But I would not give up on my goalof becoming the chef of my own kitchen.
I would cook out of trash cans in analley if I had to.
Just kidding.
That was a metaphor.
Nobody would eat food made intrashcans.
“Vera?” Molly asked in that small,careful voice I was coming to realize meant she was trying not to startle me.
I blinked until the world around mecame back into focus. I already knew what she was going to ask before thequestion formed in her mouth, so I cut her off at the pass. “I’m good.”
“You spaced out,” she stated theobvious, looking concerned.
I let out a sigh and told her thetruth. “I’m freaking out. This is scary.”
One corner of her mouth lifted in asmug smile. “This truck is going to be amazing. Your food is going to beamazing,” she promised. “This city is going to be crazy for you. I predict linesdown the block and hour long waits and rave reviews.”
I allowed a wobbly smile that didn’tfeel real or honest. “Everything I’ve always wanted.” I turned away before shenoticed the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes. Sarcasm wasn’t enoughto mask the truth in my words. Those were the things I honestly wanted.
Or had wanted.
Once upon a time.
Before everything went to shit.
Now I wanted them again, but on asmaller scale. Instead of a gleaming, five-star kitchen, I was settling for a shinythirty-foot galley on wheels. Instead of a fully staffed, well-oiled machine, Iwas giving up my original ambitions and taking on this endeavor solo.
I hadn’t buried myself in massivestudent loan debt to cook out of a rescued Airstream that I’d gone into evenmore debt for. But four months ago, I’d moved back home with sharpened skills,an intense year of experience and Plan B.
Foodie was Plan B.
I’d put myself through culinaryschool to become a world renowned chef. I’d fought and battled my way through amale dominated profession to work in the best restaurants around the world. I’dslaved and sacrificed to build a resume and reputation that would open doors toany kitchen I wanted. And I’d hoped and prayed that I would be able to learnfrom the best chefs, to be accepted in their circles and maybe even, hopefully,someday be considered one of them. I’d promised myself awards, Michelin starsand industry-wide respect.
Only that hadn’t happened. My dreamshad been delayed because I made a poor decision and got distracted.
I still felt distracted.
No matter how hard I’d worked overthe last year to heal, I still felt the nagging pressure on the back of myneck, the hitch in my breathing and sickly feeling deep in the pit of mystomach.
I still felt the presence I couldn’tignore hovering just over my shoulder. A dark specter I couldn’t quite see…couldn’t quite forget.
This truck, as beautiful andinspiring as she was, didn’t represent the person I thought I would become. Shewas the culmination of everything that I’d let happen to me. She was dreamsabandoned and futures lost.
And she was all I had left.
Bells jingled in the distance,drawing my attention toward the shop I shared the parking lot with—Cycle Life—when the owner stepped outside. I smiled at him since he was one of my favoritepeople on the planet. A small business guru, a total hipster in denial and myolder brother, Vann was everything I looked up to and admired. He held up hishand against the blinding sun and started walking toward Molly and me with anod.
Molly returned a halfhearted jerk ofher chin and then went to stand on the ladder so she could finish the lasttouches on Foodie. She was all confidence and comfortable-in-her-own-skin untilshe had to show someone else her work, then she became as insecure and unsureas the rest of us mere mortals.
“Hey, Vann,” I greeted before he’dmade it to the shade of the awning.
He gazed seriously, assessingMolly’s handiwork. Usually, Molly didn’t have anything to worry about. Her art wasalways perfect, her talent moving and breathtaking to anyone lucky enough tosee it. But my brother wouldn’t hold any punches, especially not for Molly. Mollyand Vann were as close to being siblings as Vann and I were. “You got the nameon it?”
Nervous energy tingled through me.“What do you think?”
Vann was super critical of everysingle situation he ever encountered. He had no filter. And he had no sense ofempathy. He always said what he meant. And he meant what he said.
