I can take care of Leah, sure, but I can’t take care of everything. I can’t take care of my mom. I have no idea what she needs. Nothing Vivi ever says is as simple as she makes it out to be.
“Okay, listen, I know what you’re thinking.” She pulls out a lipstick from her purse and reapplies it. “You don’t want to make changes to something that was your dad’s. Because then you’d be admitting that there are imperfections to his work here and, by extension, that he had imperfections, too. And I get that; I honestly do. But you’re not dismantling his work if you’re adding to it. You’re helping a dream grow more, not cutting it down.”
I hadn’t even thought of any of that. Now I will. I can’t keep up.
“Okay,” she says, standing on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “I’ve gotta get to work, but you percolate some ideas like the little coffeepot of genius that you are. If I were you, I’d start with redoing the patio space, and I’d do it soon so you can throw me a birthday party there. Because that’s what I want—officially. Okay? That is my formal birthday wish, and you should be glad because I was going to ask for a Vespa. Now I’ve decided all I want is a party on the Tony’s patio, so make it happen. See you tonight, at which point I will be redeeming my make-out session rain check. Fair warning.” She turns to wink at me, then disappears out the door.
Vivi has this way of leaving me shell-shocked. She never notices. Or maybe she does it on purpose—I have no idea.
In the quiet of my dad’s old kitchen, I find that Vivi’s right. Somewhere in the folds of my brain, I’ve been storing ideas for the restaurant for years. Since way before my dad died. I’m not saying the ideas will work. But I do have them—menu changes and updates to the design of the space and different ways to draw tourists in.
I wander out to the patio space, which I’ve never really thought about. There’s not much to it. The restaurant has this built-in nook made by the exterior—two perpendicular brick walls. Years ago, my dad poured cement for a floor and installed a low wrought-iron fence in the two open sides, making an L shape. But that’s kind of it. There’s an old grill out here, a rusty ladder, an extra propane tank, and a bunch of other crap.
From the street, you can see the patio if you’re walking from uptown. That must have been how Vivi saw it. I don’t know if outdoor dining would draw more customers. I don’t know if it would be worth the work. But it’d be nice to put my backbone into something. Especially if I can make this old, broken space into something nice for Vivi’s birthday.
So I sit on a stool by the prep table, with a piece of scrap paper from the office. I’m not sure how long I sit there, scribbling down ideas. Entrées that have never sold particularly well that could probably be replaced. Foods people ask for that we don’t have—but we could.
I’m still writing when Felix comes in the back door. “Hey, Maní. I saw your car. I thought you were off today.”
“I was just stopping in.” Now or never, Daniels. No wussing out. I just hope Felix takes me seriously, man to man. “But I got to thinking about the patio. We could fix it up for almost no money. It might be a nice draw for customers.”
“Hmm,” Felix says. “We always did mean to but never got around to it.”
“That’d be good for business, right? Outdoor space?”
He nods. “Could be.”
“Business is okay, right? I mean, decent.” The words flash in my head: PAST DUE. PAST DUE.
“Oh, sure.” Felix waves me off, but I watch his eyes. I know his eyes like I know my dad’s. Protecting me from something. “Ebb and flow, the restaurant biz. We’re always fine.”
I don’t buy it for a second. “Well, I’ve got some other ideas while I’m at it.”
“Let’s hear them,” he says, and slides onto the stool beside me. Then he rubs his brow, shaking his head even though he’s smiling. “Hoo-boy, Maní. Sometimes it’s like looking right at your dad.”
I take this as a good sign.
CHAPTER NINE
Vivi
Tonight, sleep shows me images of my friends from home, Ruby and Amala. I’m in Amala’s house, it’s packed, music’s thumping, and I’m late, I guess, but I find them in the kitchen. Ruby’s wearing a plastic birthday crown with a plump pink jewel in the center. I hand over her present, which makes her shriek in delight, and we all take shots that taste like lime, syrupy sweet. Then I flash to the back porch holding smoke in my lungs, giggling upstairs as I slide his shirt over his head, feeling like a perfect vixen, but I scream back at my subconscious—No, no, make this stop.
I’m outside, and everyone knows what I did, though I can’t remember how it happened. Amala sobs as a crowd gathers to watch the drama, and I’m across the lawn from them. The silly tiara looks so wrong on Ruby’s head as she wraps an arm around Amala, trying to calm her. Amala’s long hair swinging, her face contorts as she screams, “How could you do this to me, Vivi? Get out of my fucking life!” And I’m gone. I’m gone.
I gasp awake in my bed at Richard’s house, palms and forehead damp.