Page 37 of Best Friend Burden

“Desmond wasn't even wrong,” she said. “Maybe I was the bitch for not listening to him, but you know what? This is my life. And if being with him meant I couldn't move out to California, then that wasn't the life I wanted. I dropped him in an instant after he gave me a speech about how it was impossible. Nobody gets to tell me what is and isn't possible.”

She looked at me and smiled. “Sorry,” she said. “That got real intense real quick.”

“It's okay,” I told her. It wasn’t the worst thing to get to see her fired up.

“I just have a real strong reaction to being trapped in a box,” she said. “I know I need to clean up after myself. And I will clean up after myself. Just let me have the space to do it on my own terms.”

“I think I can manage that,” I told her, but wondered if I really could. It hadn't felt like I was bossing her around or controlling her, just trying to get her to do the responsible thing and take care of the mess she made. Already, I was worried about pushing her away inadvertently. It was hard enough to find someone in this world that you liked enough to spend time with. Having to keep them from running away only made it more difficult.

For the time being, though, she wasn't running. I could tell in her smile that she wanted to stay. At least for now. That big goofy smile I loved so much.

I'd hate to lose it.

CHAPTER15

***MELODY***

Time always goes by so quickly when things are busy. The investors had me meet with their lawyers and sign all the usual documents. Kiefer didn't want me to get screwed over, so he put me in touch with his brother Jackson who ended up becoming a phenomenal lawyer, and he read through everything pro bono and made sure it was all reasonable. There were a few things that Jackson reiterated to me in layman's terms to make sure I understood what I was getting into, but there wasn't anything unusual and, in fact, he said it was a pretty fair deal.

I understood the importance of such things — covering my ass for any eventualities that might await me in the future — but it was all boring and dull to me. The paperwork was a means to an end, as were all the business components of the deal. I just wanted to cook and make people happy, and the sooner I could make that happen, the better.

Meanwhile, things were going great with Kiefer. Whatever it was we had, anyway. It didn't need a label, and I was happier for it not to have one. Labels were limiting and brought with them implications that I wasn't ready to deal with. The second anyone put a label on a relationship I was in, it felt like I was being tied down, and that made me antsy.

It was nice to have someone to come home to, especially someone as nice as Kiefer, whose body fit so perfectly into mine and who could drive me absolutely wild as easily as flipping a switch. Getting the food truck up and running was going to be busy and stressful, but he gave me a release from all that negative energy and made sure I slept well at night.

Through all the negotiations, the investors and I ultimately agreed on a space in Larchmont Village, a young and hip part of Los Angeles with several good restaurants. But, even with the amount of quality food in the area, there wouldn't be much specific competition for The Vegan Vaquero, and the investors and I agreed we could carve out our own niche. At least potentially. Demographics and surveys could only tell you so much, and it was impossible to know for sure if success was in your future until you actually get set up and see what the customers want.

I took an Uber out to my truck in Thousand Oaks, where it was still waiting patiently for me. After spending a solid half an hour looking for Patrick, the raccoon, I couldn't find him, so I left an apple behind in the hopes that he'd find and enjoy it.

Then I drove out to Larchmont and parked the truck in the lot. It was still early enough in the day that none of the other trucks were open yet, and there weren't any customers. With nobody there, it was difficult to get a full idea of how things would look, but I still wasn't happy with how my truck appeared next to the other ones.

One of the other trucks, one specializing in grilled cheeses, wasn't quite open, but the owner was doing some checks and getting things ready for the day. I went over to introduce myself.

“Hey,” I told her. “I'm going to be opening in a few weeks and wanted to introduce myself. I'm Melody.”

The woman had a short pixie cut dyed neon blue that worked for her and revealed a skull and crossbones tattoo on her neck that wasn't enough to take away from her friendly demeanor.

She introduced herself as Chelsea. “We try to be as helpful to each other as possible here. I like to think of it as almost a family. Maybe community is a better word for it.”

“That's nice to hear,” I said. “It's always a little scary introducing yourself in a place like this.”

“Why? Because we're supposed to be enemies?”

I laughed. “I mean, we're in competition with each other, right?”

Chelsea shook her head. “Nah, not really. Maybe on a given night, but the way it works is if any of us gets any kind of success, it tends to bleed over into the other trucks. We're stronger working together than fighting against each other. Plus, it's just more fun to be friends. We're not out here to become billionaires, just make a comfortable living.”

She was speaking my language now. “And make sure the customers leave happy and full.”

She turned her hand into the shape of a gun, pointed it towards me, and made a clicking sound. “Exactly. I've got to get this propane tank replaced, but if you need anything, just come on by, and I'll do what I can to help.”

With that, she grabbed the tank from the side of her truck and put it into her car before driving off. I was excited to make my first friend here, but also knew there was plenty that I needed to do and needed to focus on that.

I looked at my truck again and still didn't like what I saw. My signage was washed out, and the truck itself seemed a little too beat up for this area. This wasn't some run-of-the-mill food truck park — these were nice places, and The Vegan Vaquero stood out like a sore thumb among them. On top of that, I don't know... the yellow display wasn't working for me anymore. It seemed very old me, whereas now I wanted something with more contrast. Maybe a dark background with a red font, perhaps even neon lights.

I sat down at one of the benches and began scribbling down some ideas. Though I wasn't much of an artist, I could come up with a rough design that somebody with an actual eye for this sort of thing could run with. As I was doing that, a shadow appeared overhead.

“Hello.”

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