Page 22

Chapter 22

Everett

Pat’s King of Steaks?

Or Geno’s Steaks?

That was the question, the ultimate question. Dad had maintained that Philly cheesesteaks were an incredibly important part of life, so he’d taken the three of us—plus James—to so many different restaurants. From Chubby’s Steaks to Oh Brother Philly to Jim’s South St., we’d been all over the place.

But we’d never gone to Pat’s or Geno’s, two tourist traps with an intense and long-standing rivalry. Despite what Margot would call Grace’s and my “clandestine tryst” back at the art museum and our near fancy-meeting-you-here disaster with Mr.Cruz, Grace had planned a pretty fun day so far; I was surprised how much I was enjoying myself.

But today a tourist trap sounded like the way to go. I didn’t want to walk into Joe’s Steaks + Soda Shop and instantly zoom in on the table Dad and I’d sat at the last time we’d eaten there together. It had been after a radiation session at Penn. Dad’s driver’s license had been revoked after his seizures, so Mom had asked me to take him; she couldn’t miss Abigail’s parent-teacher conference. “It’s going to be okay,” he said as I chewed but didn’t taste my sandwich. I noticed he hadn’t said “ I’m going to be okay.”

I’d stopped eating to wipe tears from my eyes. Mr.Barbour had pulled all the strings and called in all the favors he had to get Dad into a cutting-edge, promising trial; he couldn’t give up hope yet.

Dad reached across the table to take my hand. “Let it out, Ev,” he whispered. “The ‘boys don’t cry’ mentality is bullshit.”

“You can’t go anywhere,” I told him, my throat tightening. “You can’t leave us.”

He’d given me this wry look. “Who said anything about leaving?”

And then he squeezed my hand.

“Geno’s,” our Uber driver emphasized, pointing to the right. “I’m telling you, go to Geno’s. ”

I pointed to the left. “But according to Yelp, most people say Pat’s.”

The guy shook his head but wished us a nice day. Grace, Isa, and I stood on the pedestrian crosswalk for a moment, looking both ways before choosing a side. The funniest thing about the Pat’s vs. Geno’s battle was that they were across the street from each other. Literally, the contenders had been built in a brick-and-mortar standoff with gigantic neon lighted signs. Pat’s summoned us with a bright gold crown, while Geno’s electric orange flames roared.

“Everett,” Isa said. “Which one would you prefer?”

“Pat’s.” I half smiled, knowing where this was going. Isa and I’d once loved a good taste test. “I’ll take Pat’s.”

“Great, I’ll do Geno’s.” Her voice was all business. “What’s your order?”

“Let’s confer while we’re in line.” I matched her tone, as I had so many times back in the day. Were we teasing each other now? Or were we acting? “Call me.”

Isa nodded and stuck out her hand, and I took it and shook it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grace grin and shift her weight from one foot to the other, as if trying to hold back a happy dance. Because this— this was what I knew she so wanted. This day, above all, was meant to repair Isa’s and my friendship. She wanted us to graduate high school and walk into forever as a trio again.

Even though, after our handshake, Isa and I each took one of her arms and tugged. Grace hadn’t taken a step in either direction yet, undecided. “Stop!” she giggled. “You’ll tear me in half!”

A few beats later, she gave me a small smile before shaking me off and linking arms with Isa. I understood. Mr.Cruz was having an affair, one that neither Grace nor Isa ever saw coming. She wanted to be there if Isa wanted to talk.

I couldn’t help but wonder if she also thought putting some space between the two of us was best. It was ninth grade, part of me wanted to say. Haven’t we grown up enough to move pastthis?

“I swear I won’t start planning the wedding,” I remembered Mom casually saying once. “But you and Grace are so sweet together…and I know you. Why don’t you ask her out?”

I know you.

Mara Adler code for: “It’s so screaming obvious you’re in love with her.”

“Yeah, you know me,” I confirmed, then muttered, “Believe me, I’m trying.”

Had I truly been trying beyond flirty texts—or what I thought were flirty texts—and hanging out whenever we could? No, not really. I was worried that if I ever put myself out there, Grace might reject me. Possibly because she didn’t have feelings for me, possibly because she would never date me after what happened with Isa, and most definitely a combination of both. The last thing I wanted was to lose her.

But now I knew I could try harder.

Predictably, the line at Pat’s was long but kept customers moving. The restaurant had a smooth rhythm with their outdoor setup. You ordered your cheesesteaks at one sliding glass window, ordered fries and sodas at the next, and then paid at a third. Framed photographs of celebrity patrons lined the walls, with red picnic tables surrounding the building. There didn’t seem to be a vacant one; I overheard talk about the Phillies’ game later (or as my family would say, “the Mets game”) and I was pretty sure I recognized some nearby tourists from Independence Hall.

My phone soon rang, which meant Isa had reached the menu board at Geno’s. “This is Geno” was how she greeted me. I heard Grace snort in the background.

“Geno,” I said, “it’s Pat.”

“Yes, hello,” Isa said coolly, feigning disinterest. “Do you have your proposal finalized?”

“Indeed.” I smiled. “I think we should each go for a regular cheesesteak, another with fried onions, a pizza steak if that’s an option for you, and cheese fries. See who has the superiordish.”

“That’s a lot of food,” Isa commented.

“Isabel,” I said, suddenly hangry as hell, “I haven’t eaten since six a.m.”

It was almost two.

“That’s my bad,” Grace chimed in. “I should’ve supplied snacks for the car.”

I squinted across the street to catch Isa and Grace move up in line and scan Geno’s menu. Hopefully it had everything Pat’s did, right down to the pizza steak. My stomach thought it sounded delicious. “Okay,” Isa said. “Grace and I will match your order so we can do a direct comparison. We’ll meet on neutral ground?”

Because god forbid I arrive at Geno’s with cheesesteaks from Pat’s! And god forbid Isa and Grace show up here with steaks from Geno’s!

I couldn’t help but chuckle once Isa and I hung up with each other. We’d been obsessed with food before everything crumbled between us. The two of us used to play Top Chef in elementary school, Mrs.Barbour letting us raid her pantry and take over the kitchen, while Grace judged our creations. Then, in middle school, we became food critics. Every local restaurant that served mozzarella sticks? Isabel Cruz and Everett Adler had ordered, reviewed, and ranked them. It was hilariously ridiculous.

Even now, Isa was the one who constructed the beautiful cheese plate and charcuterie board the Cruzes always brought to game nights, while my crème br?lée blew your mind.

I highly recommend you try them sometime.

This, the fact that we were falling back into our snooty food critic selves, suggested maybe this was real; it was what Grace probably hoped would happen at Jean-Georges. Fancy French food? Philadelphia cheesesteaks? Fuck it, who cared? They were both iconic.

“Neutral ground” ended up meaning the curb down the street. “Overall, I say Pat’s has the better cheesesteak,” I said after we wolfed down the food in focused silence. “The beef is chopped, per tradition—whereas Geno’s slices it—and its cheese is gooey, but not messy. ”

Isa nodded. “I concur,” she said. “Their onions are also superior. I found Geno’s to be a little overdone.”

“Yeah, I found that as well,” I agreed. “A hundred percent.”

“ But, ” Grace chimed in, “Geno’s definitely wins the war of the cheese fries. Even with all the melted cheese, the fries are still crispy. Pat’s get a bit soggy.”

“Excellent evaluation, Madam President.” I grinned, and she grinned back. Grace’s smile lit up her entire being, and I noticed some cheese at the corner of her mouth.

“You have some cheese,” I said quietly, then pretended to cough. “You have some cheese right there….” I gestured to my own cheek, not daring to wipe hers off myself.

“Oh,” Grace said. “Thanks.”

I neither blinked nor breathed when the tip of her tongue slid out and curled to lick the cheese from her face. Why hadn’t she just grabbed a napkin? Because her tongue …

Knots twisted in the pit of my stomach, and it wasn’t because I’d eaten one cheese fry too many. Here we were, having the best time, yet I couldn’t get kissing Grace and our clandestine tryst out of my head. All it had taken was one lick of melted cheese. One lick of melted cheese and my mind was searching for some way to touch her.

But Isa was sitting in between us.

This is exactly what Grace wanted, I thought as I listened to her and Isa laugh together. This is what she’s wanted for years, for Isa and me to fix our friendship, but now that it’s hopefully happening…

It wasn’t going to last. It wasn’t going to last because I wasn’t going to last. Something in my chest tightened—I wasn’t going to last as Grace’s friend, and she wasn’t going to last as mine. I wanted her, I needed her, and I couldn’t bury it much longer.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Isa studying me, like she was clocking my comfort level. I casually reached up to adjust my Mets cap. She hadn’t caught on, had she?

“You’re, like, in an impossible situation,” Margot once said. Like Mom, she knew I had feelings for Grace. “Because you dated Isa, and Grace is her best friend. Best friends never date each other’s ex-boyfriends. It’s an unspoken rule.” She sighed melodramatically. “And, I mean, imagine it from Grace’s perspective. If she likes you back, telling your best friend you have a crush on someone should be so easy. She and Isa are like sisters! If she were to tell Isa she wants to be with you, it wouldn’t be like that between them anymore.” She’d given me a pointed look. “You probably never should’ve dated Isa.”

“But I wanted to date Isa,” I said. “Who doesn’t want to be with their best friend at some point?”

Margot considered this. “True,” she said, then brightened from a sudden thought. “Grace and Isa would be kind of cute together, don’t you think?”

I groaned.

Thirteen-year-old sisters could be the worst.

But at least they were honest.

“Hey.” Isa’s voice brought me back down to our curbside picnic. She nudged Grace. “G, is that your phone?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Let me…” She dug around for it in her pocket, and her face dropped when she saw the incoming call onscreen. My mom’s name had popped up: Mara Adler.

“Don’t answer it!” Isa shouted at the same time I said, “Answer it.”

Both Isa and Grace looked at me like I was nuts. “She’s just going to check in,” I told them. “I spoke to her earlier—”

“You what?!” they screeched.

“I spoke to her earlier,” I repeated. “We talked while I was exploring the art museum, and it was fine.” I shrugged. “I lied about how my Phillie Phanatic day was going so far—we should probably buy a Phillies jersey and forge Bryce Harper’s signature at some point today, to, you know, make it seem more legit—and she said she wanted to bring you some soup, Grace.”

“Oh.” Grace’s shoulders sank in relief. “That’s really sweet of her. My mom mentioned coming home for lunch—”

Isa’s eyes widened “She did?”

“—but there’s no way her schedule would actually allow that.” Her thumb hovered over her phone screen as she cleared her throat to channel a weak, lightheaded, lethargic voice.

Then she accepted my mother’s call.

“Hello?” Grace quavered. “Mrs.Adler?” She rose from the curb and walked farther down the sidewalk. I’d metaphorically taped my mouth shut, but Isa’s death stare really made you feel like you were in the hot seat. Grace didn’t need that added pressure.

Isa and I sat in silence for a few moments. Our food had been annihilated, so that was no longer a viable topic of conversation. What was safe to talk about? Maybe she’d opened up to Grace about her dickhead dad while waiting in line, but I sensed me hugging her outside the Comcast building was enough for now. And even though Grace was technically the one on the phone with my mom, I could still hear Mara Adler’s voice. “I know why you ended things, Everett,” she’d said earlier. “But does Isa? Does she truly know? Have you ever told her?”

Our breakup seemed a little loaded to bring up out of theblue.

Isa didn’t agree. “How could I have been this blind?” she asked suddenly.

“What?” I asked, caught off guard. What was she talking about?

Her father’s affair?

Grace and me?

Dad?

No, she couldn’t know about Dad. Neither of them did.

“I can’t believe I only noticed it today when it’s probably been ages. ” Her voice was low. “Have you and Grace had the chance to decide who has the honor of stabbing me in the back?”

I laughed—laughed to cover up the fact that my heart rate was about to go off the freaking charts. “Isa, don’t be so dramatic.”

“Really?” She arched an eyebrow. “I’m being dramatic ?” She snorted. “Come on, Everett, I have eyes. Twenty-twenty vision, actually. Ever since Grace and I got you out of school, it’s been weird. I couldn’t figure out why until we left the art museum.” Her face hardened. “You and Grace like each other.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out; I couldn’t denyit.

In fact, I felt myself nod.

“Yeah, I saw her kiss your cheek so she could steal your hat!” she exclaimed as if I’d demanded evidence instead of confessed. “You blushed brighter than when I kissed you in eighth grade.” She rolled her eyes. “It turns out I’ve been third-wheeling all the way today.”

“You have not,” I said, shaking my head. “If anything, Isa, Grace is the third wheel. We both know what her game is.” I swallowed. “To get us back together.”

I realized, in immediate hindsight, my poor choice of words.

“As friends,” I clarified. “Like we were before…”

“Before?” Isa blinked in slow-motion, faking cluelessness. “Before what?”

I felt my face redden. “We’re not stabbing you in the back,” I murmured, resisting the urge to talk to my hands. I had to keep eye contact. “You and I aren’t dating or anything.”

“Yes, that’s absolutely correct,” she snapped. “We’re not.”

“Then what’s the problem?” I asked, exasperated. “Because if it’s about Grace being your best friend, then that’s stupid. I’m sorry—I know there’s some special girl code—but it is. We dated three years ago, Isa, and I know you don’t feel anything for me anymore.” I sighed. “And when I say anything, I mean anything. Not love, not friendship, not even a supportive shoulder when the going gets tough.”

Isa looked like I’d slapped her across the face. I could almost imagine the handprint on her cheek, and I wanted to kick myself.

You shouldn’t have brought Dad into it, I thought, feeling like water was pouring into my lungs. Why did you bring Dad into it?

Because it was the truth. Something had hurt me the day I’d ended things with Isa, so I had hurt Isa hoping it would make me feel better. I didn’t need a girlfriend, especially one I’d realized I didn’t love the way she deserved to be loved. No, I needed my best friend, the person who made it clear we were an unbreakable team.

Isabel Cruz happened to be both those people. But for some reason, she couldn’t be both at the same time. I couldn’t either.

“Isa, I’m sorry,” I said. “But I need you to know—”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this again,” she cut me off. “Are you serious? Are you seriously telling me that—”

And then I cut her off. “I’m trying to be honest,” I said. “You deserve to know the truth.”

“Yes.” Isa snorted. “I’ve only been waiting for three years with bated breath.”

My gaze dropped down to my hands.

“Oh my god,” Isa said. “This is so ridiculous! So ridiculous that you need to be prompted. Here, let me paint you a picture, Mr.Adler! Would that be all right?”

“Don’t call me that, Isa,” I whispered as Dad, Dad, Dad ran through my mind. “Please don’t call me that.”

Isa did the exact opposite, clapping her hands together with sarcastic glee. “It was the end of freshman year, and coincidentally we’d been together twelve months. I was wearing a light pink dress, and you gave me a bouquet of peonies and kissed me after my parents took our picture. Then your mom drove us into town and we had a nice dinner before walking to school for the formal…”

A lump formed in my throat.

“It was like a switch had been flipped,” she said. “You refused to dance with me, you didn’t hold my hand, you didn’t do much of anything except stand by Grace’s side.”

I swallowed. Grace hadn’t had a date to our freshman formal. Plenty of people had asked her, but she’d let them down gently. I hated myself for being hopeful that maybe the rejection was because of me. When I hadn’t been sneaking looks at her at the dance, I’d noticed Steph Gallagher looking longingly at her. They’d ended up dating most of sophomore year.

“But the worst was afterward, ” Isa said. “You went from sweet to distant to cold, Everett. You made me shiver in the parking lot, and it wasn’t because you hadn’t offered me your jacket.” She paused. “I can’t remember what you said; I’ve blocked it out, to be honest.” Her voice dropped. “I bawled all weekend. My eyes were so red and puffy and sore that I could barely open them. You have no idea how much Grace did for me, how many cucumbers she sliced to bring down the swelling. How many times she told me you were a moron. ”

I bit my tongue. Grace had made that more than clear. I’d never forget her voice on the phone, telling me that she was holding herself back from walking over to my house and punching me in the goddamn face.

She’s not the only one upset, I’d wanted to say. You have no idea, Grace. No idea at all.

“Listen, Isa.” I sucked in a breath. “I have to tell you something….” I trailed off when I noticed Grace’s striped shorts out of the corner of my eye. She was behind a streetlamp with her phone pressed against her ear.

But something told me she’d hung up with my mom a while ago.

“You shoved me away,” Isa said, oblivious. “You shoved me away hard when you broke up with me, so I pushed you away, too. I pushed you away because—” She dropped off, like she’d been about to spill tea she didn’t want spilled. “I don’t regret it, Everett. If you had just apologized for treating me like that—if you had been you that night, just been my friend —things would be different.” She shook her head again. “But they aren’t, and here you are, telling me all over again that you like someone else !” She rose from the curb. “Unbelievable.”