“I think we’re burlfriends. The three of us, not the guys,” suggested Cassie.
“I like that,” I said. “We’re burlfriends. And we should do this every year, an annual burlfriend reunion!”
“YES!” they both shrieked in unison. And then we all howled with laughter and excitement, chatting about where we wanted to go the next year.
It really was the best weekend of my life, spent with two women who were more like family to me than any biological family had ever felt. I was so incredibly grateful for them, and by extension, to Ian, for being the one to introduce me to Lina—and to this world of climbing—and for helping me understand a little bit better, what it meant to grow mentally and physically stronger. I understood him a little bit better, too...and with understanding came respect.
And maybe a bit of love.
◆◆◆
After the revelations of that weekend, I threw myself into my playlists with boundless enthusiasm. I filled them with hope, renewal, and growth, with every wonderful emotion that was bursting in my chest. And my writing was inspired, varied, full of feeling.
I was not broken. I was whole and strong, and growing ever stronger.
And one day, a month later, I was invited (INVITED! I hadn’t even reached out!) to write a sample piece for Moonslick Mirror, one of the biggest and most famous music news sites. They were well-known for their raw tone and brutally honest reporting, which was 100% my style, and they asked me to write about my favorite band and submit a post by the end of the month.
It’d been a long time since I’d last seen them live, so I checked The Llama People’s tour schedule and saw that their next show was in two weeks, in San Francisco. I told Cassie the exciting news and asked if I could crash on her couch. She nearly blew my eardrums with her squealing through the phone.
I thought about texting Ian, but...maybe that was asking for too much.
Everything else was looking up.
Chapter 24
-Ian-
I never thought that I’d be working next to my mom and aunt, selling desserts out of a food truck. But I also never would’ve thought that the fusion jiandui were going to be as popular as they were.
People loved them.
And they loved the story behind my truck name, Tiantian Desserts. Tiantian could mean multiple things in Mandarin, depending on the tones. Two first tones meant everyday; Everyday Desserts. Two second tones meant sweet; Sweet Desserts. And one tian, first tone, meant heaven. I hoped my dad could taste my creations from there.
But I think people liked the unofficial English street name better: Ian’s Tasty Balls.
The line for the food truck was often at least three times as long as the truck itself. People lined up, not just for our jiandui, but also for the Chinese-inspired flavors of ice cream that we made, including honey pomelo, ginseng, and lychee.
If I hadn’t gotten back into climbing, I’m sure I would’ve gone soft from all of the experimenting that I was doing at home. In fact, my cousin had started to gain weight from being one of my guinea pigs, but he didn’t seem to mind—he was all too happy to keep trying my new creations.
My mom and aunt were so much more excited at the idea than I’d thought they’d be. I’d been expecting a lecture on keeping a good job in tech, about needing insurance and a steady income. Instead, they’d given me tips on how to cut costs. They had friends in the restaurant business and knew wholesalers who could help me out. They helped me tweak my recipes until the entire family approved.
I’d been so grateful and relieved to find support and not judgment.
And not only support, but labor. They worked in the truck with me, joking with customers in broken English as they collected money or fried balls. I think they enjoyed coming out of retirement and working part-time. My mom and aunt split shifts so that neither of them had to stand on their feet for a full day, but I was there from 11am till 9pm almost everyday. My customers were insatiable.
On weekends, I parked the van near touristy places: Golden Gate Park on Saturdays and Dolores Park on Sundays. During the week, I stopped around office buildings. I knew well that tech workers loved going on walking meetings and ice cream runs, and I was always there to serve them, to help brighten their days a little. And on Fridays, I parked close to the Stumpstash office, and Cassie always brought a contingent of coworkers out to visit the truck.
At first, I was embarrassed, having gone from technical lead to tasty balls guy. But after seeing their delighted faces and hearing their praise, and even their envy, soon all I felt was pride.
In my new role, my former coworkers opened up to me way more than they ever had when I was a tech lead. I learned about their secret fantasies of becoming authors, or of opening their own coffee shops or bars. Even Rich, when he visited once, grudgingly told me that my balls were delicious. We’d had a laugh together about it. Then he told me about his grandfather’s cannoli, and how he’d always wished he could sell those. I told him to give me a call if he ever wanted tips on how to start his own food truck, though I knew he probably wouldn’t need any. Stumpstash was in the business of helping small businesses—all Stumpstashers knew a little bit about how to raise money for our dreams.
My dream? I guess I really liked sharing what I loved with people. There was no better feeling than loving something, being proud of it, and having people discover that they loved it too. Each and every day, I got to spark joy in people and experience that feeling of wonder and appreciation over and over again.
It made me think of Anna, and of the joy she
