Klair had insisted that they take Everett out, as a belated birthday celebration. Secretly pleased, he’d protested at length that it wasn’t necessary and that meeting his long-lost twin was the best gift of all. Evan argued that they were too close to the opening of Tequila to spare him for an evening, but Klair wouldn’t drop it. She suggested that they take Everett’s suggestion and have dinner at Señor Sushi, where Evan could keep an eye on things.
The restaurant was packed, with an hour-long wait, but of course Evan had a table reserved in the back. As Sierra led them there, Everett thought of his café and flushed with embarrassment. For Java Joe’s, two small groups of customers was a rush. Lena constantly complained that she couldn’t afford to eat lunch on her daily tips.
Once they were seated, Everett scanned the menu. The intro on the first page explained that Evan had been inspired by takoraisu, a deconstructed taco popular in Japan. He’d wanted to explore how Japanese cuisine could be married to the Tex-Mex flavors he’d been raised with.
The menu featured sushi made with locally caught fish, served on Texas-grown rice, ginger slices pickled with cumin and garlic, and wasabi with a tinge of lime juice and habanero paste.
To the yakisoba — pan-fried noodles with meat and veggies — Evan had added bacon, roasted garlic, and crushed chipotles.
He’d turned takoyaki into a deconstructed fajita, embedding seasoned chicken, steak, or shrimp in the traditional egg pancake, along with grilled onions, peppers and tomatoes, topping it all with melted cheddar, jack cheese, and pico de gallo.
Evan’s teriyaki sauce was made with soy, brown sugar, and mild guajillo chilies, but customers who wanted it spicier could swap in a version made with jalapeños. The meat was barbecued instead of pan-fried.
Even the gyoza were Tex-Mex: the deep-fried dumplings were filled with pork al-pastor and dipped in a spicy pineapple-mango-habanero sauce.
And of course, Evan’s version of takoraisu. A generous pile of brisket on cilantro-lime rice, topped with Oaxacan cheese, caramelized onions, shredded cabbage, salsa, and crema.
They also had a variety of different margaritas. Klair ordered one right away, despite Evan’s obvious scowl of displeasure. But before he could start an argument, one of the other waitresses asked Evan if he’d mind handling something in the kitchen.
“Be right back,” Evan said as he stood. “Shall I choose for the table while I’m there?”
“Maybe Everett would like to choose his own meal, like an adult,” Klair said.
Whatever was going on between Klair and Evan, Everett wanted to stay out of it. “Everything looks delicious, I’m up for whatever you recommend.”
Evan hurried away as Sierra brought a huge margarita for Klair and a bowl of spicy edamame for the table.
Klair started in on her drink while the kids buried themselves in their phones. Thankfully Evan came back a moment later, looking annoyed.
“How often does the menu change?” Everett asked, hoping to get the conversation going.
“Whenever my husband gets bored. That’s what he does whenever things start to slow down, he adds something new to his plate.”
“Come on, Klair. Do we have to do this now?”
“That’s exactly what I’ll be thinking to myself each and every time you get up from our dinner table to deal with something else in the kitchen.”
“What do you want me to do? Because I’m getting really burned out on feeling like I can’t get anything right.”
She swallowed the last of her habanero margarita, then held up her empty glass and called out to a passing server. “One more of these, please.”
A second server approached the table and whispered in Evan’s ear. The server left and he sighed. “Sorry, I have to go. I’ll be right back.”
“Of course you do.” Klair gave her empty glass a dirty look.
“This is me doing my job.”
“Really, Evan? Because I would have thought that your job is being the father in this family.”
“Yes, Klair, that is one of my jobs. So is making sure this place is running smoothly instead of falling apart, so we can all keep living in Westlake and enjoying the life my hard work provides.”
“Right. Because I don’t contribute anything.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Your son got in a fight at school today. He has a black eye.”
“I can see that.”
“Well, noticing but not caring enough to say a word about it is worse than being oblivious.”
Evan didn’t respond. At least not verbally.
He pushed himself away from the table, then stood and marched off to the kitchen.
Sierra dropped off another habanero margarita for Klair, who winked and said, “Keep ‘em coming. Do you want anything, Rhett?”
“No, thank you.” He shook his head and the server walked away. Harmony was still glued to her screen and Jazz kept shifting in his seat while casting his gaze wildly around the restaurant. Everett turned to Klair. “How many is that now?”
“Is there a reason you’re keeping count?” She glared at him.
Several painfully long minutes passed. Klair was on her way to getting wildly drunk. Thank goodness Evan was on his way back to the table.
“I’m really sorry, you guys.” And he sounded it. “The food will be out in a couple more minutes. I got our dishes started.”
After he sat down, Evan reached across the table, waited for Klair to finish sipping and set her glass on the table, then he put his hand on top of hers. “I know you feel like I’m ignoring you, or putting the restaurant ahead of you. I can’t apologize enough for that. You have my word: once Tequila is running, I’ll slow down, and prepare better for the next time. Third time’s the charm.”
“Why does there have to be a third time? Aren’t two successful restaurants enough for you?”
“Is it enough for—?”
“Please don’t start listing off all the chefs you have a boner for.” She glared at him.
“It’s not like this is news, Klair. More than two restaurants has always been part of the plan. I am acknowledging that I got in over my head, and I’m doing it in front of company.”
Company?
Everett knew that they didn’t have a full twin bond yet, but they were brothers. Didn’t that count for anything?
“You act like I don’t understand the situation.” Now Klair was really slurring her words. “But I understand everything.”
Evan didn’t respond, probably hoping that Klair would stop talking, or at least fill her mouth with more margarita. Harmony had finally stopped looking at her phone and was slumped low in her seat. Jazz slumped even lower.
Klair turned to Everett. “Don’t you think it’s a shame …” Her pause was long and pregnant and painful. “… how much some people care more about their career than their family?”
This was terrible. When Marco and Roberto had excommunicated him, Everett figured that at least he was through with family situations that made him want to jump right out the nearest window.
He and Clara fought regularly, but only once or twice in front of Jimi. And not even once in front of company. “It’s hard to balance work and family—”
“So you don’t think your twin brother is shitting the bed?”
“How many of those have you had?” Evan gestured at Klair’s newest margarita.
“That’s exactly what he wanted to know!”
Evan turned to Everett. “How many of these has she had?”
“I’m not sure.” Too many.
“Don’t involve him in our little … spat,” she finally finished.
“I think you’ve already done that.” Evan shook his head. “This isn’t like you.”
“Maybe so you would have to drive me home.”
Evan sighed. “Harmony, take your mother home. I’ll grab a FASTr and get there when I can.”
“But we haven’t even eaten yet!” Harmony protested.
“You can’t just get rid of me,” Klair added, slurring even more than before. “Stop caring what everyone thinks, and start caring about what I think, Evan.”
“I do care about what you—”
“Then why don’t we ever talk anymore? Why does your brother who I barely know pay more attention to me than you do?”
“Please, Klair. Don’t do this.”
Everett couldn’t agree more. Please, Klair. Don’t fucking do this.
Everett’s phone rang. A generic ring, so it wasn’t anyone he knew. But that didn’t matter at all. He would happily talk to someone about maybe changing his health insurance right now. Or about his car’s extended warranty. He drew his phone like a gun from its holster and blinked down at the screen. Unknown number.
“So sorry.” Already standing. “I have to take this.”
He answered outside, just as the third ring began to trill.
“Mister Alvarez,” said a voice when he answered.
“Who’s this?”
“Abbot Paulson. Your landlord.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Your name didn’t come up on my caller ID.”
“I always get your voicemail. My odds were better calling with an unknown number.”
Asshole.
“Did my rent check bounce?”
An alarmingly real possibility. If so, Everett was in much worse shape than he’d realized. The air outside had the tang of something burning. Probably the stench of his life.
“No. Your check didn’t bounce. But I have news for you that I didn’t want to leave on a voicemail.”
“Good news?” Everett felt hopeful.
“If it were good news, I wouldn’t be concerned about you insisting that you never got my message three months from now.”
This wasn’t good. “What happens in three months?”
“I’ll be raising your rent.”
Heart pounding, eyes starting to water. “How much?”
“Thirty percent,” Abbot said without apology.
“You can’t do that,” Everett replied, on the verge of a panic attack.
“Thirty percent is the most Las Orillas will allow me to raise it.”
“Why are you doing this?” Everett asked.
“It’s business.”
“It feels personal.”
“Maybe it’s a bit of both, Mister Alvarez. That corner is hot, and getting hotter. The right tenant could make a killing in your space.”
“I am the right tenant. Java Joe’s is going to—”
“You tell me this every time we talk. But that’s all you are: talk. It’s embarrassing how little you’ve done with that space.”
“I have a skeleton crew.”
“Mr. Alvarez, you had your chance. Now I’m giving the space to someone who’ll do more with it.”
“I’ll get a lawyer.”
“You absolutely can. But I suggest you save your money and use this a learning opportunity. The tenant who can afford the thirty percent increase, which the property is absolutely worth, will invest in renovation. You rejected my offer to match your remodeling budget. Because you didn’t have one. That was my mistake, and I won’t make it again.”
“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”
Abbot sighed. “If you can afford the rent increase and commit to renovations within the next year, and you can show me that you’ve got a plan to bring in the kind of traffic that spot can support, I’m willing to give you another shot.”
“I’ll figure it out before my lease is up.”
“I look forward to hearing from you then. Have a good evening, Mister Alvarez.”
He stumbled back into the restaurant. Made it back to the table just as Sierra placed the last dish of an elaborate spread. It looked like Evan had told the kitchen to send out half the menu.
“Is everything okay?” Evan asked.
“I’m fine,” Everett said, forcing a smile.
Klair shook her finger under his nose. “No way. I’ve seen that face a million times. Something’s wrong.”
Harmony and Jazz traded a glance. They knew it too.
“I’ve felt the way you just looked.” Evan laughed, though he sounded uncomfortable. “You sure nothing’s wrong?”
“I just found out that one of my friends is having the rent raised on his business by thirty percent.”
Evan winced. “Oh, that’s rough.”
“Derek’s a good guy, but he’s in way over his head,” Everett lied with a shrug.
“There’s no way he can pull it off?” Klair asked.
“Not a chance. Derek’s the kind of guy who expects other people to solve his problems for him.”
He could see it all over Evan’s face: Well, then fuck that guy.
It was hard to disagree.
But Everett wasn’t going to be like his friend “Derek.”
He would solve this problem for himself, and he knew exactly how he was going to do it — by taking a page out of Evan’s playbook.