversation informing them of her decision and timeline, but her mother invited her over for a random Taco Tuesday night and broke the bad news. The prognosis was good, but all Elissa heard was her mom had cancer. As soon as dinner was over, she went straight home and told Victor Denver was off the table for her, at least for now.
She hadn’t asked him to postpone his move. The job offer was too perfect to put off for a girlfriend, but she had expected some support, an attempt to make the long-distance thing work. After all, they’d been together for three years, living together for one. Instead, as the tears dripped down her face, he said he was tired of coming in second to her family and to move her stuff out of his apartment by the end of the month. She’d been dumped when she needed his comfort the most. So she moved in with her parents, another small jab that made the previous year the worst ever.
Enough procrastinating.
