Brad hadn’t been interested in Phoebe that way. He really hadn’t, and now it sounded like he was protesting too much. She was pretty, yes, but also kind of arrogant and annoying. She thought she was a better chef than she was, always talking about her own food in superlative terms while usually it was pretty middle of the road. Serving potatoes with filet mignon was not exactly an innovation.
But they’d been friends for a long time, and Brad had thought he needed friends in culinary school, because there were days when it felt like the faculty was trying to break all the students. One of the teachers that semester had been a pioneer in French cuisine, the sort of chef who regularly appeared on TV as an expert in his field. Brad had been starstruck. But the chef had been a cruel taskmaster, challenging the students to think outside the box while also mastering the fine points of French technique. Phoebe had been a shoulder to lean on when Brad had thought he’d never make it through the program.
Of course, Lindsay had been, too. The three of them hung out together a lot, but Lindsay was always who he went home with.
When Lindsay had walked in, Brad was maybe not doing enough to put off Phoebe, but when Lindsay stormed back out of the kitchen, he went after her, shouting, “It’s not what you think.”
Had he been putting out signals that whole time that he might be interested in Phoebe? He hadn’t thought so.
“She was terrible to me,” Lindsay said now.
“Weren’t we all friends?”
“Sure, she made sure you would think that. She was constantly undermining me, especially when you were around. She kept saying my cooking was bland and my ideas were boring.”
“None of that was true.”
“Yeah, but you never said that at the time. You were so… I mean, you’d take her side sometimes when I tried to point this out to you.”
“I did?”
Lindsay stared at him for a long time. “Wait, are you saying you didn’t notice? Are you really that oblivious?”
“I used to tune Phoebe out sometimes. She talked a lot.”
Lindsay’s eyebrows shot up. “This is a friend, but you tuned her out sometimes?”
Brad sighed. “Phoebe was in that awful French technique class with me, the one with Claude Hubert. That class nearly killed me, and I needed someone to commiserate with. That’s why I kept inviting her to hang out. She understood the unique pain of that class. I mean, that class pretty much drove me to pastry. And then inviting her to hang out was habit. And I thought you liked her.”
“I did at first. She could be fun, and she always had the good gossip. But as soon as I realized she was interested in you, I pretty much just wanted to kick her in the teeth.”
Brad nodded slowly. A lot of their last year at culinary school was coming into focus now. He hadn’t picked up on the dynamic Lindsay was describing, but he believed her. He’d had an inkling that Phoebe had a crush on him, but he wasn’t interested and had no intention of acting on it.
“And then she kissed you,” said Lindsay.
“I promise I didn’t initiate it.”
“So you say. She’d been putting me down for weeks at that point, saying really nasty things, sometimes when you weren’t there. I started really doubting my own cooking abilities.”
“I wish you’d said something. I swear I didn’t know. I’m sorry she put you through that.”
Lindsay looked at her feet for a moment. “You know what youdidknow, though? You knew that I had a hard time trusting people. You knew how my father’s infidelity made me feel. I told you I had a hard time with the way you flirt with everyone and how it made me feel insecure. You knew all of that, and yet you kissed Phoebe.”
Brad could hear the emotion in her voice. “I did know that. I didn’t want to kiss her. If I could undo it, I would.”
“Why did you want to talk tonight? To absolve yourself of your sins?”
“No.” Brad pressed his lips together for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. “I wanted to explain myself in a way that you never let me before. Clear the air. I’m not saying we even have to be friends, but I wanted you to know I wasn’t the villain you think I am.”
“Is Phoebe?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I actually haven’t seen or talked to Phoebe since culinary school. Although I think we’re Facebook friends, in case you decide to check and conclude I’m a liar.”
“I won’t. But she just… I mean, I didn’t trust her for a second. And she got so nasty the closer we got to graduation that I thought she was trying to steal you, and I thought you might let yourself get stolen because she was pretty and you seemed to like her.”
“I didn’t.”
“You keep saying that. But what was I supposed to think?”
