After more than an hour of pacing the guest house, Everett could no longer stand it.
He grabbed his phone, and dialed Derek.
Three rings, then Derek said, “Yo! I know you must still be in a different time zone if your ass is calling me this early. Or you’re dying. Are you dying, Everett?”
“No … I’m not dying … not literally, anyway.” Only after the words were all out did he realize how close to crying he was.
Derek sobered immediately. “What do you need, man? Just tell me what we can do.”
Everett did his best to deliver the Reader’s Digest version to Derek, even the most humiliating parts that he would usually leave out, ending with the request he’d initially intended for Evan. “So I need enough money to pay for the Mustang when I drop it off, cover whatever I need to pay the mechanic in El Paso, then get the rest of the way home with gas and food and whatever. Can you please help me out?”
Derek sighed. “If I send you extra, will you promise to leave that piece of shit in El Paso and fly home? Devon and I can help you find a new piece of shit when you’re back.”
“Thanks man. I really appreciate it.”
“I know you do,” Derek said.
They hung up and Everett took one last look around the guest house before leaving it all behind forever.
He had driven to Austin with a dream. But he had ruined that fantasy by paying more attention to the things his new family could do for him, instead of considering all the ways he could make himself essential to his new family.
Maybe things were actually better this way. He had inserted himself into Evan’s world, wrongly assuming that his brother had an Everett-shaped hole just waiting to be filled. Though far from perfect, Evan’s life was still a dream come true for Everett.
What had he been thinking? Driving from California to Austin without any warning, assuming he would be welcomed with open arms.
Hey, you don’t know me from Adam, but we do share DNA, so I was figuring that maybe we could be buddies? BFFs, even. How about I sweeten the deal with some video games? Don’t I look trustworthy in my new clothes? I got them at Redford Creek, because that’s where Texas gets dressed!
He was such a moron sometimes.
He took out his phone and checked to see if the money from Derek’s transfer had cleared his account. But nope, his balance still showed the same disaster, which meant he wouldn’t be going anywhere quite yet.
He should have listened to his best friends when they were trying to give him good advice. He could have called Evan first, or friended him on LiveLyfe. Tried to nurture an actual relationship instead of acting as if the deep connection he’d been longing for his entire life already existed.
He had been living a loser’s life in California. Finding his twin brother was never going to change that. He’d ruined his own marriage and was struggling in his relationship with his son. Because he didn’t appreciate them until he lost them.
And the biggest revelation of all: Evan and I are the same, but not how I thought.
Evan’s mistakes were the spitting image of his own.
He pulled out his phone and recorded a short video for his son.
“Hey there, Jimi …” Everett was Dad, making his goofiest face. “I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve been missing you! Our weekends mean everything to me, little man. And I hate that I’ve missed a few. I’m in Austin right now — that’s in Texas, which is even bigger than California, but not bigger than Alaska.” Everett found himself smiling, thinking about how much Jimi always enjoyed little factoids like that. “I’m here because I found out that I have a twin brother! That’s right, just like Devon and Derek. I’ll be home soon, but I wanted to say hi and let you know that you’re the most important thing in the world to me.”
Everett pressed End, a half-second before the first tear fell, then sent it in a text to Clara:
Can you please show this to Jimi for me? Tell him I love him and that I’ll be home soon. I’m really sorry about our last couple of arguments. I can and will do better.
Whether or not he could convince Clara to drop her petition for sole custody, he would move to Nashville, or anywhere else that she decided to take his son.
He just needed some money.
He checked his balance again.
The funds were finally available.
He would try one more time to make things right with Evan.
Then he would spend the rest of his life making sure Jimi had the father he deserved.
Everett arrived at Señor Sushi, surprised to find it closed — due to a family emergency, according to the note on the door. Another guilty twinge, because that’s how Evan would remember him, as a family emergency that had to be dealt with.
Everett kept the music loud on his way to Tequila Mockingbird.
He needed to be flooded with noise. Otherwise his brain kept trying to play tricks on him, insisting that he was making another big mistake, even though he knew in his soul that this couldn’t be more right. It was still difficult, keeping his foot on the gas while knowing he was not welcome. He could picture Evan’s scowl, and feel his scorn even without being near him.
But he couldn’t let that detour him.
No matter what happened — and Everett was fully prepared for a total catastrophe — he had to try. He was willing to demean himself, humiliate himself, work himself to the marrow. Whatever it took — anything to ensure that Tequila’s opening not only went off without a hitch, but that it left Evan with enough runway to go home in peace and repair the recent tears in his family life.
He parked the Mustang, across the lot from that shiny black Tesla, then ran toward the entrance.
He heard loud voices inside, the clanging of pots and pans, the scurrying of bodies and the squeaking of feet. But none of it in concert with anything else. For once, the tune of Evan’s typically orderly world sounded discordant. He entered the kitchen and witnessed a sight that was as new to him as the cacophony — Evan in mid-meltdown, railing on his station chiefs.
Morris saw him first, and shook his head violently, trying to warn Everett away. But naturally, Evan caught the movement and whirled around, stopping mid-rant.
Then huffed right by his twin brother without so much as a word.
“You gotta get outta here, bitch,” Morris said in a growling whisper. “Like now.”
“I know. But—”
“I mean it, bitch.” Morris shook his head fast, looking anxious, like an addict desperate to score. “This isn’t a rampage, it’s a war path. He’ll be adding a Dumbass Bitch Brain Relleno to the menu if you’re here when he comes back. I’m serious.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything, bitch.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Morris threw his hands in the air and muttered under his breath. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
The kitchen doors swung open again. Bernardo, walking right toward them. Softly to Everett he said, “Please, it is better for everyone if you go.”
“That’s what I keep telling him!” Morris exclaimed.
“I promise to leave as soon as someone tells me why he’s so upset. This isn’t just about me.”
Bernardo sighed, looking into Everett’s eyes and surely seeing that a short explanation was the most expedient way of getting him out of there. “Your brother made a big mistake yesterday.”
“Chef done fucked up.” Morris shook his head.
“He was … upset. He messed up the opening order.”
Still shaking his head: “Our ingredients and our menu don’t match.”
Bernardo looked grave. “The menu Chef has been working on for months.”
“The one we’ve been practicing up in this bitch since whenever,” Morris added.
There must be something more to it, because this sounded like a solvable problem. “But you do have ingredients, right? Can’t you just tweak the menu?”
“This isn’t about using coconut milk if you run out of almond milk, or putting a Sold Out! sign on the decaf when you didn’t order enough. I am sorry to say it, Rhett,” Bernardo shook his head, “but your experience doesn’t apply here.”
Ouch.
“Just … explain it to me. Please. Why can’t—”
“Eggs and oaths are easily broken,” Bernardo muttered, turning away from Everett and heading back to the kitchen.
“Look, bitch, I gotta jet, I don’t need Bernardo pissed at me, too. Chef’s gonna wanna grate my scrote for even talking to you, so I’mma microwave this explanation. Like, we need an entirely different menu. And Evan already told people what to expect.”
“So, say it’s a special opening day menu?”
“Restaurant suicide.” Morris dragged a finger across his neck. “Journalists, critics, self-important bloggers, every bitch in the city with an opinion to share. This is bigger than the typical opening for sure, but nice as it is to be at the top, the fall from up high is one hell of a bitch.”
“Can’t we just go shopping to get some new ingredients? I know it will cost more to get what we need at Central Market or wherever, but—”
“Just stop.” Morris shook his head, holding a hand palm out to stop Everett from saying anything else. “I don’t mean to be a bitch, but we barely know each other. We’re not friends enough for me to risk losing my job. You need to go. Okay?”
“What if I really can help? Please, Morris …” Then again, with every ounce of emotion he had. “Please. One minute. That’s it. You give me one more minute and not only will I be out of here if I can’t figure out a way to help, but I swear on my son’s life that you’ll never see me again.”
“Well shit, bitch. Sixty seconds, starting now.”
“Fast as you can, tell me why we can’t get what we need at the grocery store.”
“Way too expensive. And we’re talking specialty peppers from all over Texas and Mexico. Mirasols, arbols, chilhuacle rojos. And some you probably have heard of, like cascabels and guajillos. Special-order shit that Chef was sure he had special ordered. But what he actually ordered? Boxes and boxes and boxes of plain old red bell peppers.”
“He can’t make a single one of the regional dishes he had planned without peppers from that region. Well, he can, but they won’t taste authentic. They’re going to taste like an American made th— why are you looking at me like that?”
“Has it been a minute?”
“I guess?” Morris was still looking at him, perplexed. “You got a plan?”
Everett grinned. “You bet I do, bitch.”