Page 85 of Small Town Swoo
“Different how?”
“Well, it would be kind of like my own thing. I couldoffer a more upscale menu than we serve here. Gourmet sliders, truffle fries. Things like that.”
“Truffle fries!” She looked up at me in dismay. “Do you know how expensive truffles are?”
I took a breath. “That was just one example.”
She was silent as she started cleaning again, appearing to concentrate hard on sanitization.
“Food trucks are fun, Mom,” I said. “It’s really the up-and-coming thing. I think people would love to have Moe’s cater their parties.”
“Who’d drive this truck around?”
“I would.”
She began swiping a cloth over the coffee machine. “By yourself?”
“Well, I might need a helper for parties. I bet Gemma would do it,” I said, naming my sixteen-year-old cousin. “She always works at Moe’s during the summer.”
“How much would the catering truck cost?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe around fifty grand?”
She stopped moving and blinked at me. “Fifty grand! We don’t have that kind of cash lying around.”
“I could apply for a loan,” I suggested.
She opened the register and began counting the cash. “That’s a lot of money to borrow. What happens if this venture doesn’t work out? How will you pay it back?”
“I haven’t thought about that,” I admitted. “I guess I’d have to sell the truck.”
“I don’t know, Ari. I remember how devastated you were when you came home from New York after things didn’t work out there. You barely got out of bed for a month.”
I shook my head. “This wouldn’t be like that.”
“But it’s a risk. And it could fail and leave you and the diner worse off.”
“You think I’ll fail?” My stomach turned over.
She shut the register drawer, paused for a moment, then turned to look at me. “Of course not. I’m sorry, darling. I don’t mean to shoot down your ideas. I’m worried about your dad and the business and just feeling a little overwhelmed after being gone for ten days.”
“It’s okay, Mom. Forget I asked. It could be a terrible idea.”
She touched my shoulder. “Give me a chance to catch up a little and talk to Dad, okay? Maybe we can work something out.”
The door to the kitchen swung open, and my father appeared, rubbing that sore shoulder. “Judy?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Do we have any Advil here?”
She put her rag down and moved toward him. “Yes, in my purse. I’ll find it for you. And then I’m taking you home.”
“But—”
“No arguments, Dad.” Under the diner’s bright lights, I could see the pallor beneath his tan. “Do what Mom says.”
He jerked a thumb at me and addressed my mom. “Look who’s the boss now.”
