I did enjoy lunch with Mona and Ezra. It was like old times, but with a lot more innuendo and alcohol. And Ezra’s fine ass. It’s quite irritating how attractive he’s become, and how my body seems to have this Jones for brilliant, nice Jewish boys with African violet eyes.
But I knew that already.
It feels good to actively be attracted to someone and not have to force myself to like him, to fuck him, to whatever. There’s something delicious about the tension of the forbidden, how you dance around its edges, like caressing a trip wire. I shouldn’t because it’s obvious the attraction is so damn mutual. I don’t think he’d ever act on it. He’s a good man. Hell, I’m a good woman. We have a past. Shared our first kiss, for goodness’ sake. It’s probably just phantom crush pains. I’m strong enough to resist and Ezra’s good enough to keep us safe.
The smell of whatever was in Joseph’s little stomach hits us as soon as we enter the room, and Kayla waves her hand in front of her nose. “You sure you got it?”
I pull my phone out and type a quick reply.
Me: I’ll be there!
“Yeah, I got it.”
Chapter Seventeen
Ezra
“You find any ripe ones, Noah?”
My son waddles into view from behind a tomato vine, dragging a huge white bucket overflowing with tomatoes.
“All these!” Noah strains to lift the bucket, raising it approximately half an inch. “Are we taking them to Aunt Mona’s cookout?”
“Some of them.” I lift my bucket of cucumbers and relieve him of his burden, too, then head down a row of the garden toward the house. “But we’re filthy. The Stern men need showers.”
When Noah begged us to plant a garden, it was the last thing I had time for, but he’s easily satisfied and doesn’t ask for much. When other kids wanted expensive tennis shoes or the latest video game, he asked for a garden in our backyard. How could we deny him? My only condition was that he had to help dig it, plant the seeds and maintain it. At one of the busiest times of my life, as the school was taking off, the garden became a way for Noah and me to connect every day.
My cell phone is ringing on the kitchen counter when we walk into the mudroom and remove our dirty work boots.
“Maybe it’s Mommy!” Noah yells, running inside ahead of me.
“Do not answer my phone until I know who it is.” I bring the two buckets of vegetables into the kitchen and let the door slam behind me. If it is Aiko calling, I’ll let Noah do all the talking. We spoke briefly a few days ago when she let us know she’d landed safely, and she said she would call back after they settled some. She and Chaz can have sex several times a day as far as I’m concerned, but it still feels weird talking to her and wondering if it’s happening. When she returns, we have a new reality for Noah to acclimate to. I can’t stand the thought of seeing him half the week while he’s at another house with Aiko the rest of the time. But when she comes home, we’ll figure it out.
“It’s Bubbe,” Noah says, looking up from my cell phone on the counter. “Can I answer?”
“Sure.” I turn on the tap and rinse tomatoes and cucumbers in the sink.
“And Daddy won the award,” Noah gushes a few minutes into his conversation with my mother. He hasn’t stopped speaking since he picked up the phone. “And his friend gave it to him.”
He finally draws a breath, pausing to listen to my mother. “The friend from TV. Kimba Allen.”
He holds the phone to me. “Bubbe wants to speak to you.”
I bet she does.
“Hey, Mom.” I trap the phone between my ear and shoulder while I slice a cucumber.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were receiving an award from the Allen Foundation?”
“Mom, it’s not that big of a deal.”
The silence fills with what she and I both know—it is. I never got the full story of what went so wrong in my parents’ friendship with the Allens, but we moved and, as far as I know, they never had contact with them again. That volatile night cleaved our life into two distinct parts. In one of those parts, Kimba Allen was my best friend. In the other, she and her family didn’t exist.
“Why would they…” Mom pauses, clears her throat. “Tell me how this happened.”
“I received an email saying I was being honored for excellence in education. I went to the ceremony.”
“And Kimba was there?”