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"Well, I was asleep for most of the time, so I don't really remember," I said, but as the scent of my grandmother's food reached my nose, my stomach growled hard enough for everyone to hear.
Bubbe just gave me a look that said, "I told you so," and I obediently bent to my plate.
"And for you, mister," she said as she laid another, much larger plate of pasta on the bar next to me. "Sit. Eat. Big man like you needs to keep his stomach full."
"Thanks, Sarah. This looks incredible."
It wasn't like Brandon never had decent food around. Ana, his housekeeper and chef, usually prepared a selection of meals every other day for him to heat up as needed. I'd had Ana's food––she was an excellent chef, probably better than Bubbe. If his mood was any indication, I suspected Brandon liked having Bubbe around more than anything else. Things tasted different when they were made out of love.
"Well, that's all for me," Bubbe said as she untied the small apron from around her trim waist and hung it on a hook next to the refrigerator. It was one of many seventies-style flower patterns she owned. With its bright teal and brown fabric, it was the most colorful thing in the apartment.
"You're not eating with us?" I asked as she brushed nonexistent dust off her slacks and collected her keys from the counter.
"No, I thought I'd give you two a bit of time to...reconnect," she said. "You don't need an old woman poking around your business."
I stifled a snort. Since when did Bubbe not want to poke around other people's business? And why did she think we needed to reconnect? Had Brandon told her what happened?
She just looked pointedly between Brandon and me, clearly noticing the solid three feet between us. I felt the space as well. Brandon had never been able to sit more than a few inches from me before. Normally we were like magnets.
Bubbe patted her hair and came around to give me a kiss on the cheek. "Eat. Rest. Enjoy your man. I'll be back in the morning for breakfast." She leaned into my ear and whispered, "You take care of him, bubbela. These last days have hurt him, too."
God. She had no idea––not about the abortion, not any of it.
Wincing, I accepted her kiss and gave her one too. "Thanks, Bubbe. Love you."
She turned to Brandon and beckoned him down to give him the same treatment. "You take care of my bubbela," she instructed with a pinch of his cheek. "I'm trusting you."
"You got it, Sarah," he said.
Brandon surprised Bubbe by hugging her close and giving her a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek.
"Ah!" she cried, slapping him on the shoulder. "You devil! A shameless flirt, that's what you are!"
Brandon released her with another grin that made my heart beat faster, then turned to his food. Bubbe headed to the elevators with several more comments about Brandon's devilish ways, and then, as the elevator doors closed around her slight form, was gone, leaving Brandon and me together. Alone.
Brandon sat silently, the sounds of his chewing and the blare of the postgame report filling the room. I tooled around with my pasta, no longer hungry as my stomach tied itself into knots. Enjoy your man, she'd said. But was he still my man? How would I know?
Brandon cleared his throat. "Why aren't you eating?"
I blinked over to him, then back down at my mostly full plate of pasta. It smelled fantastic, but my gut was too clenched to care.
"I––"
I broke off, unsure of what to say. I turned and hoisted my twisted ankle on the stool between us. Sitting up for too long made it throb.
"Nerves," I said finally, folding my hands in my lap. "I lose my appetite when I'm nervous. When I'm..."
"Guilty?" Brandon set his fork down and turned to face me. He met my gaze with eyes like arrows. "You know, it's funny. I kept wondering this summer why you'd never finish your food. You'd pick at everything, every time we went out. I thought it was just the stress of the bar exam. Maybe having your mother poking around."
I stared down at my plate, twisting the noodles around my fork. "Yeah. Well." I took a deep breath and looked up at him. "I was guilty, wasn't I?"
Brandon didn't say anything, just leaned on the counter with one elbow.
I swallowed.
"Why didn't you just tell me?" he asked quietly. "That's what keeps getting me. It's not the fact that you had an abortion, not really. It's that you didn't tell me about any of it. Not the pregnancy. Nothing. You didn't let me in, Skylar."
"I..." I twisted my hands together, trying and failing to find the words I needed to explain. "I was scared. No, that doesn't even cover it. I was terrified."
