I filled out the sauce toaccommodate all the meatballs, following Killian’s additions, hating him everysecond of it. Then I showed Dad how to use the PayPal cardswiperon my phone. He practiced with his credit card while I finished the prep work.
By the time we had our firstcustomer, he’d deposited two hundred dollars of his own money into my account,claiming that he couldn’t resist the opportunity to invest in such an excitingbusiness venture.
“I’m paying you back,” I told himsternly.
He didn’t bother to take meseriously. “What for? I can’t take it with me.”
I hated that he kept referring tohis death as if it were going to happen tomorrow. I wanted him to fight hiscancer. Fight it and win.
That said, with dad helping takeorders, it was the roughest night I had so far—even worse than the first nightwhen I had to do it all myself. He loved talking to the customers, but got mostof the orders wrong or mixed up. He kept accidentally deleting apps from myphone when it sat too long, and he had to pull up the pay app on his own. Andhe ate more meatballs than I sold.
Or at least it seemed like it.
But we had so much fun. My dad wasfunny, and he kept my customers and me entertained. I didn’t remember thatabout him from my childhood. Or I guess I did, but it was in a distant way.
I had been so excited to flee thistown and his house, that I hadn’t let myself appreciate him or his sense ofhumor. I should have spent the last few years getting to know that about him,getting to know him.
Instead, I’d let myself get lockedaway. Derrek had never wanted to visit, never wanted to let me come back here.At first, I blamed his job. He was an executive chef after all. He had to worklate and be up early. He didn’t get weekends or holidays off. He couldn’t leavehis kitchen.
Later, when his abusive nature madeitself known, I realized he preferred the control. He didn’t care about myfamily and didn’t want me to care about them either. He wanted me for himself.Where he could keep an eye on me. Where he could dictate my every move andthought.
Dad had always been polite toDerrek, but just barely. I knew I hid what was really going on the few times Dadand Vann had come to visit us, but they both saw that I was unhappy.
And for those reasons I’d kept Dadat a distance. I felt like I was only just now getting to know him since I’dmoved back. But now my time with him had an expiration date. Dad was dying, andI couldn’t make up for all the time lost.
I closed the truck two hours early.I was nearly out of meatballs and Dad looked tired. Besides that,Iwas exhausted from trying to babysithim at the window and get through all those orders.
Dad helped me clean up and carrywhat I needed to my car. I walked byLilouwonderingwhat Killian would think when he came outside and I was gone. Usually, he leftbefore me.
Shaking my head, I realized howridiculous that was. He wouldn’t care. Or notice. Whatever we were, we weren’tfriends. We weren’t even enemies.
Enemies implied that we were onequal footing of some sort, but he had made it clear time and time again thathe was the superior chef. What had he called me in that note?
Pedestrian.
Dad followed me home and wentstraight to bed. He barely made it through his bedroom door before I heard thedeep rumble of his snores.
I couldn’t fall asleep easily aftera shift. I was always too amped up.
Plus, I usually smelled like theinside of a deep fat fryer. I took a shower and washed work off me, all thedifferent smells from the night and the shadow of failure I couldn’t shake.
I blamed Killian Quinn for that.
Or at least tonight I did.
After I’d put product in my hair andbrushed my teeth, I sat on my bed and pulled my laptop out. I tried not to gettoo obsessive with my business page or the reviews that popped up every otherday, but I couldn’t help it. Feedback was addicting. And thankfully, so far theresponse had been so positive that it was hard not to bask in the glow.
Besides, after putting up withKillian for two days in a row, I deserved a little glow.
There was a message waiting for me,and my heart sank when I saw that it was from James Q, the same heckler thathad originally reached out to me.
JamesQ: How’s business?He’d asked. Like he knew me.
I thought about ignoring himcompletely. But this guy had assumed I would fail from the start. He needed averbal lashing.
Or at least anI told you so.
Foodiethe Food Truck: Fantastic.It’s been better than I could have everexpected. And it had been. It wasn’t a lie.
