Spitting image, p.8
Spitting Image, page 8
Evan walked to the door, opened it, then turned back before leaving. “Happy birthday.”
“Happy birthday!”
The door closed, but Everett could still feel his smile.
He turned on the TV, then went to pour himself a drink at the small bar. Whiskey, neat. He tipped it back and gulped it like a shot, before setting the bottle of whiskey back on the counter and pushing his empty glass back toward the ledge. Then he turned off the TV, plugged in his phone, and set an alarm for six in the morning.
Drinking right now was dumb, and watching TV was even dumber.
He needed to sleep, so he could wake up fresh and early to talk with Evan first thing.
Then maybe he could be a part of his brother’s life.
Everett left the guest house, lost a couple of minutes trying to figure out the gate, grabbed his suitcase from the trunk of his rented Mustang, then brought it back inside to leave it on the guest house floor without doing anything else.
He got undressed, to hell with brushing his teeth, then collapsed on a queen-sized mattress that was better than the one he had at home in every conceivable way.
Moments later he was falling asleep, thinking about all the many ways tomorrow could go right.
If it didn’t go terribly, terribly wrong.
Chapter Twelve
Everett’s alarm went off at exactly six in the morning.
The sound of the overlapping chimes was peaceful, more a lullaby than a sonic charge to get him out of the bed. Everett had been dreaming he was on a boat, bobbing up and down in a mostly calm sea as little waves licked at the hull.
Until he remembered his plan to talk to Evan and shot straight up in bed, half-panicked.
He rolled out of bed, fumbled for his phone, finding it only after remembering that he’d left it plugged in across the room. He killed the alarm, looked at the screen, saw that it was 6:16 and cursed himself.
It’s not too late, you can do this, he told himself, peeling off his clothes on the way into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and jumped under the stream without waiting for his water to get hot. No time for that, he barely had a moment to lather the shampoo. His hair, face, and body were all washed by the time the water started scalding him.
He got out, ran a towel over his body, then went to his suitcase and dug for a change of clothes, casting a dirty glance at both his cowboy hat and boots. He put on yesterday’s jeans, which were much better than the skinnies, and a gray tee with the words Pot Head beneath a steaming pot of coffee.
He slipped into his hoodie, put on his shoes, then walked from the guest house to his brother’s back door, knocking softly. When no one answered, Everett worried that he might have already blown it.
He knocked again, slightly harder, pissed at himself for sleeping through that first quarter hour of his alarm. Now it was 6:29, and Evan might already be gone.
He knocked a third time, louder than he meant to. Still no answer. So he circled around to the front of the house.
The black Tesla was gone. Dammit.
How early did Evan get up?
Was it possibly he’d left earlier than normal to avoid Everett?
He considered getting in the car and driving to Señor Sushi. He could offer to help his brother out in the kitchen. They were both chefs, after all. Cooking together would be fun, and maybe Everett could even teach Evan a thing or two. Dorothy might’ve been a loving mother, but she couldn’t possibly be as good a cook as Mom.
But he could already hear the Ds telling him not to push it. He’d shown up unannounced at Evan’s birthday party. It might be too much to show up at his restaurant unannounced, too. It would be so much better to be invited.
He’d talk to Evan tonight, drop a hint.
For today, he might as well relax. Make himself a hearty breakfast from the guest house’s fully-stocked fridge. Mom had always served him the best food in the world. Chilaquiles with salsa verde. A pork tamale topped with a fried egg and drizzled in Aunt Beatriz’ homemade hot sauce. Corn pancakes spiced with cinnamon, drizzled with sweet cajeta and sprinkled with chopped pecans.
Remembering her bustling around their cramped kitchen made him tear up.
He looked up and down the street, as if that could tell him anything, then sighed in defeat and turned back around to head inside the guest house.
He opened a window to the city by turning on the local news, then went and took inventory in the fridge. It appeared recently stocked, and surely just for him. When had they done that? He saw bacon, sausage, and several kinds of cheese, eggs — Everett wouldn’t be able to make any of Mom’s recipes, but he could make an amazing omelette.
But eyeing all his options, he suddenly didn’t feel like cooking at all, overwhelmed by a wave of melancholy. Even with all of Mom’s recipes, he would never cook with her again.
He closed the fridge and plopped onto the couch and actually watched the TV.
Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. He had been hoping for a glimpse into Austin, but even this early in the morning Everett was only seeing the same old stories about war and inequality, oppression and pollution, crime and punishment, power and abuse. He had no idea if the world was really getting worse, but it sure felt like it was.
A half hour later, he went to try the back door of the main house yet again. This time, three soft knocks earned him an answer.
“Everett … good morning.” Klair looked like she’d been awake for all of five minutes.
“Good morning …” His moment was finally here, but he didn’t know how to use it. “I’m guessing Evan already went into work?”
“Um … yeah. He’s usually out of here by 5:00, 5:30 at the latest.”
“Oh.”
“He has a lot to do right now, keeping the old restaurant running while preparing to open the new one. But I can’t even blame it on that.” She shrugged. “Evan’s been up and out of here ahead of the sun for years.”
“That’s the restaurant business for you,” Everett said, thinking of Lena with a stab of guilt for all those mornings she opened for him.
“Right.”
Klair’s smile hung on her face like an obligation. Everett understood; it wasn’t like she was his twin. And he was in her space, early in the morning. Still … would it kill her to invite him inside?
“Will he be gone all day?” Everett asked.
“He’s always gone all day.”
After several more seconds of awkward silence, Klair finally got the hint and opened the door.
“You’re welcome to sit around while I prep lunches. It’s not exciting, but—”
“That would be great.”
Everett followed her into the kitchen, then sat at the large island where they had opened presents the night before. What looked like a random assembly of ingredients littered the counter.
“What are you making?” Everett asked, hoping the question would warm her up.
“Depends on who it’s for,” Klair said, sounding as tired as she looked. “Pesto zucchini for Harmony, turkey burger kabobs for Jazz. The only thing they have in common is that neither one eats gluten.”
“Once they’re off to school, then you can relax?”
“Then I’ve got a meeting with our tour manager. And a rehearsal this afternoon.”
It never occurred to Everett that she would be in a hurry to get out of the house too. Clara worked her rehearsals around Jimi’s schedule, often hosting the band in her tiny garage.
Because Everett was always too busy at the café to take Jimi during the week.
“What’s in a burger kabob?” he asked, to distract himself from the twinge of guilt.
Klair pointed at the prep bowls of ingredients as she explained. “I made the turkey meatballs yesterday. Everything else is straight from the fridge. I cut the cheese into little squares, and put it on a toothpick with a little wedge of lettuce, a piece of pickle, and a cherry tomato. Boom, turkey burger kabob.”
“Is there anything I can do to help out?” Everett asked.
She shook her head. “The hard part’s all done. Now it’s just assembly. I try to prep as much as I can the day before.”
“In that case, have you eaten breakfast?” Maybe he could warm her up by cooking for her. That was how he’d won Clara over. With gourmet pasta and his secret weapon: Mom’s oatmeal raisin cookie recipe. Tinged with a hint of cardamom and orange, in addition to the usual cinnamon and vanilla, they were orgasmic hot out of the oven, especially when paired with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Clara had begged to take a few home the morning after their first date; he’d always wondered if she’d have said yes to the second date if he hadn’t offered to let her take the whole batch.
“The fridge in the guest house is fully stocked. If you’re hungry, make yourself something. You have a restaurant, right?”
“I do.” That one wasn’t really a lie.
“There’s even some chicken jalapeño sausage from Central Market. It’ll kick you in your teeth.”
“What’s Central Market? And do I want to get kicked in my teeth?”
“Do you like spicy?”
“I love spicy!”
“Then yes, you want to get kicked in your teeth. Central Market is the bougie Austin grocery store that has things like jalapeño chicken sausage. Better than Whole Foods.”
“What if I made something for the both of us? You don’t want to go off to your meetings hungry.”
“I don’t have a lot of time—”
“Ten minutes. I’ll make a scrambler, sausage and eggs.”
She hesitated, then said, “There’s more of that sausage in here.”
While Klair finished assembling the kids’ lunches, Everett worked fast, adding some chopped onion and shredded cheddar he’d found in the fridge to the scrambled eggs and sausage.
“Morning, Mom!” Harmony yelled as she exploded into the kitchen.
“You’re late.” Klair sealed up the lunch containers and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel.
“I’m earlier than Jazz.”
“I’m right here!” Jazz announced, running into the kitchen a beat behind his sister.
Harmony looked at Everett. “You’re still here.”
“Morning to you both.” Everett gave them his best smile. Uncle Everett is happy to see you, kids.
“Is that for us?” Harmony asked.
But before he could offer to make more, Klair answered. “You know the rules.”
Harmony groaned, but Jazz was already digging through the pantry.
“Here.” He tossed something to Harmony, but Everett couldn’t see what it was.
“Great,” Harmony said.
Klair turned to Everett. “That girl has no idea how spoiled she is.”
“I’m right here, Mom.”
“I’m pretty sure she said that for your benefit,” Jazz explained.
“You’re late,” Klair reminded them both.
Quick kisses and hugs, then Harmony and Jazz were out the door.
Everett and Klair were alone again.
“What’s ‘the rule’?” he asked.
“If they’re up early, I’ll make them breakfast. An omelette, a smoothie, oatmeal, whatever. But they can’t come down last minute and ask me to drop everything.”
She grabbed a plate from a nearby cabinet, plucked a fork from the drawer beneath it, and helped herself to some of the scrambler. Once she’d put the first bite in her mouth, she smiled and made a happy humming noise.
And Everett realized that was the first thing he’d cooked since—
“Are you planning to check out the city?” Klair asked.
He’d hoped to get to know her. He would be happy to help her with whatever she needed. Meal prep for tonight, lunch prep for tomorrow. Housework, even. Anything to help her get comfortable with his presence, so that she’d push Evan to let him stay instead of pushing to get rid of him.
But if she was anything like Clara, she’d resent having him hanging around, even if he was trying to help.
“No plans yet.” Everett dished the rest of the scrambler onto a plate for himself. “I was listening to some of your music the other day. Really great stuff. My favorite song was ‘Polished Pebbles.’”
“Thanks.”
Everett expected more in the aftermath of his compliment, but instead, she asked, “There are a lot of great trails in Austin, if you like to hike.”
Everett definitely didn’t want to go hiking. “So, how did you guys meet? You and Evan, I mean.”
“It was sophomore year of college.”
“You were both at UT?”
“Yep.”
There had to be mountains more to that story, but Klair clearly wasn’t interested in climbing any of it. She needed time to get used to him — time he couldn’t afford. The clock was ticking on his bank account.
“So, Rhett …” she started.
He looked up, ignoring her use of the new name that he already hated.
“How about I give you a list of some great things to do in Austin, then you can go ahead and get started on your day?”
That way I can get started on mine, she didn’t need to add.
“What do you like?” she asked.
“Which of the restaurants will Evan be at today?”
She shook her head, looking … concerned? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“What’s not a good idea?”
“When Evan’s working, you don’t want to interrupt him. It’s like he’s in another world.”
“Oh, I get it, I’m the same way in the kitchen.” He finished the last of his scrambler. “I’d only drop by to say hi.”
“Hi is an interruption. Oh my God — don’t ever text him hi and then nothing else. He’ll cook you for dinner.”
“Got it. Don’t go near the restaurants.”
“He’ll be at Señor until after the dinner rush. But seriously, don’t go there.”
“Where would you suggest going to chill out?”
“Did you bring any of that California weed with you?”
“No. Sorry.” Clearly an oversight. That would have been better than Beaver Nuggets for sure.
“Fuck,” Klair said.
Everett looked at her, surprised.
“Just kidding,” she laughed. “If you are.”
“I’m sorry. I really should have thought about that. I’m so used to it being legal, I forget other states don’t have it yet.”
“You’ll never get arrested for it in Austin. Us being Willie Nelson folk around here and all. But it’s still a pain in the ass to get.”
“Next time,” he said.
“Next time,” she repeated with a smile. “Zilker Park is just a few minutes from here, and it’s beautiful. Lots of grass and you can see downtown. Search, Things to do near Zilker Park.”
“Thanks so much for—”
“I’ve got it. You can just leave it there.” Klair smiled, and this time, it felt authentic. “Thanks for cooking.”
“Any time.”
Maybe he’d struck out at getting to know her, but at least Everett was leaving on a positive note.
Chapter Thirteen
Everett returned to the guest house, gave his boot and hats another dirty look, then grabbed his fob and phone before hitting the road.
Tempted as he was to ignore Klair’s advice, he really didn’t want to push too hard with Evan. And while he didn’t care about Zilker Park, getting to know Austin a bit better would give him something to talk to everyone about tonight. I see why you love this place, but let me tell you about Las Orillas …
So he went to Zilker Park, but there was nothing for him to do without a dog or a frisbee or a friend. It was a clean park with plenty of space, a large rock formation and a scattering of trees. The downtown skyline was impressive when seen from all that sprawling grass. But still it did little for Everett; he just wasn’t much of a park guy. He walked around for a quarter hour or so, which only drove home how out of shape he’d allowed himself to get.
Maybe he could be a park guy, if he had a beautiful wife to picnic with. Someone like Klair, who would enjoy the spread he’d lovingly prepare for her.
Everett googled for something else to do, but none of the 18 Crazy Amazing Things to do in Austin sounded either crazy or amazing. Barton Springs was the closest adventure: a natural pool that was sixty-eight degrees year round. Too bad he didn’t have trunks, a towel, or a change of clothes.
Climbing Mount Bonnell sounded like an awful lot of work, just to look at other people’s lakefront houses from up high. There were museums and gardens — from sculpture to botanical — paddle boarding and boating on Lake Travis, plus all the shopping and eating on South Congress, or anywhere else in the city.
But Everett could only pretend to be interested in museums and gardens if he had a companion. Paddle boarding and boating both meant plunking down money for the rental equipment. Shopping was out, obviously. And as for eating, he’d rather wait for whatever Evan would be cooking tonight. He could hardly wait to experience his twin’s culinary gifts firsthand.
He finally decided to see a movie at the Alamo Drafthouse. Going alone was less objectionable than most of the other activities, and he could also order snacks, which would cost less than a whole meal and still save room for dinner. Unfortunately, the first showing wasn’t until after noon, and that was for something in French. No thank you.
He settled for a Best of Austin Tour, promising fun and adventure while eliminating the stress of navigating the city.
But the tour turned out to be even worse than a French film. The guide had a man bun and seriously thought he was funny. And the only other guy on the tour wouldn’t shut up.
Where are you from?
Are you visiting family in Austin?
What else are you planning to do while you’re here?
Three hours later, Everett made it to the theater, where he ordered popcorn and a milkshake. At least the Alamo used real butter, and his shake had a shot of bourbon in it, which he told himself he deserved after such an unnecessarily frustrating morning. The film itself felt long, at least in part because Everett had a hard time paying attention. He kept thinking about Evan, his only reason for being in Austin. He could have seen this dumb disaster flick anywhere.
