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11:00 A.M.
So.” I looked over at Russell and raised my eyebrows. “What do you think?”
Russell picked up a fry and bit into it with great ceremony. Then he popped the rest of it into his mouth and turned to me with a nod. “Yeah. You were right.”
We were sitting in the back of the Bronco, the hatch open and our legs dangling over the bumper. When I’d proposed my favorite In-N-Out option—the box for your car—Russell had agreed. And while we’d been waiting in line to order—even though it was still before noon, on a Monday, the restaurant was packed—we’d covered the basics.
“So.” Russell’s voice had the gravity to it that befitted such an important topic. “What’s your order?”
“Right now it’s a double-double, extra sauce, fries well, extra ketchup, strawberry shake. But since I’m getting one with my dad later, maybe I should skip it now.”
“Or you could have a two-milkshake day.”
“You make a good point.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone ordering fries well before.”
“It’s just getting your fries well done. You didn’t know they could do that?”
“No!” Russell looked shocked by this. “You mean all this time I’ve just been hoping to get the crispier fries and I could have just been ordering them like this?”
“At least you know now,” I said, trying not to laugh at the disgruntled expression on his face, like he was mentally reliving every trip to In-N-Out he’d taken, and finding them wanting. “You can also get them light, or underdone, but that seems less like a way to order fries and more like a crime against humanity.”
“I’ll say.”
“So what about you?” I gave him a nudge with my shoulder, then froze, wondering if this was okay. It had just been an instinct—but was this going outside of my just friends decision? But a second later, I figured it was fine—surely, friends shoved each other sometimes.
You’ve certainly shoved me, Didi cut in, sounding irritated.
The line moved up, and I used the excuse to walk forward and try to pretend it hadn’t happened. “Your order, I mean.”
Russell just gave me a smile, like he’d seen through my whole silent mini-spiral. “Double double, extra pickle, no onion, fries animal style. And I always ask for extra toast.”
“Extra toast?”
“It just means your hamburger buns are extra toasted. Oh—and a Neapolitan shake.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a shake with all three milkshake flavors—chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry.”
“I didn’t know that was a thing! I thought I knew everything on the secret menu.”
“Next!” The In-N-Out employee called, and we stepped forward to order.
Now, back in the car, I tried not to be too satisfied with the expression on Russell’s face as he ate his crispy fries. I pulled out my phone and checked the map and our ETA.
“We’re still okay on time?”
“Right now we’re getting there with over an hour to spare,” I said. “I think we’re good.”
“Awesome.”
I picked up my burger and took a bite—I’d tried his extra-toasted tip—and nodded. “Yep.”
“Good, right?” Russell asked, looking pleased with himself.
“Basically, what we’ve discovered is that everything here just needs to be cooked more.”
