She pats my hand, and I’m grateful again. Mrs. Tokushige is a widowed property owner who Mom got chummy with after first moving to Maui. They even belong to the same book club and mahjong club. I’m grateful to know her. Not only has she been a generous and supportive friend after we lost Dad, but she’s been invaluable to our food truck, letting us use her commercial kitchen, which is right next to our condo, at a deep discount. I don’t know if we would have made it had we been forced to pay regular prices to rent space.

“It’s always open for you and your mom, whenever you want it,” she says. “You’re practically family.”

She tiptoes up and smiles at Mom through the window. “Hi, Tiva! Smells yummy in there! And this adobo sauce, my goodness. Perfectly tangy and salty. I’ll never get tired of it.”

Mom beams. “Oh, Joan. You’re sweet. Thank you.”

Their conversation carries on while I inwardly gloat about my sneaky actions from this morning. It was petty as hell for me to arrive early to scrawl that sign. It was also petty to strategically place it at the perfect angle: leaning on the back tire of the Hungry Chaps food truck, facing away from the window and door. Callum and Finn can’t see it from inside their truck, but customers get a full, unobscured view.

I catch a glimpse of Callum. He’s sporting that same scowl he blinded me with yesterday. Not once does he let up, even when taking customers’ food orders. I wonder if anyone has ever told him that acting pleasant and smiling at the patrons is necessary in the food service industry.

I duck back inside. “How many lumpia are left, Mom?”

She drops another order into the fryer. “We’ll be out in an hour probably, if orders keep up.”

I pat her shoulder, and she smiles. She and I have the exact same facial features: dark eyes, arched eyebrows, narrow button noses, high cheekbones. Even our smiles are the same. Our full mouths stretch across our faces in a straight line instead of curving up like most other people’s. It’s like gazing into a mirror of what I’ll look like in thirtyish years if I opt for a bob hairstyle and maintain an excellent skin care regimen. Considering all the emotional and financial stress she’s been through this past year, she’s wearing it like a champ. She’s a stunning mature woman.

She pats my lower back. “Don’t slouch, anak. It’s bad for you.”