Page 54
My phone pings that my driver, Forman, is here, and I slip out before either of us can say anything more.
* * *
Forman tells me he’s an opera singer, and then he proceeds to spend the rest of the drive proving it. I firmly believe it would have been too much for me under any circumstance, but having not had any coffee yet this morning, it is brutal. I’ve never been so thankful to see the roads this empty.
When I get out of the Lyft, I see lights on at our house. Or what’s temporarily still our house. I drag my duffel out of the white Prius and head up the steps of our porch. I take a deep breath, brace myself, and open the door.
“Oh, sweetie, there you are!” Kristine says, running over to me. “You had us really worried!”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”
Mom walks up and joins Kristine. “We didn’t want the family to be apart for the holiday. Merry Christmas!”
The family. It’s singular now, this joint thing forged by my mom and Kristine.
“Merry Christmas,” I reply, reading between the lines and understanding immediately. Neither of them was going to propose without me there. They may have independently made that decision, but I know the full picture. I instantly feel terrible.
“Where were you, bitch?” Hannah calls from the kitchen.
“Oh, I was at Frankie’s,” I lie. It slips out before I even think about it. I’m not sure why I don’t just say where I really was, but then I notice the sound of sizzling oil. I look past Mom and Kristine into the kitchen. He’s got his back to me, but I can see an apron around Henry’s neck, tied at his waist. He’s got a spatula in his hand, and jumps back just slightly when the oil hisses.
Henry Cole is cooking latkes in my house. I see him confer with Hannah, and she nods encouragingly. I think she’s saying the color is decent.
My heart breaks right in half.
“I’m sorry again,” I say, giving my mom a kiss on the cheek. I do the same for Kristine and she smiles warmly. “I’ll be upstairs.”
I’m sitting on my bed, scrolling through my phone and looking at nothing when there’s a knock I would recognize anywhere. It’s thick, heavy. I sigh.
“What,” I say flatly, knowing it’s him.
Henry enters slowly, like he’s waiting for a booby trap to hit. I just stare up at him, waiting, until I notice the small blue plate in his hand, filled with latkes that look almost picturesque. Perfectly round, golden brown, crispy around the edges. Better than the ones I made for the reunion by a long shot.
“Olive branch?” He extends the plate toward me, and I reluctantly accept. He backs up as I take the plate off his hands.
“Mom?” I ask, using the side of the fork to break off a piece.
“Sara supervised but…” He hovers awkwardly in my room.
I wonder if it’s as trippy for him to be in here as it was for me to be in his room just a few mornings ago. For it to look exactly the same as before, but be so clearly and permanently changed because of who we now are. And soon it will be nothing at all. Not mine, at least.
“But?” I repeat.
He’s trailed off, looking at the ground with intense interest.
I stab the potato pancake and put it in my mouth.
“I wanted to learn,” Henry says softly.
I can’t help the sound that comes out of my mouth when the latke hits my tongue. It’s crisp on the outside, soft and salty in the best way on the inside. A muscle in his cheek twitches. He knows it’s good, but I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“We were all really worried when we got back and you weren’t here,” Henry says tentatively. He takes a few steps deeper into my room, looking from the edge of the bed back up to me.
I shrug, gesturing with one hand that he can sit.
“I mean, I was fine. I was just at Frankie’s.” I double down on my previous lie, mouth too full and happy from the latke to think too hard about it.
“Frankie’s on a cruise to Alaska. She told me all about it at the reunion.”
