“Libby, don’t make me come over there.”
“You would be a really scary teacher,” Keoki told Jean.
“Excuse you, I’d be scary at a lot of things.”
“I heard they’re going to have a vacancy. At the food court in Kahuku.” Libby waited for a reaction. So far her friends mostly looked confused. “The smoothie place is closing. They were talking about it at the party I worked on Saturday. Maybe that could be… something to consider?”
“A food truck.” Keoki scratched the underside of his chin. “It’s not exactly the same as a restaurant.”
“No,” Jean agreed, her voice slow and thoughtful. “But it might be easier to get up and running. Lower start-up costs.”
“And we’d help,” Libby volunteered. “I’ve got nothing but time.” And sad feelings, but those were less helpful in launching a business.
“I’ll do your logo and shit,” Jean chimed in. “Menus, to-go boxes. We can paint the whole truck.”
“Keoki’s Kitchen could be right there next to the garlic shrimp and the mandu stand.” Keoki squinted like he was looking at the picture through a haze.
“Good smells,” Libby pointed out. “A lot of happy people.”
“Okay.” He stood and started gathering his dishes.
“That’s it?” Libby set down her notebook. “You’re going to do it? Just like that?” She might be on the risk-averse end of the spectrum, but surely this was too spontaneous. Even Jean looked taken aback.
“No. I’m going to go home and ask Cici what she thinks,” Keoki replied. “She’s way more practical than us.”
Jean stacked her plate on top of his. “With all due respect to Cici, that’s a pretty low bar.”
Chapter 29
lovelillibetThe upside of never taking care of my fingernails is that I don’t have to worry about all that money going down the drain when they get totally wrecked. I got these ragged cuticles for free, baby!
Sincerely, Libby
Image: Close-up of a hand with a bandaged knuckle, several small pink burns, and short, unpainted nails.
#goodhelpishardtofind #nailedit #manyhands #blessthismess
There were moments over the next weeks when Libby wanted to go back in time and slap her past self for suggesting Keoki open his own food truck. Not because the enterprise was cursed, unlike certain other recent schemes that sprang to mind. It was just a lot of sweaty, greasy, back-straining work.
Getting the lease was the easy part. All Keoki had to do was promise to be open for business by the end of the month. One of his cousins knew where he could find an old Airstream trailer, and he was able to source most of the cooking equipment secondhand. (There were perks to having worked in food service since your teens and being generally beloved.) They still had to rip out the interior of the trailer, retrofit it as a working kitchen, figure out the menu, clean up the lot, create a seating area, hanglights, paint signs, advertise, get permits, pass inspections, stock the pantry and refrigerator, and scrub an endless stack of pans.
That was Libby’s main memory of those days, though she did a little of everything, including press releases. And then, because the clock was running down and Keoki didn’t have time to train anyone else, she learned how to work the line, finishing dishes he’d prepped and doing the grunt work even she couldn’t mess up.
“We’re building your skills. First the crepes, now you can do a whole salad by yourself. That’s a complete meal.”
“I toss lettuce with a dressing you made. I’m not exactly Julia Child.”
“But you’re tall like Julia. Baby steps.”
Toward what? Libby didn’t ask. It was a relief not to think about her own life.
That didn’t stop her from acknowledging the irony of her current situation. Libby was doing exactly what she’d been running from in the first place—food-related manual labor—and yet she was grateful for it. The sheer physical exhaustion, the rushing around, the endless to-do list, the tangible sense of accomplishment: it made her feel better, even when she smelled worse.
If Libby had ever managed to start a real gratitude journal, she would have written:
I’m grateful for the chance to help Keoki, since I semi-ruined his life.*
*Although Mr. L would have been a weird business partner.
