Page 42 of Best Friend Burden

She patted my shoulder. “You got it. Don't be afraid to reach out. We're stronger together. And your food is excellent, you're going to do great.”

My phone vibrated and began beeping.

“You hear that, Kalle?” I asked. “You can open up.”

She pushed open the window and locked it into place.

We all looked out eagerly to the empty lot I'd predicted.

“It'll pick up,” Chelsea told me. “Give it time.”

Easy for her to say. She wasn't the one who had to build her reputation from scratch.

“I'll talk to you two in a bit,” she said. “Good luck!”

She left and closed the door behind her.

Over the next half hour or so, Kalle sat at the window, starting out excited but quickly losing energy until, before too long, she was playing word games on her phone. I wasn't about to be the kind of boss to get on her ass for doing nothing when there was nothing to do, so I let her.

Around 11:15, customers started pouring into the general area, though the first dozen or so paid us no attention, going straight to their truck of choice. When things started getting a bit busier, we did get a couple who at least acknowledged that we existed and even nodded in our direction before moving on to the next truck.

Still, the noon rush began, and we'd had a grand total of zero customers.

“What do we do?” Kalle asked through gritted teeth.

I didn't know. I was supposed to be the expert, but I had no idea. There was an obvious answer, but it reeked of desperation to me and I wasn't sure I could do it without consulting the investors.

“Fuck it,” I said. “Let's start making some tacos.”

Once we got the oil in the pan and started frying up the vegetables, I definitely noticed a few more glances in our direction.

“What are we doing?” Kalle asked.

“I don't care if we end up giving food away for free,” I said. “We're going to get customers today.”

But I had a feeling it wasn't going to come to that. The smells from our truck started wafting around the outdoor area, with the flavorful spices and authentic TexMex stylings whispering into customer's ears by way of their nose.

Pictures and presentations could sell a meal, but nothing was more effective than the power of an aroma on an empty stomach. And, sure enough, curiosity got the better of one of the workers in the area looking for lunch — a man in maybe his early 50s, wearing a blue suit that he'd probably owned for more than a decade and needed an update.

“Hello,” he said, his voice loud but unsure.

Kalle took the register. “Hi and welcome to The Vegan Vaquero,” she said, with mild enthusiasm that wasn't exactly her style, but didn't feel forced either.

“What's good here?” he asked.

“Everything, of course,” she said. “What's your tolerance for spice?”

His face turned a light shade of red. It didn't matter what his answer was, I knew to keep things on the mild side.

“Not too hot,” he said. This was a lost man who needed someone else to make decisions for him.

I looked at the guy. “How hungry are you? On a scale of side salad to five course meal.”

He laughed at that, loosened up a bit. “Maybe a good size sub sandwich.”

“Great,” I said. “Any allergies?”

“Nope.”

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