Mollywood (10 page)

“Yeah…” Cost was something else I hadn’t considered, and I wondered how much the hospitalization for delivering the babies would be. My mom had advised me to splurge on the best health plan I had access to. She’d said ‘you can’t afford
not
to, Molly. You’re the boss. If you get sick or need surgery, it could bankrupt you. Think of all those employees that depend on you.’ Fortunately, for once, I’d taken her advice. I made a mental note to thank her.

“Maybe you should reconsider that deal to make a frozen line.” Stacy was a smooth operator, slipping in her agenda like a senator with a new bill. I’d been approached by a local grocery store chain about doing a frozen version of Wrapgasmic’s biggest sellers. I hadn’t even considered it. I just told the rep I thought it sounded disgusting and hung up on him. Stacy had been very verbal about what a huge mistake she’d thought it had been.

“Smooth, Stace. I’ll be just fine without selling my soul.” I drolly replied. She lifted her shoulders in a cheeky shrug.

“So Joe’s gotta be freaking out, right?” Stacy handed me a bottle of water as I climbed into my car. I leaned back and cracked the lid, forcing myself to drink a half of it, I’d been warned by Dr. Myers that she might have to hospitalize me if I let myself get dehydrated.

“No. He’s not, actually.” I admitted.

“That’s a little weird.” She looked doubtful. “Most guys I know would totally lose their shit, at least at first...” I shrugged and pulled the door shut. Waving to her as she walked back to the food truck I put the car in gear and headed across town.

I considered her comment as I drove through lunch hour traffic to location two. Even in a crisis, Joe was always my rock. I’d breeze around spontaneously doing whatever seemed like a good idea at the moment and he’d quietly ground me. But this? This was game-changing shit here and short of a momentary pause, he’d barely blinked.

Joe hadn’t always been this stoic. When we were young, he’d been painfully easy to read. In fact, Mason used to joke that Joe had the worst poker face he’d ever seen. When they were roommates, the twins banished him from their weekly poker games because, as Mason put it, ‘it was like kicking a sick puppy behind a dumpster’ taking Joe’s money.

I smiled when I thought about the kind of a jokester he’d been back in the day. Every time I was at their ramshackle hellhole they called home, Joe would do all sorts of crazy, goofy shit to make me laugh. The practical joke wars between Mason, Mac, and Joe were still the stuff of legend, and I often found myself tangled up in the fray.

Since I’d come back to town and we’d rediscovered each other, I found Joe to be a much darker version of his former self. One thing hadn’t changed, though; he still didn’t have much of a filter. He called it like it was. If he said something, there was usually no doubt it was what he meant. So I’d taken his reaction to fatherhood at face value. I chalked it up to him being a few years older than me, and-something I would never admit to him-more mature. Plus there was the fact that he’d been through a pregnancy before…or at least most of one. His wife had been almost full term when she’d had her accident.

I came to a stoplight and glanced around. When I realized I was at the light in front of what used to be my father’s restaurant, I nearly choked on the water I was drinking. A large ‘for sale’ sign was tacked to the building where our Hildebrandt’s sign used to stand. Seeing it vacant and neglected, I felt a painful squeeze in my chest. The cement was cracked and weeds sprouted from the small fissures. The turquoise paint was chipping on the outdoor patio my father had once been so proud of. I glanced in the rearview mirror and seeing that no one was behind me, I quickly pulled off and parked on the side of the street.

I wandered over to the front porch of the restaurant and climbing the solid stairs, I peeked into the window. From what I could see, whoever had bought the place from my mom hadn’t done much to change the interior. I’d heard that it had been another barbecue joint, but they hadn’t even made a go of it for a year. The new owners hadn’t been able to get mom to sell them dad’s recipes, and I’d always admired her decision to hold onto them. They were dad’s legacy and didn’t belong in the hands of strangers.

Mom and I were the only ones who knew his entire process and all the ingredients to his sauces and rubs. The twins hadn’t learned about the back of the house affairs. They’d never been interested in working in the kitchen, but they’d both taken their turns as servers, mostly in order to meet girls. I, on the other hand, had worked in the kitchen with dad every summer from the time I was old enough until I went off to culinary school. I begged to do it year ‘round, but mom had been afraid my grades would suffer and she was probably right about that.

Descending the stairs, I walked around to the outdoor dining patio and gasped in shock at its state of disrepair. I remembered with startling clarity how my brothers and Joe had helped dad’s contractor build it the summer after they all graduated from high school. I dutifully brought trays of lemonade and sweet tea out for them. I might have been a bit overenthusiastic, since it was an excuse to drool over Joe, who spent most of the job shirtless. Trust me; even at age eighteen, Joe had been something to see.

Finally, my constant presence had become obnoxious enough that Mason barked at me to get lost and called me ‘a pain in the ass’. Mac had laughed about it, which at age fourteen was way more humiliating to me than Mason’s rebuke. I remembered rushing back inside the empty restaurant just before I burst into angry and embarrassed tears. My dad found me with my head down in the back booth and pulled me into a hug.

“Shhhh. Don’t cry, Mollybelle. Ignore Mason and Mac.” He’d whispered pulling out that infectious smile of his. “They’re just trying to look cool for the guys. Come on. Help me check the briskets. Mom will be here soon and you can help her slice the pecan pies.”

The vivid memory of Daddy choked me up and suddenly many images of him assaulted me. His outrageous laugh that people always compared mine to. His dimpled grin. His wavy hair and silly comb over that I was sure Mason would be imitating soon. The memories sliced me like sharp glass.

A lot of the time, I think my Dad had been at a loss with what to do with a daughter. He only had brothers and most of his cousins were male. Our bonding time was spent in the kitchen, and that was alright with me. My biggest regret besides marrying my ex was moving away and missing Daddy’s last few years of life. If I had to do it all over again, I’d have stayed closer to home for culinary school and worked alongside him in the family joint. Hindsight was always 20/20.

I realized my children would never have a chance to know him and it was like I’d lost him all over again. This epiphany really choked me up and I had to sit down on the dilapidated patio and just breathe for a couple of minutes. Daddy’s absence for my journey into parenthood hadn’t occurred to me until that moment, and I was powerless to stop the tears that followed.

About twenty minutes later I pulled up to truck two. When I climbed aboard the much bigger Wrapgasmic truck, Sanchez greeted me with a giant bear hug.

“Congrats, Little Mama!” He grinned, and Carly and Isaac both smiled from ear to ear. A genuine giggle escaped me, but I wanted to strangle Stacy for not letting me break the news myself. “So much for sampling that case of wine we shipped you.”

“Thanks, Sanch.” I replied with a wink. “Wine keeps.”

“I knew you were P.G.” Carly stated, looking smugly from me to Isaac. “You owe me ten dollars.”

I wanted to tell her there was no way she could have known shit, since Joe and I were
there
and didn’t suspect it, but I figured it was a pointless conversation and let it drop.

“So how was Napa?” I turned back to Dirty S. in a hurry to change the subject. “Did you have a good time? Get any culinary inspiration?”

“It was his
honeymoon
, Molly! Of course he had fun!” Isaac cracked, and Sanchez turned as red as the food truck’s paintjob.

“I tried a new recipe today. Want me to make you one?” He replied, as eager as I was to shift the conversation back to business.

“Damn straight!” I replied, putting on an apron in order to get a front row view to his demonstration. Sanchez proceeded to paint the inside of a wrap with garlic parmesan butter and assemble a pasta bolognaise wrap. He’d chopped the pasta into smaller, manageable bites before folding the bolognaise sauce in, and I was proud of my star pupil for intuitively getting the texture issue.

“Voila!” He handed me his invention and I eagerly bit into it.

“Oh, Sanchez!’ I cried after several seconds of savoring the superb flavors, “I think I’ll retire and put you in charge.”

“Hell no. He’s way stricter than you are.” Isaac chimed in and I snorted.

“Can you email me the recipe so I can teach it to truck one? We’ll call it “Bangin’ Bolognaise. In honor of your Napa
experience
.” I smirked and Isaac cackled. Sanchez let out an embarrassed groan, but his proud smile told me he was pleased that his creation had made the menu. One of the great things about the business I ran was that my hand picked employees let me get away with what would probably otherwise be considered sexual harassment.

“I have another one to add to the breakfast menu.” He offered softly, as I took another mouthful of the delicious wrap. I had to stop after three bites because I knew I’d be hurting if I kept eating.

“Outstanding. Can I try it tomorrow? I really need to fly. Joe and I are breaking the baby news to his sister tonight.

“Sure.” He replied. “I’ll be here at six a.m. Thought I’d do a test batch and see what the customers thought.”

“Do your thing, Dirty S. I trust you. And I’ll be here by seven…so save me one.”

Checking my phone I saw I had a text from Joe reminding me of when we need to leave. I hurried back to the apartment feeling sticky from the warm weather I wanted a cool shower and to change before we headed out to Driftwood to meet Tamryn’s family for dinner.

I stood staring into the closet for a good ten minutes before I decided comfort would win out over vanity. I’d just finished tossing on my lilac maxi dress and flat silver sandals when I heard Joe unlock the front door.

“Hey.” I called out, and headed into the living room to greet him.

“Hey.” He met me in the hall and gave me a swift peck on the lips. “I’m going to change really fast.”

“Sounds good.” I replied, trying to muzzle my disappointment at his cool greeting. Since I had a couple extra minutes, I returned to my vanity. I scrunched my damp hair and spritzed on a bit of perfume. I put on a quick coat of mascara and a little lip gloss. My eyes traveled to the heart-shaped wooden box propped on my vanity that Joe had hand carved for me the previous Christmas. It’d taken me a few days to figure out how to open the puzzle box, but once I finally did, I found a gold heart necklace inside. On the inner bottom surface, he’d carved ‘Joe loves Molly’ as if he was carving it into a tree. I traced my fingers longingly over his words and quickly put the necklace around my neck.

By the time I was done, Joe was already in his dress jeans. I leaned against the doorframe and admired his perfect bare back. Watching him shrug into his black collared shirt was like watching soft-core porn.

“So both my crews know.” I announced, mostly to fill the resounding silence in the room.

He caught my eye in the mirror. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” I replied. “Stacy has a mighty big mouth.”

“How’d they like Napa Valley?” His conversational tone had me on high alert. It was stilted and far too polite.

“Sounds like they had a great time. I’m kinda jealous.” I kept my voice playful.

“Good. That’s what honeymoons are for.” I wondered if this was an intentional dig at me for not agreeing to his not quite marriage proposal.

I sat down on the bed as I watched him slip on his boots. “Where’d you go on your honeymoon?”

He froze, looking up at me for a couple of seconds as if I was a bomb and he was trying to decide which wire to cut. At first, I wasn’t sure he’d answer me. He took a deep breath before responding. “Sandals, Nassau.”

I nodded, imagining Joe rolling around in the sand with his perfect Barbie Doll wife. “Sounds nice.”

He stood upright and crossed to the bed, offering me his hand. I took it and allowed him to help me up. His earthy green eyes dropped to the thin gold chain around my neck. He reached out like he was going to touch my cheek and with a complex frown he pulled away at the last second.

“We’d better get on the road.” He turned and walked out of the room, leaving me speechless.

It was a quiet trip out to Driftwood. I’d tried to get into the driver’s seat of my car, but Joe shook his head and took the keys from me. Frankly, I hated driving in Austin, so I was relieved. The rolling hills made for lovely scenery on the way out of town, and I allowed my mind to wander back to the business and logistical concerns the crews had voiced earlier.

We turned into the graveled parking lot and pulled up next to the fence facing the vineyard. The familiar smell of our favorite place failed to excite me the way it usually did. Our first date had been here at The Salt Lick. We’d been back once a month since then, but the invisible wall between us killed the mood. I undid my seatbelt and opened the door before he’d even put the car in park,

I felt his hand on my elbow and I froze in my seat, waiting to be scolded for being careless or perhaps immature.

“I love you.” He sounded somehow exasperated and sincere simultaneously. I turned to survey his face. He’d apparently developed a poker face after all, because I had no idea what to make of his complicated expression.

“I love you, too.” I exhaled, unable to mask my frustration. It had been a long time since I’d felt so alone, and the fact that I felt it with Joe was devastating. I clambered out of the passenger seat and headed in the direction of the tantalizing smoke smell. I choked back the lump forming in my throat. I wouldn’t ruin this moment for Joe by collapsing into tears like a blubbering idiot. He caught up to me long before we were at the door and his arm came around me. He tenderly kissed my temple, and I felt a pang of regret for being so reactionary.