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“I was just saying we’re always going to be out-of-sorts when our home space feels off,” David explained.
“That’s the truth,” Abi said, rolling her eyes. She told him an amended version of her morning, including the bit about the coffee pot, but not the bit about her underwear. They weren’t that close.
“Oof,” David said, laughing. Abi nodded to show agreement and brandished the coffee cup.
“I’m not going to enjoy it but I’m going to drink it because yes, it’s an addiction, but it’s legal. If you judge me, I’ll tell Sho.”
* * *
Overall, her day hadn’t been terrible, despite its rotten start. Rachel Melfie’s snark in her inbox when she forwarded some prospective applications had sucked, but she was used to Rachel’s sense of… well, humor was the wrong word. Maybe she was just used to Rachel.
And she got it, talking to parents about joining the Preschool was nobody’s favorite thing considering how competitive the enrollment process was. Abi was proud of the fact that Beth Elohim’s Preschool was one of the more successful ones in the area for getting kids ready for kindergarten. Rachel certainly liked to take credit for it as well, though Abi tended to think it had more to do with her and the teachers working so hard on the curriculum than the PTO President, but that was perspective.
She picked up a box of pre-cut green peppers, adding it to the basket of the shopping cart. Usually, she went to the farmer’s market on Saturdays, but her weekend routine had been shot to hell. Abi thought longingly of the nice, orderly routine outlined in her planner and groaned, thinking of all the blank spaces she failed to fill. There had been no Saturday morning at-home spa treatment because she slept in. No farmer’s market. No trip to the cute Pâtisserie and crepe shop downtown for lunch. She’d made it to brunch on Sunday only because skipping it would have resulted in Shoshana and Leah descending on her house, taking just one look at her before knowing a sex act of some kind had taken place and demanding details.
Abi still wasn’t entirely sure how she managed to hide it in person, though apparently her sister and her best friend didn’t look too closely if Abi arrived on time, wore her usual cardigan and cat-eye glasses, and made the rightdid you remember tonoises. She wondered if she should be offended, but then decided to focus on the small favor while she loaded up on red lettuce. Latke seemed to really like red lettuce.
“Please tell me you’re not a vegetarian,” said someone just behind her. Abi jumped, dropping the lettuce in the cart and whirled. A familiar dimpled chin was entirely too close to her eye level.
“You don’t know me,” she said, twisting abruptly back to her cart. She wasn’t doing this here. It was one thing to shtup a willing man on a Friday night at a bar down the mountain, it was another thing entirely to have that man sniffing her vegetables in the produce section of the Campbell Co-op.
“I don’t think I could stand it if you were a vegetarian,” Ilan said, ignoring her pointedly.
“What’s wrong with being a vegetarian?” Abi said over her shoulder, mindful of her very-straight spine and making a mental note to thank her mother for the ballet classes. People were always more respectful when you held yourself like you were about to pirouette straight into an etiquette lecture.
“You mean aside from the obvious?” Ilan said, making a show of leaning over her shoulder to peer into her shopping cart. Abi had a visceral memory of the feel of his stubble against her neck. She clenched her jaw.
“I don’t know what’s obvious,” she said, her hands white-knuckled on the shopping cart. Her day planner was open on top of her purse, the list of items she needed written out neatly. She tried to ignore her doodles of cute cartoon vegetables and bottles of toilet cleaner and mascara wands. She couldfeelhim eyeballing her list, and it was taking quite a bit of control for her to not spin back around and bat his body to an acceptable distance that accounted for personal space.
“I also don’t remember you wearing glasses, did you have glasses?” he asked as though she hadn’t spoken. He was now scrutinizing her face. Abi resisted the urge to put a hand to what was left of her chignon. This morning it had been artfully messy, but after a full day of chasing toddlers, the only things holding it together were the pins and prayer.
“I was wearing contacts,” she said, trying to ignore that she could smell his cologne and how it wasdoing thingsto her. “You are standing very close to me.”
“I am,” he said like he was glad she finally noticed. “I like the glasses. They look good on you.”
“Glad you approve,” Abi said stiffly, wondering when she’d decided to talk to him like she talked to some of the more precocious four-year-olds. Maybe the decision was the same moment he decided to start talking to her as though a plant-based diet was an affront to decency. Obviously, regardless of her stance on a good brisket, he would be lucky to leave without thinking she was vegan.
“You don’t need my approval,” he said, he was definitely laughing at her now. And he definitely hadn’t taken a step back. Abi wondered if she should take a step forward but then thought maybe he’d just follow her and then they’d do a ridiculous three-legged race through the entire store. “You didn’t bother to ask me before you decided to go vegetarian.”
“I’m not,” she started, exasperated, then broke off. She could feel his silent laughter against her back. It was almost a rumble. Was that a thing? Laughter rumbling like thunder? She shook her head, taking a step forward even though he was going to follow it, probably.
“I’m saying it’s a good thing,” he said.
“I don’t care what you think,” she said, pushing her cart forward a few inches and twisting to glare at him, “it’s not like we know each other.”
He sighed, feigning exasperation, “If I’m remembering correctly, Abigail Meyer, we have known each other since we were, what, eleven?”
“Being in the same class in Hebrew school doesn’t mean we know each other,” Abi said because it didn’t. Prior to Friday night, she couldn’t remember ever having a conversation with Ilan Efrat that didn’t involve a class of rowdy teenagers and the formal verb tense.
“Well, that’s obvious, otherwise, I would have known you were a vegetarian,” he said, his lips twitching. Abi glared hard into his too-blue eyes.
“There is nothing wrong with being a vegetarian. Plenty of very successful people are vegetarians.” The fact that she was not one of them was irrelevant. She wasn’t a vegetarian, but she was past the point where she was going to explain that to this man.
“Sure,” he said as though he believed her, but he clearly didn’t.
“I’m pretty sure this is why we don’t know each other,” Abi said, turning back around to her shopping cart. She closed her day planner as an afterthought. Something about his looking at her shopping list made her palms itch.
“Okay, let’s say I wanted to introduce myself—”
