Chapter 7
chapter seven
nesto
“Mr. Nesto! I think we lost Ari!” I turned my eyes from the road for a second to look at the passenger seat and saw Yin, one of my two brand new employees, with his head and half of his torso sticking out of the truck window.
“Yin! Put your seat belt back on and relax. He’s right behind us.” Yin was highly concerned his partner in crime, and my other new staff member, Ari, would be somehow lost forever in the fifteen miles between Trumansburg and Ithaca.
I’d given Ari my car to drive this morning after he handed over his brand-new New York State driver’s license and assured me driving in Ithaca was child’s play for someone who learned to drive in the streets of his hometown, Kinshasa, the capital city of Democratic Republic of Congo.
Having gotten my first driving lessons in the South Bronx, I could relate and decided to entrust him with my Prius.
Yin on the other hand, spent his teenage years in a Thai refugee camp and did not trust motorists or roads in the slightest. He kept craning his neck to look behind us trying to make sure he didn’t lose sight of Ari for too long.
I laughed and tugged on his seat belt. “He’s fine. He has the directions on his phone; he probably got caught up in the traffic light behind us. And just call me Nesto, the ‘mister’ makes me feel old!”
Yin smiled and nodded but didn’t look very convinced.
After a moment he sat back down to review his checklist. I hired Yin and Ari the day after I contacted a friend of Pri’s who worked at a local nonprofit, which helped refugees and immigrants with job placement.
I’d called her up, told her what I needed, and she informed me I was in luck, because she was looking to place two young men with experience in food service who were fresh out of a course in food hygiene and preparation.
I told her I would love to talk to them, but that I was gay, and was not going to hide it, so if it was an issue I’d rather not get their hopes up.
She happily let me know these two young men had been referred to her by the LGBTQ youth center in town.
So, I met them at a local coffee shop that afternoon, we talked for a bit, and I hired them on a trial basis.
They’d been with me for over a week now, and so far, it was the best business decision I’d made in Ithaca.
I had never seen two people more excited to come and work their asses off for sixteen bucks an hour.
Yin, who had worked at a restaurant in Thailand for years, after his family left Burma, was a born food truck man. He could work in any space, no matter how small or hot it got in there, and he was militant about organization.
Today was our first time at the Farmers’ Market, and he showed up at the kitchen at the crack of dawn looking impeccable in his OuNYe t-shirt and jeans, which I suspected were dry cleaned for the occasion.
He had a clipboard in hand, with a comprehensive checklist of everything we needed to get the truck ready for the market.
Under that list he had one with everything we needed to get the truck out of the market.
I liked the kid, but damn, he did the most.
“Looks like we have more than two hours to set up before market opens, since we’ll be there before 7:15 a.m.,” he said with a nod.
As we drove out of Trumansburg I tried very hard not to stalkerishly look at Jude’s house to see if I spotted him, but like every other time I’d driven by his place this week, if he was in, I couldn’t tell from the street.
I sighed inwardly and put my eyes back on the road.
The guy completely ghosted me after the night I saw him at Ophelia’s over a week ago.
I mean it’s not like we were going steady or anything, but I thought we’d had a moment.
I’d at least expected him to come by the truck and say ‘hey’ or something, but nada.
He was totally out of sight. Carmen stopped by the truck a couple of times to get orders way too large for one person, but things were so busy I didn’t get a chance to ask her about him.
I didn’t even know what the hell my problem was.
I was the one who usually felt smothered.
Always complaining the guys I got involved with didn’t get my business came first. I should be glad Jude wasn’t making a big deal out of things.
Instead, I was driving by his house every night like a hard-up loser, sticking my neck out of my car trying to see if his lights were on.
I sighed again and turned my head to find Yin glaring at me.
“Sorry, you’re right, we’re totally good. We should be able to get everything done with time to relax a bit before we start. My mom and sister are coming to help, too; they’ll be there around eight a.m.”
Yin nodded and kept going over his list. He was a cute kid, short and skinny.
With big brown eyes and a sassy haircut.
His family had fled Burma when he was nine years old, and after years in a refugee camp they had been relocated to Ithaca.
When I hired him, he informed me in very formal English he wanted to be a nurse.
I’d only known him for like a week and was already rooting for him.
We drove down the last stretch of road along Cayuga Lake as we made our way into Ithaca. The clear blue water surrounded by dense forest was a stunning view even this early.
You could already see the sailboats out there.
We exited the road and made the turn into the market at exactly 7:15 a.m. The grounds swarmed with vendors preparing for the first day of the season.
I turned to Yin who was perched on the edge of his seat looking at all the people buzzing around. “Right on time. Just like you said.”
“Right on time.” The satisfaction in his voice made me laugh. This kid was too fucking precious.
The Farmers’ Market in Ithaca was an institution; people came from all over the region to shop here on weekends.
It was one of the city’s main tourist spots, and the location was certainly part of the attraction.
The place was called Steamboat Landing, right on the edge of Cayuga Lake.
This morning as we drove by we could see the Cornell women’s crew team gliding along the water.
The market was set up in a T-shaped open-air structure with wooden stalls.
Customers could enter and keep going down a corridor, which led them to the pier, or go left or right to walk through the offerings in the market.
They had produce, fresh flowers, food, art, local wine, cider, clothes, and even music.
It was quite a scene, and I was excited to have OuNYe as part of the season’s offerings.
We navigated the parking lot and looked for our spot among the stalls.
“Yin what’s our number again?”
Yin checked his notes and confirmed, “B-18.” After a few seconds we spotted it.
I maneuvered the truck, so the back side was flush against the opening of the stand and quickly got off.
Yin jumped out as well and started getting things in order like I’d shown him.
Ari drove up a few minutes later and parked the Prius in a spot close to us.
“See, I told you he was right behind us.” Yin blushed as he watched Ari park the car.
Ari walked over with a strut, like he had just stepped out of a Ferrari, a big smile on his face.
“Boss man that little car makes no noise. I had to stop like three times to check it was still running,” he said, shaking his head.
I laughed and threw my hands up. “I told you it did that!”
“I like cars that make noise,” Ari complained, a grin still on his face. “How else will people hear me coming, so they can get out of the way?” With that he turned to the other member of the OuNYe All-Star Team.
“Yin! Where’s the checklist?”
Ari was the complete opposite of Yin physically and in personality.
He was a strapping young man, with ebony skin, over six feet tall and ripped with muscle.
He had come to the U.S. from the Congo seeking asylum but had been detained at customs because of some “issues” with his visa.
He ended up in limbo, stuck in an immigrant detention center for almost two years.
He’d been finally released the previous winter with a “Whoops, guess your papers were fine after all.”
He was already working two jobs and going to community college.
His goal was to be a human rights lawyer, and despite the hell he went through to get here, he was the sunniest person in Ithaca.
You could not keep him down. I watched them both run around thinking once again this Ithaca experiment was turning out to be an excellent idea.
“Okay, guys,” I said to them as they unloaded the truck.
“Make sure we keep everything needing refrigeration in the truck.” I thought better of it and waved my hand toward the place in the stall where we were going to prepare the food.
“Actually, why don’t you two get the grill down and I’ll work on getting the truck connected and powered up.
” I pointed at the spot it should go in as I pulled out cords.
“After, we’ll work on the menu. We have three burritos today and the yucca fritters with the mojo aioli, plus the two juices.
Let’s get moving.” We got busy, getting containers with the prepared ingredients set up, working together and joking around as we went.
We were going fast and would be set to go well before the first customers started roaming the market.
I was trying to get the truck hooked up to the electricity when I heard someone calling for me.
“Hi, there. Are you the person responsible for OuNYe Afro-Caribbean Food?”
I called out a “that’ll be me,” my attention still on what I was doing, and not so much on the guy asking questions.
“I think there’s been an issue with your application, and unfortunately you’re going to have to move your truck. We seem to be missing some of your paperwork.” I got up in a rush from where I was crouching and turned around to see a frazzled older man with a clipboard.