Simmer Down - Sarah Smith Page 0,120

trust Grace to take over cooking duties at Tiva’s when she started working at the restaurant.”

I shake my head, remembering the panicked look on Mom’s face when I suggested she join us at the restaurant and let Grace take her place at the truck. But then I assured her that Grace had spent her whole life cooking with her Filipino lola and would do the recipes justice.

“Once she tasted Grace’s pansit, she was sold,” I say. “And it helps that she still cooks at the truck once a week.”

That once-a-week shift at the food truck was a nonnegotiable for Mom.

“My name is on the truck, anak,” she said when we hammered out a schedule for Lulu’s. “I have to cook there at least once a week. Otherwise it won’t technically be Tiva’s anymore.”

I couldn’t argue with her on that.

Finn rounds the corner to the driver’s side door of his truck. “Your mum is a force of nature. The rest of us are just trying to keep up.”

Callum and I share a laugh at how true that statement is. We wave good-bye as Finn pulls out of the parking lot, then head back to the kitchen to prep for the day’s lunch and dinner service.

When we walk into the kitchen, Mom is standing at the center table, hacking away at heads of cabbage with a cleaver. She beams up at us. “Good morning, you two!”

I stop to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Callum does the same.

“You’re here early, Tiva,” he says.

She waves her hand. “I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited about this new recipe I want to try today.”

She chats about frying up pork chops and sunny-side up eggs over white rice with brown gravy.

“Sounds bloody delicious. That would make a great menu special for today,” Callum says as he stands at the far end of the metal table to crack endless eggs into a giant metal bowl. When he’s done, I’ll scramble them in a huge wok along with some bacon, peas, carrots, and white rice to make our signature fried rice.

I pat Mom on the back after bringing out more produce to chop from the walk-in. “How are things at Mrs. Tokushige’s house?”

“Oh, you know how moving goes. Empty boxes everywhere. I hope Nora and Nigel won’t mind the mess when they come visit in a few weeks.”

Three months ago, our families did a home shuffle for the record books. Callum moved out of his condo to live with me, and Grace moved in with Finn. Mom moved into the guest bedroom of Mrs. Tokushige’s giant beach house in Wailea. Not only did we blend our work lives, but our home lives are intertwined now too.

Mom moving out was a hard sell for me at first, given my control freak tendencies when it comes to her. But she was so excited when Mrs. Tokushige suggested it to her. They’re both widows and spend most of their free time together anyway. Mom said it would be like her younger years, when she roomed with her best girlfriends. But instead of spending their days clubbing and drinking and sleeping in, Mom and Mrs. Tokushige are models of the active senior lifestyle. They wake up early every morning for a three-mile power walk on the beach before Mom heads to work. When she comes home, they play cards or mahjong, go to book club, have movie nights, and cook together.

I couldn’t help but support the idea when I saw how happy it made her. And seeing her almost every day at the restaurant helps. We’re still connected and close as ever, even though we don’t live together anymore.

“And how does Sushi like living at Mrs. Tokushige’s?” Callum asks.

“Oh, he loves it.” Mom laughs as she tells us that he spends his days napping in the sun, then extensively bathing himself in the evening before gorging on food and falling asleep.

“That sounds exactly like how Chowder spends his days at Grace and Finn’s,” Callum says.

Mom’s pointed gaze passes between Callum and me. “How about you two? Enjoying the condo . . . all by yourselves?”

I fight off a cringe. Now I know how it must feel when Finn catches Callum and me making out, because I can barely handle her subtle hint for a grandbaby.

Callum’s face burns red as he studies the eggs he’s cracking.

I hold up my left hand at her. The shiny diamond on my ring finger glistens under the kitchen lights. “One step at

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