along the back way, turn the corner at the last food truck in the row, and stop dead in my tracks. A dozen people stand with their phones pointed at me. I have no idea how long they’ve been standing there recording my and Callum’s blowout, but even if they just caught that last little bit, they’ve captured a gold mine.
I blink and register Callum scowling at our audience.
“Fuck off,” he booms.
The crowd disperses like cockroaches scattering at a beam of light. The damage is done though. That will be uploaded to countless blogs in no time. We’ll be island gossip for sure. Who knows the effect it will have on the rest of today.
I head back to the truck and grab the nearest pair of tongs. It’s a minute before I even notice Mom standing perfectly still in front of me, not moving.
“Anak.” Her voice is even, calm. It’s not the uplifting tone it normally is, and it’s so damn unnerving.
I ignore the ache in my chest, the burn in my eyes, and focus on the scene in front of me: people standing at our truck, waiting to order food. Like a robot, I take their orders.
“Anak,” she repeats, her voice softer this time. “I heard shouting behind the truck. What was all that about?”
“Nothing.” I don’t bother to look up. My gaze is fixed on cash-filled hands outstretched at the counter. I have orders to take, food to prepare, a festival full of people to serve. There is no room for anything else.
“Nikki, I think you should—”
“Not now, Mom.” My tone is so hard, the customer in front of me flinches.
The sound of her defeated sigh hits my ears. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her walk back to the fryer.
I gaze up at the customer, who’s staring at me wide-eyed. I take the money from his outstretched hand and dispense more orders. Another second passes. Somehow, some way, tears don’t fall, and I’m grateful. Falling apart for the rest of today is not an option. I’ve already lost my cool during the biggest event of my career. I can’t cry too.
And I don’t. Every time the burn hits my eyes, every time my chest squeezes tighter and tighter, I breathe in.
Not now.
It’s a mantra I silently repeat to myself over and over until the last customer leaves and the festival comes to an end.
Not now. Not ever.
Chapter 19
I toss the last of the supplies into the truck and shut the back door before spinning around and taking in the view. Every booth is empty, and every food truck has pulled away. I’m the only one left. I stretch my neck before checking my phone and see a text from Mom.
Made it home safe. Mrs. Tokushige said you did a wonderful job today! So proud of you, anak!
Thankfully, Mom didn’t put up a fight when I asked Mrs. Tokushige to give her a ride home after the festival while I stayed to clean up. I think she could tell by my frosty demeanor and the way I made zero chitchat for the rest of the day that I was barely hanging on by a thread for some mysterious reason. I needed some time alone to collect myself. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing for the past three hours since the festival ended. I offered to stay and pack everything up myself because I wanted the alone time to process the tailspin of the last several hours.
Everything festival-wise was a dream. Customers raved about our food. I lost count of how many people stopped by and said they voted for us. It was a heartening distraction from what a disaster I was on the inside. Even though I managed to maintain my professionalism the whole rest of the day at the festival, the damage was done. The Maui food scene now knew what I’d been up to in my personal life these past couple of months. Every time I took an order and handed out a plate of food, I wondered what that person was thinking. Were they at my truck because they genuinely wanted to enjoy our food? Or was I a sideshow to them? Were they only there to gawk at me because they heard about Callum’s and my soap opera breakup?
I shove open the driver’s side door and push away the thought. It doesn’t matter. All there is left to do now is drive home, down a cold beer, and pass out