The Caterer

Chapter 5

T HE PARK OUTSIDE THE FOOD TRUCK was quiet, the lunch rush coming soon enough. Alice unwrapped the toppings for the street tacos: cilantro, pickled red onions, various salsas and slaws, chopped mango, and sliced lime. The fresh loaves for the sandwiches sat ready next to the panini maker. Valencia sang “America” from West Side Story in Spanish as she sliced the steak they’d need later. Pork shoulders left to marinate all night now cooked slowly in a pot on the griddle.

Alice oversaw the “front” of the truck: the prep and steam tables, finishing touches, and the window. The back half of the truck—the stovetop, fryer, and griddle, were Valencia’s domain. Somehow over the last few months they learned to dance around each other. At first, Alice did not get the small cut out near the window, shouldn’t every available surface area be utilized for counters? The alcove became a kind of oasis, a place for her to be out of the way. The inside of the truck was the pale red of Cuban clay, Valencia’s father’s favorite color from his home country .

They worked together at Cornelia’s restaurant before Val left to take care of her ailing father and they lost touch. She ran into Val the year before at a mutual friend’s birthday. Valencia at the time was trying to process the death of her father. Alice faced yet another executive chef who offered to hire her as a station chef if she slept with him. She was thinking of moving on from the industry altogether and might have if she had not seen Val that night. They sat on the back porch and complained about the closed doors before them. Offhandedly Alice mentioned the idea of the food truck, the trend just starting to take over D.C. Something clicked, a light filled Valencia’s date-colored eyes, and she pulled up her swing skirt to sit on her knees. For the first time in years, a smile graced her square face. They launched their food truck at the Drag Queen Race near Dupont just before Halloween. The excitement that night told Alice maybe they were onto something.

Alice leaned toward the window, scanning the park across from the food truck. She sucked her lips, thinking about her date with Delany. Was it a date? They got dinner at the bar and then dessert. He made her laugh, something unassuming about him. They talked about why they loved D.C. Delany told her about playing in the Beijing Olympics. They stood on the sidewalk after, Alice delaying getting a cab.

“This was a fun, unexpected night.” Delany slid his hands into his pockets.

“Can I see your cell phone?” Alice didn’t know why she felt so bold, except the three drinks helped. He slid it from his pocket and unlocked it. Alice keyed her number in, Delany smiling to himself. “Call me sometime.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek before stepping back and hailing a cab. Tabby asked about her night the next day at breakfast, Alice saying she’d been with Val. She wasn’t ready to tell her sister about what happened. He had yet to call, Alice trying not to drive herself crazy figuring out if she did something wrong .

“Mi querida,” Valencia said from her place at the cutting board. “I found her.”

“Her?” Alice stood fully and leaned on the counter.

“Mi mamá.”

“Where?”

Valencia had been trying to find her mother since before her father passed away. He gave few details on how or why he ended up a single father.

“She’s in Spain, married with another family. I emailed her over the weekend. She asked me to come see her.”

“When?” Maybe Valencia could go in the winter. Alice should be able to manage the truck by herself, things quieter during the winter months.

“She asked if I could come this summer.” Valencia sucked her bottom lip. Even without makeup, Val turned heads. Delicate features, pomegranate lips. Her curly black hair usually tucked under a wrap. “I can tell her no…”

“Hello?” A man’s voice broke into the moment.

“Let me think about it.” Alice faced the man and got his order. Steak sizzled on the grill, the air permeated with garlic and onions. Alice looked over the man to the mostly empty park behind him. What would it mean if Valencia left the food truck?

The chaos of the lunch rush kept her from thinking. She diced more cilantro and jalape?os, refilled the items in her prep table. They were just starting to get a following, people recommending the food truck to their friends. Alice kept their Facebook and MySpace pages up to date, used Twitter to tell people where they were. A year from now, she might be able to hire help. But how could she deny her friend the chance to meet the one person she’d been looking for all her life, the last family member she could have, because it was an inconvenient time for their business? Valencia processed her grief via cooking, one reason the food truck was doing so well, but what if getting to know the other half of who she was helped Valencia heal and feel less alone?

When things quieted, Alice went to update the board out front with what they still had available. They painted the outside of the food truck an ocean-blue with various colored hibiscus. Valencia’s father brought her to the U.S. as a little girl to escape the regime. He got a job cleaning at the local community college, but his true passion was food. He taught his little flower everything he knew.

Alice could not work the truck by herself. They were only able to make it work now because Val had her inheritance, and Alice lived at Tabby’s for free. One word, and Valencia would cancel her trip. Wait a year, save some money, and then go be with her mother’s family. Only Alice could never ask her to do that.

“You okay?” Harry touched her shoulder causing her to jump.

“Val’s leaving.” She stopped, unwilling to lament to Harry Clarks. “I’m fine. What are you doing here?” She stood fully, the motion causing Harry to pull back his hand.

“I was in the area. What do you recommend?”

Their menu featured street tacos, sandwiches, and traditional Cuban rice and meat dishes, all with a reimagined twist.

“Everything Val makes is amazing.” She raised her voice in hopes that Valencia might pop her head out, but either she couldn’t hear her or was content to avoid the frat boy as much as Alice wished she could.

“I just saw your sister.” Harry looked over his shoulder at the building that held Tabby’s office. “She’s wound tight.”

“Well two years of your life, your reputation, and the financial security of your family might leave you a bit stressed out.”

He laughed. “I’m not as bad as you think, Lil.”

“I’m not as na?ve as you hope. Are you eating? The second rush is coming.” She headed for the back of the truck, her culinary reboot dead before it ever began. Harry reached for her arm.

“I want to talk to you about your catering company.” His grip eased. Alice’s breath caught in her throat. “I want to invest. My dad can get you booked solid for a year. I believe in what you’re trying to do, Lil.”

On paper, it looked like an ideal offer. It would give her the money to cook what she wanted— have fun with food. But nothing Harry offered came without conditions, and it would give him a reason to be around more. Besides, she hated his father, disagreed with everything his lobbying firm pushed through Congress. A perfect opportunity she could never look at herself in the mirror for taking. There had to be another way.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

“How do I get you to trust me?” An edge of pain filled his voice. She studied his eyes, barely visible under his aviator sunglasses, unsure why he cared about her opinion.

“Do right by my sister.” Alice tilted her head and went into the truck. Valencia took Harry’s order and got to work. By the time Alice returned to her post, two more customers waited. The second rush had begun.

Two hours later, she helped put away leftovers and wash the dishes.

“I think you should go.” Alice leaned on the counter and crossed her arms. “I know how important this is to you. I’ll figure something out.”

“Are you sure, mi querida?” Valencia closed the small refrigerator before she faced Alice and put her hands on her arms. “I can stay.”

“Go. Meet your mom and your half siblings, enjoy Spain and if you come back—bring some ideas for this place.”

“I am coming back.”

“Or you’ll travel the world and meet some lovely French girl and settle down.” She tried to hold back her emotion. Her brain screamed at her to beg for more time, to ask Valencia to wait. “I want you to do this.” She put on her most convincing smile. Valencia hugged her, thanking her over and over. Alice held her and closed her eyes. What if she couldn’t make it on her own? What if she had to close the food truck and go back to being a station chef? She hugged Valencia tighter, unsure how to handle having a dream she just started to appreciate pulled from her.

“I’ll send you pictures and recipes.” Valencia’s smile took over her entire face, her cheeks wet. “Thank you, Alice.”

She could only nod. Valencia went back to cleaning, singing to herself.

Alice opened the door to Tabby’s apartment, ready for a long bath and some quiet. Just let her have a bit of time to process what changed. She set her bag on the bench by the front door. Tabby hated clutter, but life with two kids taught her to have places for things to go. Each of the twins, plus Alice, had a bin for their items in the bench by the door. A spot between the bench and the wall to the dining room waited for Alice’s collapsible bike. Paul negotiated the concession after Alice refused to risk her bike being stolen from the rack outside, and Tabby refused to have the dirt on the carpet in the bedroom.

Across from the bench was Alice’s bedroom door. She shared a bathroom with the twins, who were now in bunk beds in Mac’s room. Just beyond their room was Tabby’s office, then the kitchen and living room. The extra space beyond the faux industrial kitchen was supposed to be the dining room, but Tabby loved to entertain and have a designated place for the kids to be. They could run around the island with its chairs and watch TV and confine their chaos to a room with everything the sitter could need, while the adults got to talk and sip wine in the private living, now, dining room. The master bedroom sat off the kitchen. The only bedroom with windows, the other side of the apartment an inward facing wall.

The darker oak accents contrasted lighter paint and clear glass light coverings. Off-white subway tiles filled the kitchen and bathroom walls, lighter hardwood floors throughout. Tabby tried to fill the bland space with paintings of colorful flowers or photos of Aruba from their honeymoon.

Alice’s bedroom was soft pink. Annie picked the color when she was five and now pleaded to change it, maybe once Alice moved out. The space was barely bigger than the queen bed and bedside table in it. Alice left her furniture in her apartment; most of it from IKEA held little meaning to her. When she moved home, she’d figure out what to do with it all.

Alice sat on the bench and slipped off her Keds. Tabby’s high-pitched shout floated out of the kitchen. The twins sat at the dining room table, banished so their parents could talk. Annie sighed from her place.

“What happened?” Alice put her hand on Annie’s head, who looked up from her book, her overly curly date colored hair pulled into twin knots on the back of her head. She had Paul’s sky-blue eyes and was built long and thin like her mother.

“Mom’s in a mood,” Mac said from the other side of the table, where he played on his console. With his shaggy almond-colored hair down to his chin, he was a spitting image of Tabby growing up, not that Alice told him that. Somehow, Mac convinced his father to help lobby the private school they attended to veto their hair policy. Mac’s long locks were his form of rebellion against the micromanaging tendencies of his mother. Still, he had Tabby’s long face and button nose and the same dark blue eyes.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Alice put her knee on the chair beside Annie and leaned on the back. She hoped to talk to Tabby about the food truck. Maybe it was hasty to turn down Harry’s offer, but it didn’t sit right with her, and she wasn’t willing to admit she was that desperate.

“Moe reneged his offer to sell his shares.” Annie said, most likely quoting her mother.

“Did he say why?”

Annie shook her head.

“Harry and Carrie were there too. Mom’s all freaked out.” Mac added.

They were probably there to see if they could help. Her sister was notorious for making something out of nothing. They could all breathe easier over the weekend.

“Hey, Lil.” Paul came into the room. Tabby must have started her rant before he could get changed from work because Paul rarely wore a suit outside the office. He cocked his head and widened his eyes, and Alice laughed to herself.

“I’ll tell you what, if you and your sister never learn to trust anyone, you’ll both go through life alone. Not everyone is out to get you.”

“What do I have to do with this?” She stood and crossed her arms, her heart racing. Paul laughed and undid his tie with tiny lemons on it.

“Not every restaurant owner is Jonas.”

“You’re right, but some idiot decided to hit the one exception on his bike and leave him on the side of the road in Rock Creek Park.”

“What happened?” Mac’s gaze shot up from his game, his eyes wide.

“Nothing, play your game. Why did Moe revoke his offer?”

“Ask your sister. Do you all want pizza for dinner?”

“Angelo’s?” Mac asked.

“Let me change and we can go.” Paul walked toward his bedroom.

“Are you okay, Aunt A?” Annie asked. Alice nodded and decided to risk her sister’s ire to find out what happened. The island filled the space on the left, stainless steel appliances along the two walls in front of it. A gaudy chandelier hung above the stainless sink in the island. Pantry cabinets filled the wall between the entry and the door to the bedroom. There were windows on either side of the fireplace along the far wall, an L-shaped leather couch in front of it.

Tabby leaned against the dishwasher studying the window, a bottle of white wine open on the island. At least she hadn’t reached for Paul’s whiskey, things could not be that dire. News played on the TV above the fireplace. Alice reached for the bottle and dragged it on the island. Tabby did a once-over on her.

“Did you get all of your crops harvested?”

“What got you in a mood?” Maybe she should find the whiskey.

“Mo Mo’s acting all jittery. Offered me his shares Friday, holding them with an iron fist today.”

“Did you ask Carrie about it?” Alice poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the island. Tabby started a rebuke, but then sighed. Alice smiled to herself.

“No. She and Mo Mo went out for a two-hour lunch. It’s weird because she didn’t come to see me. But I guess she met some imbecile with half a brain at the party Friday night and thinks it’s love.”

“It’s never love with her; it’s a warm bed and money.” Alice finished her glass. She angled down the counter and refilled Tabby’s glass. Her sister leaned on the island close to her and took a long drink.

“Paul tells me I’m being paranoid. The launch is Thursday and I want it to go well.”

“It will. Moe is good, Tabs. Don’t read into things. He’s working twenty-hour days right now.”

“I guess you’re right. ”

The kids poured into the kitchen, both talking about Angelo’s. Alice slipped off the island and raised her hand over her head as she walked to her room. Her sister’s blue heeler, Taco, trailed after her. Please let whatever’s going on with Moe and the others be all in Tabby’s head.