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“Thank you so much,” Tourist Dad gushed at the end. Tourist Mom looked like she was trying to resist smirking.
Abe laughed, and then he extended his own phone. “You mind?”
Tourist Dad looked like he might pee himself, and he turned and angled the phone like he’d been Ansel Adams in a past life. I was so busy watching the man that Abe took me by surprise when he swept me off my feet and cradled me against his chest.
I caught my breath and threw my arms around his neck for balance. I felt weightless and airy, and Abe’s face was very, very close. “What are you doing?”
He grinned down at me. “Re-creating your grandma’s photo.”
I wasn’t surprised he’d seen the picture. “We’re missing the veil and too small suit.”
“Shh. Smile for the camera.”
We did, and I couldn’t help the happy leap within me as we posed. Abe spun me about, my skirt flaring dramatically. Tourist Family oohed and ahhed like we were the ending of their Broadway show. Even Handlebar Mustache cracked a smile.
Afterward, we sat in a small café drinking hot tea. I watched him, studying the square of his jaw, the darkness of his eyes, the way his hair just slightly curled over his ears. Studying beyond that. “I was thinking.”
“About?”
“I think you should take classes.”
He looked puzzled. “What?”
I glanced down at my tea, slightly embarrassed. “You just sounded...I don’t know, slightly despondent the other day. Like you wish you had your BA.”
He swallowed, and now it was his turn to look into his tea like he could read the leaves.
I leaned forward. “It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t. You know that, right? It just matters if you want it.”
“It seems like too much,” he told his tea. “Professional football and endorsements and now I think I can take classes too?”
His words were doubtful. He sounded like he wanted to, and just didn’t know how. “Hey.” I nudged his foot until he looked at me. “You were always great at football. But you were always great at everything.”
He cracked a smile. “You always believed in me too much.”
“You don’t believe in yourself enough.” I paused. “You know, when we first met, I thought you were going to be an astronaut.”
Surprise crossed his face. “You did not.”
I leaned back. “Did too. Thought you’d go to the moon. Bring me back a moonstone.”
He grinned at that, but then shook his head. “When would I even have time?”
“Off season,” I said promptly. “Abe, just—don’t do something just because you think you’re supposed to.”
He fiddled with his drink. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I’d help you figure it out, if you wanted.”
He nodded. For a moment he stared out at the gray clouds, and then he switched his gaze to me, bright and fierce and straight. “Look. What page are we on?”
“I don’t know. What book are we reading?”
“The Book of Abraham and Tamar.”
“Ah, that one.” I nodded several times. “I think I missed that day in Hebrew school. Caught the Abraham half. Douchy bit with the attempted filicide.”
His lips twitched, and he caught my hand, as though that would keep me still. It did impart some calm, actually. “Tamar.”
