Kitty texts me a confirmed list of invitees as I’m just finishing up the loading of produce for the day, and my stomach flip-flops at the names of two food critics on the list. I’ve read their work, and I know they are tough customers. I know we need them to get the word out, to gain us some market share, but it still makes me nervous to know we’re going to be carefully judged. The day of the opening is getting so close. My mind goes to the what-ifs, but I try to push them out. We can only do the best we can do. After the other night, I really think we can do it. We’ll just have larger amounts of food. I would think that’d even be easier.
“Ready to go?” Alice asks as she pops into the house. I grab my binder and point-of-sale terminal. Today is the farmers’ market down in inner-city Calgary, and I know we’ll do a brisk business. It’s an area with a lot of affluent customers, ones who are quite particular about their food and about where it comes from. I love that we have such success there, but I wonder about making the food more accessible. If we could do a discount day, or make more donations. I make a note in my phone. We’ve helped out charities before, but I’m starting to wonder about being more consistent. And what if we attached some of that work to the pop-up restaurant? There are so many possibilities, but right now, Alice and I need to get moving. I head out with her to the van, and we get on the road.
“You two are really going to make it,” Alice says as we turn on to the highway. “The meal was right about perfect.”
“Right about?” I tease.
Alice chuckles. “More people would give the place some ambiance,” she says. “It was pretty echoey with just the three of us in there.”
“We have a good list happening,” I reply. I hand her my phone. “Check out Kitty’s text.” Alice flips to the message.
“Wowzers. We’re going to have a full house, aren’t we? She’s so organized.”
“I sure hope so. Cindy has a Facebook event scheduled and started up a page for us. Between the two of them, everything is sorted. It blows me away how much they get done. I feel like I don’t do near as much.”
“Oh, you do plenty, Lucy. It’s just different.” Alice pats my arm. “Just think—you might have to turn people away.”
“If only,” I say. “But we’ll see. I think we’ll be able to manage it. I’m so glad you’re helping us with the opening night. I don’t think we could cook and be servers at the same time.”
Alice nods. “It’d be like a chicken with its head cut off. Running around all over the place, all panicky. I’ve seen it before. My first job was working at a little café in the town where I was raised in northern Alberta. Lunchtime rush with all the rig workers…” She shakes her head. “Insanity. Even as a hostess, and with a server and two cooks, we couldn’t keep up. Those guys eat big, all the time.” She looks at the list again. “What’s Kitty’s parents’ names?”
Kitty told me once, but I’m having trouble remembering. “Last name is Kerr,” I say. Alice skims the list.
“There are no other Kerr folks on here,” she says. “Are Kitty’s parents still alive?”
“They are. Are you sure there’s no one there with that name?”
“Positive,” Alice says. “That’s a bit odd, don’t you think?”
I frown. I thought Kitty had planned to invite her parents. Heck, I’m inviting Mama and several other townsfolk on top of that.
“You should talk to Kitty,” Alice says. “We don’t want to forget them.” She pauses. “Have you met them?”
I haven’t. And Kitty’s never offered. That is a bit odd, but I didn’t really want to pry after what Kitty had explained about her parents. But I really should ask.
* * *
The farmers’ market does a brisk business, and I barely have time to talk in between ringing up orders and packaging up vegetables and fruit for our clients. But Alice chats up everyone, and instead of her usual casual banter, she’s all about the restaurant, gushing and hyping it. She’s a one-woman advertisement, and we couldn’t have better.
“When’s the next pop-up?” one woman asks me. “This sounds so brilliant—I know my husband and I would love to go.”
I find a piece of paper and write up a quick heading. “If you want a notification, give me your name and email, and I’ll put you on our list.”
“Fantastic!”
Soon I have a small but growing list of names, and I know we’ll have to have more and more nights. Maybe every weekend, at this rate.
When the afternoon ends, and we pack up our empty boxes and bins, Alice is grinning. “You and Kitty are going to have the best restaurant ever,” she says. “I can’t believe we’ve had so much interest.” She holds up the list of emails. “There’s over fifty here.”
“I should tell Kitty.”
“I’ll drive us home,” Alice says. “You call Kitty.”
* * *
I’ve just closed the door on my last client of the afternoon when my cell phone rings. I hurry over to my desk to grab it, feeling the twinge in my feet as I do. I wish I could wear flats at work. I pick up the phone.
“Lucy, hey.”
“We have so much interest!” Lucy sounds almost breathless with excitement. “At the farmers’ market today, we collected emails, and we have over fifty people interested in the next evening for Ming Kitty.”
“Fifty? Really? That’s amazing.” I hadn’t even considered marketing the restaurant at a farmers’ market. But we should have. It’s exactly the sort that would be our customer base. I feel like an idiot but try to push those feelings away. “We really should figure out our next dates after the opening.”
“What if we did it every Saturday?” Lucy suggests. “One night a week, and then if we keep having steady interest, we can expand. Beatrice says she hasn’t had much interest in the storefront, and she’d rather we pay her for each use rather than have it always sit empty.”
“I don’t know how often I could do it,” I say. Cindy’s been a godsend with my schedule, making sure I have free time, but she’s not a miracle worker.
“We’ll figure it out,” Lucy says. “But I wanted to ask you about the list for the opening—are your parents coming? I didn’t see them on the list.”
I pause. I don’t know what to answer, or how to explain. Lucy’s mom is so involved with her life, but mine…? Well, I see them, but we’ve always had our own lives. I decided not to invite them to the opening. Knowing them, they’d be busy or out of town.
“Kitty?” Lucy asks.
“I wasn’t sure they’d be able to make it, so I didn’t ask.” It’s a half-truth, kind of.
“Ask them,” Lucy says immediately. “I want to meet them. And I’m sure Mama would love to as well. And Alice.”
“All right,” I say, though I’m dragging my feet.
“If they can’t make it to this one, there’s always another,” Lucy reasons.
“I know.” I just don’t want them to turn me down. The shadow of too many school events with just a nanny loom in my mind, dredged up from the depths.
“They’ll be so impressed,” Lucy says. “Their little girl, running her own business.”
“They might.” Or they might not. Lawyer is impressive. Chef, not so much. Mom made it pretty clear when I was working during my degree that being in a restaurant was a temporary thing.
“Of course they will,” Lucy says. “Call them.”
“I will. I promise.”
I hear a knock on my door, and I rise to get it. Cindy’s outside. “I have to go—looks like I have more work.”
“Call me tonight,” Lucy says. “Tell me what your mom and dad say.”
“I will.”
Cindy comes into the office as I hang up. “Jack has socked us with another client,” she says.
I drop back into my chair behind my desk. Suddenly I feel tired. So tired.
Cindy sets a file on my desk. It’s not gigantic, but it’s definitely bulging. “I’ve pushed back the meeting until tomorrow morning,” she says, “but there’s background information for review.” She pats the file. “If you take it home, you can put your feet up and read it while you eat dinner.”
Putting my feet up. Dinner. That sounds brilliant. And it might be the last time I get to do it before our big night.
“I’ll get everything else sorted here for tomorrow,” Cindy says. “And I’m so, so looking forward to the opening.” She does a funny little excited hop. “It’s almost time. And I want those delicious, delicious meals. I’m thinking of ordering one of each.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I don’t think we do combos.”
“That’s your next market,” Cindy says. “Trust me on that.”