Page 2 of Considering Us

“I’ll call her later,” I said. “She’s a smart woman. She might be in Atlanta, but she works at a big hospital. I’m sure she’s told some of the doctors that I cook for her son. I owe it to her to let her know.”

“Good idea,” she said. “I feel like I’m to blame for some of this.”

“Why?” I asked, chewing on an ice cube from my empty glass. “Because Julianna met me at that networking event three years ago? You didn’t bring me there; you just interviewed me at it. The organizers invited me. The only reason you and I are friends is because of that event. And I got most of my clients because of it, so I am grateful for it. I just had to screw everything else up by banging her husband in a closet.”

“You were mid-bang?” Tam asked, wide-eyed. I couldn’t imagine Tam ever getting herself into this situation.Nope, never.

“No, no, no. We were just fooling around at that moment. But the optics were terrible.” I grabbed my phone back. “Seriously, how did the media—how did you—find out already? I get it that she texted all her friends and told them to fire me, but how dideveryone else find out?” I typed my name into the search bar on Twitter. “Oh my God.”

“You’re trending, my friend,” Tam said softly. “We got a brief press release from her publicist.”

“She has apublicist? She doesn’t even have a job,” I gasped, scrolling through all the tweets that included my name. “Former Minx chef de cuisine-turned-private chef Devon Paige caught having affairs with married clients she met through Back Bay Women’s Network in apparent homewrecking plot,” I read aloud. “Homewrecking plot? I wasn’t trying to wreck anyone’s home. I just thought she was a horrible person. And Bentley loved my food and paid attention to me. A lot of attention.” I threw my head in my hands and pulled on the back of my hair. “What did I get myself into?” I wailed.

“Everyone loves your food, Dev,” Tam said, putting her arm around me. “Look, I’m not going to judge anyone here. I’m sorry about what’s happening to you. I want to help you figure out what to do next because you definitely need a plan.” Tam’s phone buzzed, and she looked at the screen. “Ugh, it’s that Boston public service announcement TikTok lady again,” she said, clicking on a message. “She posts something every day, and I think she’s onto you.” I lifted my head to see what had caught Tam’s attention.

A woman with big blonde hair, heavy black eyeliner, and a very strong Boston accent was on the screen. “Ladies of Boston, this is your public service announcement of the day. Watch out. There’s a chef in town named Debbie who tricks women into cooking for them and then has sex with their husbands. So don’t let nobody named Debbie cook for you. This woman is gonna be lookin’ for new customers, so you are warned, Boston.” She lifted a Dunkin’ coffee cup and signed off.

“Only one! I had sex with one husband! And I’m not Debbie!” I moaned, and people started to turn to look at us. The bartender began walking toward us. It was time to go.

“And that’s enough for today,” Tam said, pulling out two twenties from her wallet and dropping them on the bar counter. “Let’s go order that ice cream.”

2

“They didn’t have Heath or toffee vanilla. Best I could do was chocolate chip,” Tam said, handing me the pint that she had ordered through DoorDash. I traded her a whiskey sour for the ice cream and grabbed a spoon.

“You sure you don’t want any? This is my second ice cream of the day,” I said, in between spoonfuls of Edy’s and sips of my cocktail.

“I’m good,” she assured me. Tam did not share my ice cream obsession—her attitude was one of indifference, which baffled me. “I’m supposed to meet this new guy at nine tonight at Woods Hill, but I’m not sure I want to go all the way to the Seaport,” she said with a yawn.

“You live in Southie. You’re literally around the corner.”

“Maybe not for much longer,” she responded. “My lease is up next month. And you know me, I can’t stay in an apartment or with a man for long. I get so bored.” It was true; other than her job or her friendship with me, Tam always seemed to be looking for something else. No guy or landlord hoping for longevity stood a chance.

“Is that why I got involved with Bentley?” I mused, poking the bottom of the pint with my spoon. I was making quick work of it. “Was I just bored? I don’t know.”

“I did wonder,” Tam said, scrolling through her phone. “Oh geez. My Yale classmate Andrea Lark. Did I ever tell you about her?”

My cell phone rang, and I put up a finger to signal that I’d be a minute. “Dr. Anders! Elaine!” I never knew what to call her. “Thank you so much for calling me back.”

“Of course, dear,” she said. “David said the enchiladas last night were better than ever.”

“Oh good, I’m so glad. Look, Dr. Anders, I’m in a bit of a situation. I don’t know if you saw—”

“Yes, it’s all over the Boston media feeds—which I follow closely, of course. I never know when David will be mentioned.”

“So, okay, yeah. I’ll be honest with you. It’s true. Not the intentional homewrecking stuff—and it was only with one person—but yes, I did have a relationship of sorts with Bentley Preston. And I totally understand if you don’t want me—”

“Now stop right there, Devon,” she ordered in a voice she must use with noncompliant patients. “My son loves your chicken enchiladas. And everything else you make for him. Those cookies. Mmm. I dream of those cookies after I visit him. Why would I care who you’re involved with?”

“Oh, thank you so much, Elaine. Seriously, I’m so grateful.”

“You know I can’t always be there for him, but you can.”

“Yes, yes, one hundred percent. I’ll bring him food tomorrow. Oh wait, he’ll be in Toronto for that scrimmage. You must be there right now. Sunday, then!”

“Yes, I’m in Toronto through tomorrow night. Sunday will be wonderful. He’ll look forward to it. Thank you, Devon.”

“No, thank you!” I said and ended the call. I took a deep breath and looked at Tam. “Okay, I have one client. One client.”

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