Chapter Seven
Xia
“I have exactly what you need.” Looking up from the carton of cookie dough ice cream I’m murdering, I stare at Jasmine. I love her optimistic attitude, but right now I’m not ready to be cheered up. She waves a white piece of paper like she’s in the front row of church with no air conditioner.
I grunt and shovel another ridiculous spoonful into my mouth. I’m not in the mood for cheering up. I feel like a bird with a broken wing, unable to fly and in desperate need of healing. The mucus and crying have upset my stomach, and irritation and lack of sleep have my eyes feeling like theirs glass in my retinas.
I focus my attention on picking out the big chunks of chocolaty goodness. The explosion of yumminess perks me up. Professor Lupin was right. Chocolate does make you feel better. Who knew it works for Dementors and professors.
“Xi.”
“Wha? I’m listening,” I say around a mouthful of melting happiness.
“I know you’re disappointed right now.”
I swallow. “That doesn’t even begin to cover it. My hand was played too soon. Ellis knows I’m looking for a way out. Now he’s hired help, that I’m training, and I feel like my neck is on the chopping block. I feel like a turtle flipped on its shell and unable to find balance. I can put everything on the line, finance myself and hope I make enough back to launch properly, or continue the same way I always have working and trying to save. Except, I’ve screwed up the work environment. The air in there is a thick as molasses. I’m always waiting for my world to explode.” I shake my head.
I feel empty. The loan didn’t go through. The longer I went with no word, the more I hoped for good news, now I’m in a weird limbo. I finished out my week with the boys and sank into a depression.
“I think there’s a reason this happened.”
I snicker. “Really? Are we still sticking with that universe has a plan line? ‘’Cause at this point I’m starting to wonder if God is telling me my father was right and I need to stay my behind right where I’m at.”
/>
“I know you’re still reeling from the loan. I’m not trying to trivialize that. All I ask is that you look at this.” She flaps the paper again. “If you still feel the same way, I’ll yield. We’ll spend the rest of the weekend treating this like a breakup weekend.”
Unless that’s a letter from Ed McMann telling me he’s got a Publisher Clearing house check, I don’t see what difference it’ll make.
“Once I do, will you chill on the put-on-a-happy-face rhetoric?”
“I will until Monday.”
I nod my head. “Deal.” I don’t want to wallow in sorrow like a pig in the mud. I just need time to digest and regroup.
“Fine.” After stabbing my spoon into the ice cream, I hold out my hand and take the paper.
“Congratulations, Magical Munchies has been chosen to compete on Food Truck Wars?” I read the words out loud as I skim the email. “This says Magical Munchies has been accepted. I’ve never even heard of it before.”
“It’s a local contest being put on by Q109. Local teams go head to head for a month to compete for a chance at winning their own truck. When I heard about it nearly six months ago, I knew I had to enter you. I’d nearly forgotten about it, and then this came to the email we set up for the Magical Munchies website.”
Floored, I sit up straight on the couch. I’m being pummeled by a million emotions all headed in different directions. Choppy and slow, my brain glitches like a video being played on a server with crappy WIFI. It’s not over yet.
“You willful, meddling, amazing monster,” I whisper.
She cringes. “On a scale of one to ten, how angry are you at me?”
“How could I be mad?”
“I know this was pushing things, but damn it, you deserve this.”
“What do I need to do?”
“Sign the paper and send it back, and plan your final menu. We need to be prepared to slay this.”
My head spins. “Can we get everything together in time?”
“It already is. You have the social media sites set up, the shirts, the swag, and the family name. You’ll need to talk to your brothers though. You need a place to do a trial run for your recipes.”