Tina could not—would not—make the same mistakes. But it was hard not to fall into the same familiar bad habits. Difficult not to get sucked into that awful downward spiral.
“God, Libby. I’m terrified. I have so many people depending on me. There’s so much at stake. I’ve never done anything like this before. Everything else I’ve tried have been massive failures. You know that.”
“I do not,” her friend denied, still so loyal. “I know nothing of the sort. You haven’t found something you’re passionate about before now. But this is different, Tina. I can see it in the way you look at this place, and I can hear the pride and excitement in your voice when you talk about it.”
Tina shook her head and returned Libby’s hug before stepping back and giving her friend a concerned once-over. Libby was looking so much better these days. She had lost a lot of weight in the first couple of months after Clara’s birth, but she was gaining it back, and, despite the still-lingering sadness in her eyes, she seemed more like her old self.
“And you? Are you okay, Libby?”
“Getting there,” Libby confessed, with a strained smile. “This has helped so much, Tina. Thank you.”
“Pshaw,” Tina scoffed dismissively, blinking back tears as she hugged her taller friend again. “As if I did it for you.”
And yet, they both knew a large part of the reason she’d taken this huge step was so that Libby would have someplace to call home as well.
A place where they both belonged.
“Right, enough of this sentimental stuff,” Tina said gruffly before checking her watch, just to give herself a moment to regain her composure. “It’s T minus fifty-three minutes and twenty-seven seconds to opening time. We need to hustle.”
The doors had been open for just over half an hour, and, so far, people had merely trickled in. But—if their awkward shifting on the high-backed, spindle-legged chairs and their whispered conversations were anything to go by—most of the current patrons seemed a little uncomfortable in the newly renovated space.
It was a dismal turnout. Nowhere near the throngs of excited people they had been expecting.
Tina stood at the entrance to the kitchen and reverted to a bad teen habit: lifting her thumb to her mouth and chewing on the nail and cuticle nervously. The vultures in her stomach were out for blood, clawing and scraping at her insides while she tried her best to look unperturbed by all that inner turmoil. If Libby’s concerned glances were anything to go by, she was failing miserably.
“Nobody’s coming,” Tina lamented.
Libby sighed and tugged Tina’s hand away from her mouth. “They’ll come,” she said, her words imbued with a confidence Tina wished she possessed.
Tina wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting from her opening night, but it certainly wasn’t this. A little more interest maybe, curiosity if nothing else. But this lack of interest felt like a death knell to the business, which was starting to mean so much to her.
“People here are really old fashioned,” Thandiwe, a college student home for the midterm break, said. The young woman had worked for MJ’s throughout her teens and, according to the former owner, was one of their best servers. She had been invaluable over the last week, helping with the last-minute training of the newer staff members. Unfortunately, she’d be leaving for veterinary school again the following week, and Tina already dreaded the loss. “MJ’s has been something of an institution in this town, and maybe they think you’ve messed with tradition or something?”
“But when I first came here and ate at the place, people were complaining about how the menu never changed and it would be nice to have some variety,” Tina lamented.
“Yes, but they’ve been saying that for years,” Thandiwe said with a shrug. “I think they enjoyed complaining about it. But it was familiar, and they loved it. I’m sure people will come. Give it time. It’s this or Ralphie’s. And everyone knows the food is usually terrible at Ralphie’s. Once they’ve sampled the new menu, they won’t know what to do with themselves.”
Tina cast another despairing glance around the mostly empty restaurant and fervently hoped Thandiwe’s words would prove true. Because just a month of disappointing numbers like these would put her in a hole so deep she wouldn’t see daylight for years. Thandiwe excused herself and went to chat with a few of the other servers, who were loitering about, looking bored. After a few words from Thandiwe, they all went scurrying, busying themselves with minor tasks.
Seriously, the woman was a gem.
“You sent notice of the relaunch to the paper, right?” Libby asked, referring to the local paper, the Riversend Weekly, which usually circulated on Thursdays. It contained job opportunities, as well as advertisements for local businesses and news about regional events.