“Yeah, you know me,” I confirmed, then muttered, “Believe me, I’m trying.”
Had I truly been trying beyond flirty texts—or what Ithoughtwere 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 thewalls, 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 cheesesteaksfrom 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 playTop Chefin 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 brûlée 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 thiswasreal; 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’sslicesit—and its cheese is gooey, but notmessy.”
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 hertongue…
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 becauseIwasn’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.
