“I don’t believe she asked you that,” Opal said. “People don’t marry for property rights.” She picked at the stitched seam of her rugby ball. “Marriage is about love and commitment.”
Nina looked at Opal as though Opal had said Beyoncé was a mediocre talent, then pulled out her phone and started typing.
“Marriage is about money. Always,” she said with a hint of sadness. “I like her. She’s smart.” Nina kept typing. “There’s no way she can just give you the money. If she’s got investors, they’re not going to go for that, and even if they did, that kind of contract takes time we don’t have.”
“What are you talking about?” Sullivan asked.
“I’m contacting my associate. He’ll draw up a boss-ass prenup.” Nina shrugged without looking up. “Anything goes south, we take her down. I’ll need access to her info. Net worth. Income streams. Any pending actions. What’s her lawyer’s name? You have to register the marriage as fast as possible.” Nina’s fingers flew across the screen. “Get me her number and all the deets. I was going to blow out my hair this morning, but for you, I’ll wait.”
“I am absolutely not marrying Kia.”
“Yes. You are.” Finally, Nina looked up. “You don’t have options, girl. It’s marry Kia Jackson or die under a pile of Mega Eats wrappers.”
It was still pouring rain Monday morning, the day after the Oakwood Heights Neighborhood Association meeting. The RV park had planted orange cones around the lanes to indicate high water. The cone nearest Kia had tipped over and floated in a lake-sized puddle. The weather fit Kia’s mood, and the pounding rain was the right backdrop for what she had to do. She had to call Me’Shell.
“There was a problem with the sale.” That felt small compared to everything that had happened last night. “It didn’t go through, and it probably won’t.” No point in giving Me’Shell false hope. “It won’t. And I’m so sorry.” Kia propped her elbows on the foldout table in Old Girl. “I am looking for other options. I will find you a place to set up your truck. I’ll help you pay the lot fee until you’re up and running.”
“But Taste the Love Land was a sanctuary. You said so. It’d be different than just renting space. We’d be in it together.”
Behind Me’Shell’s voice, Kia heard Crystal say, “What’s wrong, Mom?” and then: “Watch the road, Mom!”
Kia was going to make Me’Shell wreck. That was the kind of person Kia was. She should put on some Miley Cyrus because she was coming in like a wrecking ball.
“It’s just for a little while until I find a different place to buy.”
Gretchen had told her she had to move fast because investors wouldn’t stay interested for long. She was exciting. She was new. But she wasn’t a sure thing. As the American Fare hype died down, that’d feel more important to them than her surge of fame. Plus the Bois had seemed like the perfect location for the perfect price. She shouldn’t promise Me’Shell another Taste the Love Land. She’d already broken that promise once.
“I am so, so sorry,” she said.
Her throat clenched with unspent sobs, but she didn’t get to cry now. She was the bad guy, not the victim right now. She didn’t have a right to make Me’Shell feel sorry for her. Or Sullivan. But, damn, she felt sorry for herself.
“Please pull over so you can process this. Call me back, okay?” Kia said.
Then she called the Chets.
Then she burst into tears.
Since the day couldn’t suck more, Kia had driven down to the Chicken Feet and Chow Festival, where she’d installed her food truck—named the Diva, because obviously. It had her face on it. Deja would have stayed all day to help sear oxtails, but the festival was dead, and Kia sent her away with grudging thanks. Even the amazing Kia Gourmazing couldn’t attract customers. She’d hadabout ten since she opened, despite a dozen upbeat live streams. She was supposed to be hawking a name-brand barbecue sauce, but they would want livelier videos. She’d have to apologize and make something better tomorrow.
Kia flipped the sign on her food truck toCLOSEDand walked out into the festival to stretch her legs. Liver More Food Truck was packing up and leaving. The turnout was poor because of the unrelenting rain, or maybe Portland wasn’t ready for trucks like the Chitlin Shack. Sullivan would like Chicken Feet and Chow, Kia thought. The festival was all about using the parts people didn’t eat. Waste not, want not. Now that Kia thought about it, she really should use more of the spare parts. Maybe if she brought Sullivan a serving of her sweet soy and adobo patas de pollo she could convince Sullivan she wasn’t a wasteful capitalist? Probably not. Kia sighed.
Her turquoise glasses did little to protect her eyes against the slicing rain as she trudged through puddles big enough to swallow small cars.
“This weather!” she said into the wind. The weather wasn’t the real problem.
The men operating the Krispy Kraken were huddled around a smoker, their backs turned against the blowing wind. Instinctively, Kia headed their way, ready to cheer them on, but she stopped. She didn’t have the right to raise anyone’s spirits. She’d disappointed so many people already. The wind kicked up and blew her rain jacket hood off. Cold rain splashed her neck, and she flinched from the shock.
At least the Diva was warm. She let herself back in and sat down with her back against one of the stainless steel cupboards, checking her phone. Lillian hadn’t responded to her last text: a picture of the rain pouring down around the fair.
She had just reached the depth of self-pity and was taking the next emotional staircase down to full-blown angst, when someone knocked on the frosted glass service window. The figure stood silhouetted in the dull light. Kia wiped her eyes and put on her Kia Gourmazing smile. Then she pulled herself off the floor. Maybe she could make someone a sandwich and make their day a little brighter. Maybe it was a fan hoping for a signed napkin. She’d give them a freeLET’S GET GOURMAZING!T-shirt.
She opened the window. Sullivan stood in front of her holding two travel mugs, hunching against the rain. Her face said she did not want a sandwich or a napkin or a T-shirt.
“I’m going to regret this.” Sullivan handed Kia a mug.
“Come in.” Kia bounded to the door, then hesitated with her hand on the latch. Nothing fun or pleasant was going to come of Sullivan trudging through the rain. She let out a long breath to calm her nerves, opened the door, and beckoned Sullivan into the small space.
Sullivan looked around the inside of the Diva.
