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“Oh,” Mimi finally said. To my relief, she didn’t sounded disapproving, just a little...taken aback. “How...nice.” Her tone conjured up a tiny, grey-haired Midwestern woman steeling herself in her rocker. On a farmhouse porch. Knitting a hat. “She’ll have to come for a visit.”
“Mimi...”
/> “At Christmas. If you’re still together—you do run through these young ladies awful quickly.” She paused while I grinned at Ryan, and started up again, sounding wary. “She can come for Christmas, can’t she? That won’t be—confusing?”
I rolled my eyes when Ryan didn’t immediately respond. “Of course. I am a halfie, after all.”
“I don’t know, Mimi.” Ryan said, and I sat up straighter. “Anyway, I have to go.” They signed off with mutual “I love yous.”
I frowned, slightly insulted. “Ryan, of course I celebrate Christmas. I told you. I’m half-and-half.”
He injected a light note into his response. “Cream-and-milk?”
I snorted and crossed my arms.
He avoided me, concentrating on sweeping our dinner dishes into the sink. “I didn’t realize you could be ??half’ a religion.”
Story of my life. “Technically, I’m Jewish. But I’m not as Jewish as Abe is, and we still have a Christmas tree and go on Easter egg hunts. Why do you think I always felt so confused about Shabbats? I didn’t feel legitimate enough. So sure, I’m religiously confused, just like thousands of others, but definitely not by Christmas.”
“So you’re only confused by the Jewish holidays, not the Christian ones?”
Usually I was more than happy to have a conversation muddling through anthropological musings, but not right now. “Ryan. You’re avoiding the question.”
He sighed, and dropped down onto one of the bar stools. “It’s just—I don’t bring people home.”
“People,” I parroted. “You mean girls.”
“Well—yeah.”
“Because...?” When he stayed silent, I inserted my own meaning. “Because like your grandma said, none of them last very long?”
He shoved a hand through his hair. “Don’t make this about you.”
“I’m not, I’m just trying to understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand.” He stood and turned away. “I just don’t bring anyone home.”
“Why not? Did you have a bad experience? Or is it because you usually date society girls who don’t really do well at your farm—”
“Rachael!” he bit off. “You might like psycho-analyzing yourself, but stop doing it to me!”
I sat up sharply, taken aback. “Fine. Excuse me for caring.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s called being nosy.”
“Yeah.” I stood and grabbed my purse. “And I’m pretty sure it’s called a relationship.”
He groaned. “Rach, don’t be so touchy...”
“I’m not being touchy. But obviously neither of us are in a good mood anymore, and I have a lot of work to do with Alexa and the book...”
“Rachael.” He stopped me with a hand on my arm, but I refused to look at him. “Rachael,” he said again, slower, towing me toward him. He pressed his lips against my temple. Against my neck.
My eyelids fluttered shut. He kissed them, too, and then, finally, my lips.
It might not have solved anything. But after a moment or two, neither of us cared.
* * *
