Love You a Latke

Chapter 14

14

Ironically, the fifth night of Hanukkah brought us to a Christmas festival. “Kylie has a booth where she sells her homemade ornaments,” Seth said. “So the whole group is going to support her. You’ll come, right?”

I shrugged. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice. “Sure.” I was actually kind of excited. I didn’t hate Christmas or Christmasy things. I’d been known to listen to Christmas music during the summer sometimes and appreciated a good holiday light show. There was nothing wrong with Christmas.

I just didn’t want Christmas in my Hanukkah, the same way I didn’t want to dip a grilled cheese in my cinnamon roll latte. Both were delicious, but I didn’t want them together.

Speaking of coffee. Once Seth and I got up the next morning and he started talking with his parents about what we were going to do for brunch, I ducked into the other room to give Maggie a call. Everything was going great, she assured me, except that we were running low on whipped cream. I was deeply suspicious she’d been giving it out for free to her grandchildren and her grandchildren’s friends, but I instructed her to pick up some more from the grocery store and told her I’d pay her back for it when I returned.

In the kitchen, Bev, Benjamin, and Seth all turned to stare at me when I walked in. I resisted the urge to pat my head to see if a bird had landed there or something. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s great,” Bev said. “We were just talking about what to do for brunch. I called up our favorite place, but they don’t have any openings, and then Seth just started raving about the brunch at your café, and saying it was the best brunch food he’d ever had and how you’ve been talking about adding some new specialties to the menu…”

“Did he, now?” I narrowed my eyes at Seth, who was studiously avoiding looking at me.

“I’d just love to try it,” Bev said brightly, ignoring the way I was attempting to assassinate her son with laser eye beams. “Of course, I don’t want to ask it of you. I know it’s a lot. Just let me know if you’re not in the mood, and I’ll put something together.”

Inwardly, I groaned. My brunch service consisted mainly of items that were easy to make ahead and whip up quickly on order: French toast casseroles; salads with hard-boiled eggs and crispy bacon on top; cold sandwiches and a few simple egg dishes. Not the kind of elaborate meal that would impress someone like Bev, at least not yet. And while I was semiconfident in my babka baking ability, that was a several-hours-long project.

But I had to try. I’d literally just thought about how much Seth had helped me with this Hanukkah festival, no matter how Lorna was trying to fight it. I took pride in doing well at things. Including being a Good Fake Girlfriend.

I pasted a smile on my face. “Of course. I’m sure whatever I make won’t compare to yours, but I’d love to thank you for having me here.”

The preening, satisfied look on Bev’s face told me I’d said exactly the right thing. Good Fake Girlfriend, indeed.

“I’ll need a sous-chef, of course,” I said, turning to Seth. “You should do adequately.”

“He’ll be more than adequate,” Bev said. Benjamin raised one single eyebrow. “That boy grew up in the kitchen with me banging on pots and pans. It’s in his DNA.”

“Not from my side,” Benjamin said. Which was fair, judging from the plain oatmeal he ate every morning.

Upon some urging from Seth, Bev and Benjamin went out for a nice long walk in Riverside Park for some fresh air. “I don’t care about the fresh air,” Seth said as soon as the door closed behind them. “If they stayed here while we made brunch, my mom would be hovering over your shoulder the whole time, sticking her nose in everything. And I don’t mean figuratively.”

“Should I worry you’re going to do that, too?” I asked. “After all, it’s in your DNA.”

Seth rolled his eyes. “She sees what she wants to see. There’s a reason I’m at your café picking up food and coffee every day instead of making it myself.”

“And here I assumed you just enjoyed annoying your local barista.”

“That, too,” he said, grinning. “So? What should we make?”

“It’s your house,” I said. “Shouldn’t you decide?”

“If you let me decide, we’re doing bowls of cereal.”

That would certainly not impress Bev, not even when she got her nose wet sticking it in the milk. So I did a pass-through of the fridge, the counter, the pantry, and even the secret drawer where Seth said Benjamin hid his sweets supply. (I’d fancied finding cotton candy and Pop Rocks and multiflavored jelly beans for when the buttoned-up old man let loose his wild side, but of course his sweets supply consisted of plain bittersweet squares of chocolate.)

After a bit, the two of us surveyed my finds, splayed out on the counter like treasure we’d dug up. A slightly stale loaf of cinnamon challah. Some eggs. Berries on the softer side of ripe. “Well, it’s obvious, right?” I waited for him to come to the same conclusion, but he just stared blankly at the counter. “Thank god you sent your mom out, because she would be terribly disappointed in you right now,” I told him. “We’re making French toast. Just do what I tell you and you’ll be fine.”

He grimaced. “If you say so.”

“I do say so,” I said firmly. “Now go crack maybe three eggs and whip them up in a bowl.”

“Maybe three, or three?”

I sighed. “Three.”

He hadn’t exaggerated when he talked about how bad he was. I realized that when, after slicing the challah into two-inch-thick slices, I found him trying to fish bits of shell out of the bowl. “Use the eggshell,” I said.

“What?”

I reached over. My hand closed over his, fingers sinking into the spaces between his fingers. They fit perfectly. “The pieces of shell will run away from your skin,” I said. Skin that was warm and firm beneath mine. “But like attracts like. If you use the bigger pieces of shell that aren’t in the bowl to scoop out the smaller pieces you’re trying to get, they’ll stick like magnets.”

With my hand guiding his, he clumsily managed to get the first cracked bit of shell out. “Like attracts like, huh?” he said. “I guess that explains why we’re in a fake relationship and not a real one.”

My cheeks warmed. “It’s not personal. I’m not looking for a relationship anyway.” Again, locked diary. I had no plans on giving anyone the key.

“I see,” said Seth. “So it wasn’t that you found me annoying.”

I could’ve cooked one of these eggs on my cheeks right now, shell and all. “You heard that?”

“I have excellent hearing. And memory. You called me annoying both at the comedy club and to my mom when you met her.”

“Well, can you blame me?” I asked. It wasn’t worth denying the truth; he’d see right through me. “I’m not a morning person, and you were bright and cheerful as hell every morning. Of course I’d find you annoying at first.”

“Not a morning person? You run a café,” Seth said. “And that’s leaving aside that metaphor. Simile? Hell is supposed to be the opposite of bright and cheerful.”

“I mean, isn’t hell mostly fire and screaming? Fire is bright. Some people scream with cheer.”

“That wasn’t the point.”

“Maybe I run a café because I’m the opposite of a morning person and couldn’t find decent coffee to wake me up anywhere else in town.”

“Okay, that’s the point,” Seth said. “But you didn’t answer about finding me annoying.”

I surveyed the ingredients again, less because I needed time to figure out what to do with them and more because I needed time to figure out what to say back to Seth. “I need the milk. And sugar.”

It only took Seth maybe thirty seconds to dig them out. I resented Bev for her well-organized and well-stocked kitchen. He said, “You know, you said ‘annoying at first.’ Which suggests that if you did find me annoying, you don’t find me annoying anymore.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a very good look for me to call my fake boyfriend annoying where someone might hear me.” I poured milk into the now shell-less whipped eggs, then dumped in some sugar and a pinch of salt. “Stir this.”

He grabbed the fork and went to stir. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

The eggs were whipping further, becoming perfectly pale and creamy. “That you don’t find me annoying anymore.”

“I don’t find you annoying anymore,” I said, annoyed. “Though keep trying and I bet you can get back there. Go find me the biggest nonstick pan you can.”

Bev apparently kept her pans under the sink. Seth knelt on the floor and stuck his head in the cabinet. His voice muffled, he said, “The thing is, I haven’t changed at all. I still do my absolute best to look for the silver lining in every situation and see the best in every person. So if the way you feel about those things has changed…maybe it’s not me, it’s you?” He stood up and presented me with the pan, grinning cheesily.

I briefly debated taking it by the handle and whacking him over the head with it, but Bev and Benjamin didn’t deserve to return to a murder scene in their kitchen. “I have not changed,” I said huffily. “Go on. Preheat the pan.”

“What does that mean?”

“Are you kidding? Do you not know how to heat up a pan?”

“Maybe you should’ve just said, ‘Heat up the pan.’?”

I grabbed the handle from him. “I have not changed.” Slammed the pan on the stove. Put the electric burner on medium. “It’s just the holidays. Everybody gets more cheerful around the holidays.”

“I didn’t say you seemed any more cheerful than you did before,” he said. “Don’t worry, I think it’s safe to say that you are not cheerful. Aren’t we supposed to soak the bread in the eggs before cooking it?”

“Yes,” I huffed. I turned the burner off. This was Seth’s fault. He was getting me all frazzled by accusing me of things that weren’t true, and it was making me mess up. “Find me a big casserole dish or something else to do the soaking in.”

That was harder for Seth to find. Good. I stood there watching him, hands on my hips, every bit of me tense and sensitive, like even a feather brushing against my skin might make me break out into hives. Maybe it was partly due to how he looked kneeling on the ground, his head in the cabinet but his broad shoulders unable to fit through, his back flexing every time he moved.

Maybe it was because I liked the idea of him kneeling before me, looking up at me from between my legs.

Hives. Everywhere.

Finally, when I was beginning to think I might have to send him to the drugstore for some cortisone, he located a deep enough casserole dish. He placed it on the counter gently, large hands gripping the sides as he made sure it wouldn’t break, then turned to me. “Now we put the bread in and pour the liquid over top?”

“Yes.” It didn’t take very long, after which we were left just staring at it, waiting for the bread to absorb all of the delicious, rich, sweet goo. It reminded me of when we were in the kitchen previously, when Benjamin and Bev had been asking me about my hopes and dreams, and made me realize that Seth hadn’t said anything about his own. “So we covered pretty well what I wanted from my future and that I like living where we live,” I said. “What about you? You ran to Vermont to escape commitment, but why did you stay? You could’ve gone anywhere.”

“I liked where I’d gone,” Seth said. “You know, I didn’t even realize how much I’d like it until I got there. I grew up here, then went to college and lived for a few years in Boston, so I never really left the city environment. But when I got to Vermont and realized that all the open space around me was there to stay, that I’d get to see the same people over and over again every week, it was like I could breathe deeper than I ever had before. You know?”

“I know,” I said, because I’d felt that way, too. “Though I’m amazed you became part of the town. I think the only reason they welcomed me in is because I was in a relationship with one of them.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It’s really not that complicated. You just be friendly to people and offer to help them out and, before you know it, you’re friends.”

“Whatever.” It definitely wasn’t that easy. Not that I’d ever tried. “What about career goals? Do you always want to be…a…” His job sounded so boring that I’d already forgotten his official title. “Data…person?”

He raised an eyebrow. “A data person?”

“Yes,” I said. “A data person.”

He snorted. “I mean, it’s not quite being a professional baseball player. That’s what I wanted to be as a kid, but I didn’t even make the varsity team in high school. I like my job, though. It’s low-stress, low-stakes, good hours, and it pays well. I like that I can do it anywhere and that I have lots of time to do things outside of work, like go hiking. Maybe I’ll want to switch it up one day if I get bored, but I’m happy now.”

“That’s fair,” I said. “Unlike when you said I’d changed. I haven’t changed. I haven’t.” It seemed very, very important that he know and acknowledge that. My breaths were coming a little faster just thinking about it.

Before I could say anything else, his hands were on my shoulders and he was looking down at me with very serious eyes. “I know you’re not a hugger, so if you say no, it’s totally okay,” he said. “But can I give you a hug?”

I opened my mouth to grumble no, to tell him that I’d rather spontaneously combust.

But instead I just stepped into his arms and nestled my cheek against his shoulder. Why? I couldn’t tell you.

Maybe you actually have changed , a voice whispered in my head. A voice that sounded an awful lot like Seth’s. When had my inner monologue started sounding like the most annoying person in the world?

Except it was like his arms around me were soothing the irritation, aloe vera on a burn. Or maybe it was more like those strong, warm arms were protecting me from whatever in the air had been causing it. Either way, I felt my shoulders relax, my heart rate slow.

It still felt important to tell him, “I haven’t changed.” It came out muffled by his flannel shirt.

“Of course you haven’t,” he said into the crown of my head. His breath ruffled my hair, sending tingles down my neck. It was a pleasant sensation. Not because of him, obviously. Because every girl knew that getting your hair played with or rustled or teased felt good. That’s why I didn’t want to move.

Which meant, of course, that we were standing like that when Bev and Benjamin came back. Bev must have trained at the ninja school for opening doors, because I didn’t hear her come in. As soon as I heard their footsteps in the kitchen, I sprang apart from Seth. Not soon enough to keep her from seeing us like that, though.

“Oh, sorry to walk in on you!” Bev said, not sounding sorry at all. She sounded the opposite of sorry, actually. Delighted. Thrilled. Full of joy that we might have made her a little Jewish grandbaby in her kitchen.

“You didn’t walk in on anything,” I blurted, which kind of foiled my attempt to be the perfect Fake Girlfriend, but hopefully she’d take it as me being shy. “We’re just making French toast. Seth, how’s that bread looking?”

“Delicious, Chef,” Seth said. “But I think it still needs a few more minutes to finish soaking.”

Great. That left me with nothing to do besides stand there and absorb Bev’s exultant looks and Benjamin’s general affect of “I would rather be anywhere else but here.” I dug my pointiest fingernail into the tender skin of my forearm, just to force myself to feel something other than cringe.

It didn’t help.

Bev to the rescue. “I’ve always loved French toast,” she said. “I don’t let myself eat it often because, you know, all the carbs and sugar, but of course I’ll eat yours.”

Thank god. I could talk about French toast for hours. “Yeah, it might not be the healthiest breakfast, but it’s hard to get more delicious than fried bread with butter and sugar. I was thinking I’d make some syrup out of the berries and some vinegar and citrus zest if you have some, too. It’s always a hit when I have it at the café.”

“Sounds fantastic,” Bev said. “Is that a family recipe?”

It was like the air in the room froze. Except that Bev and Benjamin’s expressions didn’t change at all, so maybe it was just suddenly freezing for me. I opened my mouth, but ice was lodged in my throat. I couldn’t get anything out.

I felt Seth appear beside me before I saw him. “I think the bread is done soaking, Chef. What’s next?” His warmth didn’t quite thaw me, but it made it possible for me to move. Jerkily, it was true, but I managed to step to the counter and maneuver my fingers into picking up the box of berries.

“Not a family recipe, something I found online and tweaked to my liking,” I said, hoping Bev would leave it at that.

But if there’s anything you could say about Bev, it wasn’t that she was great at taking a hint. She continued, oblivious, “Did you do a lot of cooking with your mom growing up, like Seth did? You said you grew up in the area. Are they still here? Do we get to meet them?”

I closed my eyes, willing the sudden throb behind them away. My first instinct was to hurl the berries at her head as a distraction and then run away, maybe vaulting down the fire escape.

As you may have noticed by now, my first instincts are not always great.

Bugs chewed at my insides. I set the berries down gently on the counter and crossed my arms over my chest. Bared my teeth in what I hoped looked like a smile. “I don’t think so. I probably won’t see them while I’m here.”

Bev looked as if she’d rounded a corner in a haunted house and come upon two zombies chewing each other’s faces off. Real zombies, not fake costumed ones. “Oh, my. Why not? I certainly wouldn’t begrudge you two taking some time to go see your family.”

Seth’s hand found my shoulder. “Abby, I just realized I need to charge my phone. Can you show me where you put the charger?”

Huh? I hadn’t touched his charger. But it was an excuse to leave the room and get away from Bev’s prying questions, so I let him take my hand and lead me to our shared bedroom. There, without those questioning eyes on me, I was able to take a breath. “I don’t know where your charger is.”

“I know. It’s in the outlet over there. You just looked like a deer in headlights and I thought you might need a break from my parents.”

I was able to let out that breath I just took. “It’s not that I needed a break. They’re really nice people,” I said. “And asking about someone’s family or where they grew up is a normal question. I’m not saying they were doing anything bad.”

“But you don’t like talking about your family,” Seth said.

I looked away, but I could still feel his eyes on me. “No.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell my parents not to bring it up again.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I really don’t mind.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” he asked. “Sometimes the things you don’t want to talk about are the things you need to talk about most.” He shrugged. “I won’t push. I’ll leave it at that.”

“Nobody wants to hear about my family drama.” Which was convenient, because I didn’t want to talk about it.

“I do,” Seth said, and he actually sounded like he meant it. I probably should’ve expected him to say something like that. When I shook my head, it was at both him and myself.

“I didn’t have a very happy childhood. What’s the point of dredging up all those bad memories?”

“It can help you process it and learn to deal with it in a healthy way,” he said earnestly.

Sure. Said someone who had a happy childhood with loving, caring parents. Besides, I had processed it. And I was dealing with it in a perfectly healthy way by not wanting to talk about it or think about it in any form. He’d have room to talk if I’d thrown the berries at Bev, maybe. But I hadn’t.

I was fine. Everything was fine. So what if my headache was darkening into a Category 4 and bugs were still chewing at my stomach? That didn’t mean anything. I was just hungry from spending all this time thinking about French toast while not eating French toast.

I shrugged. “The bread is soaked enough at this point,” I said. “If it soaks too much, it’ll fall apart.” There was a metaphor somewhere in there if I wanted to think about it a little harder.

“Okay, got it,” Seth said. We headed out the door and back out into the hallway, marching past a line of smiling framed Seths growing younger and younger. I was glad he wasn’t pushing. Old, even more annoying Seth would probably have pushed or told me something vaguely threatening, like You can’t outrun your past forever . See? He totally was the one who’d changed, not me.

Back in the kitchen, Benjamin had butter sizzling in a pan on the stove while Bev plucked each soaked piece of bread from the dish to lay it out. They looked back at us. “We thought we’d better get started, since if the bread soaks too long, it’ll just fall apart.”

“Good thinking,” I said, stepping up to the counter. I could feel Bev’s eyes piercing into the side of my head. “It looks perfect as it is.”

To no one’s surprise, Bev proved unable to take a really obvious hint. “So, your family,” she said. “If you don’t have time to get up there, you’re welcome to invite them over here. I’d love to meet them.”

“Mom—” Seth said, and as much as I appreciated his willingness to speak up for me—something that I knew was hard for him to do, especially with his mother—I wanted to do it myself. I took a deep breath.

“I grew up in Riverdale. Honestly, it wasn’t a very happy time for me. It’s part of the reason I moved to Vermont. So I’d rather not talk too much about it, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, dear,” Bev said immediately, and god, I hoped she wasn’t going to hug me. Her hands were covered in egg goop, which lowered the probability but didn’t entirely eliminate it. “Of course. I won’t bring it up again.”

The French toast was exceptionally delicious, and, technically, since it was fried in butter, it counted as a Hanukkah food. I chewed slowly, savoring the delicate sugary crust on the outside of the bread and the luscious creamy texture within. It tasted even better knowing that I’d made it over the hump with Bev and Benjamin. They wouldn’t ask about my family again; therefore, I didn’t have to think about it around them. See? Everything was fine. Everything was fine .