with tofu, not so much, so I say let’s eighty-six the tofu pansit and officially add the veggie one to the roster for the Maui Food Festival.”
She sips from her glass of water. “That sounds fine.”
I scribble a note on the pad lying on the counter. “We’ll keep a few old favorites, of course, like the lumpia and the chicken adobo wings. Any sort of finger food will be easier for people to eat when they’re walking around.”
She swats away a fly zeroing in on a nearby basket of ice cream bananas, nods, then rests her chin in her hand.
“What do you think of adding the veggie lumpia to the roster too?” I ask.
Roles have somehow reversed between us. Now I’m the one in full-on work mode all day, every day, our menu for the Maui Food Festival at the front of my mind always. Mom has taken a page out of my book and has been telling me to relax on a daily basis.
She frowns at me. “Sit down.” She pats the stool next to her. I walk over and plop down.
This is the first time since driving the food truck to and from Makena that I’ve sat all day. Energy is coursing through me like electricity. I want to spend every free minute I have perfecting our recipes for the festival. Callum’s blatant pity at the farmer’s market was the boost I didn’t know I needed. I refuse to lose our spot to him. And until we secure victory, I can’t relax, unwind, or think about anything other than our food and how that ties into our future. It weighs like an anvil on my mind.
She puts her hand on top of mine, which rests on the white tile counter. “You’ve been working so hard lately.”
“I want to make sure everything is perfect,” I say. “We’ve got a lot riding on this.”
“When’s the last time you went out and did something fun? Something that wasn’t about work or cooking or the festival?”
I open my mouth, but can’t think of a single thing to say. Other than a handful of leisurely swims at the beach to clear my head, I haven’t taken a break. Not once.
She responds with that knowing expression all moms seem to have. “All those times you tell me that I need to relax and do something fun to unwind, and yet you don’t do it yourself.”
I cross my arms. “That’s different. I’m almost thirty. This is the time to push myself and work hard. You’ve spent a lifetime doing that, Mom. You need the rest more than I do.”
“Everyone needs rest. Everyone needs to have fun.”
“Working is fun for me.”
It’s only a half lie. I love seeing how our food truck business has grown. I love coming up with new recipes and seeing our customers go gaga over them. I love what she and I accomplish every day we work together.
But there’s another part of me. The carefree part that used to spend days off hiking, bar crawling with friends, and napping. I’ve been ignoring that part for the past year and a half. Slowing down wasn’t an option when we had medical bills, a funeral to pay off, and Mom’s savings to replenish.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from admitting all this out loud. Of course it would be nice to indulge in a free day. I could hike one of the trails at Haleakala. Or finally make it to the Pipiwai bamboo forest and see if it’s as stunning in person as it is in every single photo I’ve seen.
She frowns at me, the tan patch of skin between her dark eyebrows barely wrinkling. “Oh, don’t give me that. You make me take days off from work so I can play mahjong with my friends and go to book club.”
Reaching across the counter for her phone, she swipes across the screen, then slides it to me. “Now I’m making you.”
I focus on the image, which is an airline logo. The letters “LHR” don’t sink in at first, but then a second later, it registers. Heathrow Airport. A flight to London.
I squint up at her. “Mom, what in the world is this?”
She pats my shoulder before hopping off the stool. “You’re going to London for a week to visit Auntie Nora and Uncle Nigel.”
“Um, what?”
She runs a hand through my loose waves. “You deserve to go on a vacation. You’ve been working nonstop ever since you moved here to help me