Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
JORDAN
Wyles Bros
Noah has changed the name of the chat to Wyles Bros
Elliot
Is that really necessary?
Noah
Yes, because otherwise how will everyone know we’re bros?
Cooper
Are you sure you’re not the youngest? You have real youngest child energy.
Elliot
Seriously. I’m surprised they let you hold scalpels and cut into people’s faces.
Noah
Fuck off. I’m an amazing surgeon.
Me
Oral.
Noah
Uh, excuse me.
Me
Oral surgeon. You’re an oral surgeon, whereas I’m an actual surgeon.
Noah
Oh, you mean you weren’t talking about the other kind of oral?
Elliot
And maybe how you’re giving it to a certain Evans sister?
Noah
Or getting it from her?
Cooper
Or both? Maybe at the same time.
Me
Jesus fuck, you guys are annoying.
We’re just friends.
Cooper
Your face literally lit up while you were texting with her. That doesn’t scream just friends to me.
Elliot
Or me.
Noah
Definitely not me.
Me
Can I leave this chat?
Elliot
You absolutely may not.
Noah
If you leave the chat, how will we know when you and Jo finally make the magic happen?
Cooper
Is that what we’re calling it these days?
Noah
I was trying to be subtle.
Noah
You have never been subtle a day in your life.
The group chat is still rolling when I get a separate text just from Elliot. I know what it’s going to say before I even open it.
Elliot
I know your head is still in a weird place, but like I said when we were in New York, if you did like her as more than a friend, it would be okay.
Me
I know. It’s not like that, though.
Elliot
Maybe not, but it probably could be.
I blow out a breath and decide, for the first time in two years, to be honest with my brother.
Me
I’m not ready. She’s probably the best friend I have right now. She makes me feel almost normal again. Or, like, whatever passes for normal for me. Whatever it is, I never thought I would feel it again, and I think it’s because of her.
Elliot
Then I’m happy for you, Jord. I’m here if you need me.
“Hey, you’re here!”
I look up, relieved to have a reason to ignore all my brothers, to see Jo walking up Fifty-Second Street with so much enthusiasm she’s practically skipping. Her chestnut hair is weaved into two long braids that bounce as she walks, and she has a wide grin on her face. She looks really fucking cute, and I can’t deny the warmth I feel when she aims that grin at me.
After wading through grief and the endless complexity of rebuilding my life on top of the wreckage of the one I lost, Jo’s smiles feel like seeing the sun for the very first time after years of darkness.
I didn’t realize how much I needed a friendship untouched by history and shared grief. I love my friends, and my family is everything to me, but our relationships are so much more complex in the wake of Allie’s death. The combination of their own grief and their concern for me makes those relationships feel heavy and sometimes fraught, even two years later.
I wasn’t looking for a friend, but Jo just inserted herself right into my life, and I’m grateful for it, even if I sometimes don’t know exactly what to do with her and her enthusiasm for everything. She makes me feel normal for the first time since Allie died, and all she’s asked from me in return is that I show up. So even if I’ve barely gone anywhere except for work in all the time I’ve lived in New York, and even if I still find people generally irritating and would rather stay in if at all possible, showing up is what I’m going to do. For her.
“I’m here, even if I’m not sure exactly where here is.”
She smiles even wider as she bounces on her toes and wraps her arms around my waist. It took me a minute to get used to the way Jo is a touchy-feely kind of friend. I used to be that kind of person too, but then my fiancée died, and I got so many sympathy hugs and shoulder squeezes and pats on the back that I lost interest in anyone touching me in any way at all. But I can’t deny how much I’ve missed this kind of physical contact. I like the way she feels solid when I put my arms around her, and the way she fits against me. I wonder what other simple things I’ve missed out on in my two dark years—and whether this summer with Jo will remind me.
She breaks away, beaming up at me and pointing behind her. “Here is my favorite food truck in all of New York. I literally screamed when I looked it up and saw it was still open. When I was in college, I used to come all the way up from the West Village at least once a week just for this.”
I look behind her at the big white truck with the words Yankee Doodle Dandy’s printed in massive blue, block letters. I’m not exactly an unadventurous eater, but I’ve never completely understood the allure of a food truck. “Just for what, exactly?”
“Um, only for the very best chicken fingers on the entire island of Manhattan. Maybe in the entire world.”
“Chicken fingers from a food truck?”
“One hundred percent yes.” She grabs my hand and drags me to the back of the long line. “You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten middle of the night chicken fingers from Yankee Doodle Dandy’s food truck. Nine isn’t exactly the middle of the night, but it’s close enough. Oh, and also, you have to get all the dipping sauces. Chicken fingers are only good with the dipping sauces.”
I squint at the menu, but it’s too dark to read much of anything, even with the bright lights of Midtown shining down. “What kind of dipping sauces are we talking about? Because if there’s no honey mustard then there’s no way these can be the best chicken fingers in the world.”
Jo links her arm through mine as we move up with the line. “Oh, Jordan. Not just honey mustard. Hot honey mustard. And they cut their own french fries.”
I ignore the zing I always feel when she touches me, used to it now. “Okay then, I’ll allow it.”
“You’ll allow it, and you’ll thank me for it.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting on a low wall outside of Rockefeller Center in absolute culinary heaven. “You were so right. I think this is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” I say, finishing my tenth chicken finger and picking up my Dr. Pepper.
“Right?” Jo asks, licking buffalo sauce off her finger. “I mean, I generally have the palate of a preschooler, but I think these are, like, objectively amazing.”
“What’s your favorite food?”
She looks like she’s really thinking about the answer for a second before she talks. “See, the thing about me is that I can never pick a favorite of anything. I love all kinds of different things for all different kinds of reasons. I love food truck chicken fingers when it’s late at night and I’m in New York. Tacos are my favorite comfort food after a hard day. Chinese food is my favorite when I’m a little drunk, and I love pizza when it’s movie night. And don’t even get me started on dessert. There are so many desserts on Jo’s Favorite Things list it would probably be better to ask me what dessert isn’t my favorite, and the answer is anything with fruit that isn’t apple. Fruit belongs nowhere near dessert except I can tolerate apple in the fall because apple is absolutely the superior fall flavor. Pumpkin anything is gross.”
Jo dunks another chicken finger in honey mustard and bites into it casually, like she didn’t just make my brain race a thousand miles a minute, trying to keep up with her. “ Jo’s Favorite Things list?”
She nods, swallowing. “Yep. It’s a very unscientific list of all my favorite things. It changes often and without warning, and it’s a little unwieldy, because I love a lot of things.”
“Is it written down somewhere?”
She shakes her head. “It sure isn’t. I tried once, but then I got all stressed out trying to break it into categories and favorite things shouldn’t be stressful, so I stopped writing it down, and now I just keep it in my head.”
“What if someone wanted to know what, say, your favorite desserts were at any given time?”
She flushes a little and gives me that grin again. “Well, that someone would just have to ask me.”
“Hurricane, I think you are the most fascinating person I’ve ever met.”
“For sure I’m the most chaotic.” She flicks a braid behind her ear and crumples up her napkin, tossing it into her empty chicken container.
She might be right about being the most chaotic person I’ve ever met, but as I watch her start to gather up our trash, I realize that, for reasons I can’t quite understand, her particular brand of chaos is exactly what I need in my life right now. “I don’t know. I kind of like your chaos.”
Jo looks up, smiling. “J, I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” She reaches down and digs around in the bag she has hanging across her body, handing me a Fireball and a tiny magnifying glass.
I take them from her, looking down at both. “A magnifying glass?”
She shrugs. “We needed something to document this installment of the J’s Summer of Fun. We’re searching for clues, so, magnifying glass.”
“I thought the map you gave me at breakfast was for the scavenger hunt.”
She pops her Fireball in her mouth, talking around it. “It was supposed to be, but then I was in this toy store this morning buying presents to send to the babies, and I saw the tiny magnifying glass, and how could I possibly pass that up?”
“How indeed,” I say dryly, and she laughs the way I knew she would. Even though she laughs all the time, for some reason, making her laugh makes me feel like I won something. Like her laughs are something you have to earn, and I did.
I put the magnifying glass in my pocket and glance down at the Fireball for a second, getting a quick flash of the last woman I used to eat Fireballs with before opening it.
“Can I ask you a question?”
I’ve noticed this is something she always says before she asks me a question that’s going to dig below my surface. Somehow, without even knowing me all that well, Jo has this uncanny ability to figure out which questions might be more sensitive, and asking me if she can ask is almost like an early warning sign. That she knows to ask almost always makes me want to answer. “You can.”
“Why do you always hesitate before you eat a Fireball? I’ve given you a bunch of them now, but you always look at it for a few seconds first.”
“Sorry, I know it’s kind of weird.”
Jo shakes her head. “J, it’s not, and you never have to apologize to me for being who you are. I was just wondering.”
You never have to apologize to me for being who you are . Her words hit me right in the chest, and it takes me a minute to get my own words out around the bubble of emotion. “I love Fireballs, but it was Allie who introduced them to me when we first got together. They were her favorite. Anything cinnamon.” I shrug and look down at my hands. “I guess they always remind me of her.”
“Did it make you sad when I gave you one that first time?”
“Nah, I was just surprised. I got out of the habit of eating them after she died. I guess every time you hand me one, I think of her for a second.” I look back up at Jo and see nothing but understanding on her face. “It’s nice to have that moment. I appreciate you giving it back to me.”
She flashes me a grin again. “I mean, it was purely an accident and a complete coincidence that Allie and I have the same favorite candy, but if having that moment makes you happy, then I’ll definitely take credit for giving it to you.”
Hearing Jo say Allie’s name so casually makes me feel a lightness I haven’t felt in years. And for a moment, I’m filled with gratitude for her and her sunshine and light and the way her friendship is exactly what I need. “You deserve it. So, we’ve eaten the best chicken fingers on the planet, and I have a magnifying glass of my very own. What happens now?”
Jo gasps dramatically, holding her hands to her chest. “Are you actually asking me what comes next with excitement instead of just dread for whatever I’m about to drag you to?”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Definitely not. I’m just trying to prepare myself for whatever crazy is about to happen.”
She stands and tosses our garbage into a trash can on the corner, bouncing a little in her pink Converse and holding out her hand to me. “You have about three blocks to prepare yourself. The Scavenger Hunt starts in fifteen minutes, and I can promise you that crazy is exactly what you’re going to get.”