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“She called himwhat?”Lisa said, disbelief in her voice.
“I’m telling you, mom, it was bad,” Abi said, appreciating how soothing it was to complain to her mother no matter how old she got. “Do you need any help?”
“I’m just going to pop this brie in the oven for a bit. Can you grab the jar out of the fridge? Your sister made a compote that I think is going to pair well with it. The one in the front,” her mother turned her back to her, sliding the cheese into the oven and tapping some buttons. “Leah said she’d be a bit late tonight if she makes it at all. Her new meds aren’t doing anything apparently. So, your father got a challah from the bakery instead.”
“Why don’t you ever make challah anymore?” Abi asked because it was a valid question. Her mother’s schedule had been such that she always had Friday afternoons free for as long as Abi could remember. Baking challah used to be what she did. It was how Abi and Leah learned how to bake at all.
Well, Leah learned how to bake. Abi learned she was better at chopping vegetables, reading recipes, and cooking meat.
“Who has the time?” Lisa said, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Your father bought that bread maker a few years ago, but it just doesn’t taste the same.”
“What doesn’t taste the same?” a masculine voice said from behind them. Abi turned around smiling and took the paper bag her father offered her. He planted three loud, smacking kisses on her cheek and stepped around the kitchen island, squeezing his wife’s hand as he helped himself to a glass of wine.
“The bread with the bread maker,” Abi explained, though she didn’t remember her father giving her mother a bread maker, let alone her mother trying to use it.
“Ah,” Judah Meyer said, taking a sip of the wine and exhaling in appreciation. He leaned against the counter, seeming to consider. “I think we donated that. Didn’t we, Leece?”
“Mmm,” Lisa agreed, sipping her own wine. “I see why people like them, but if I want to save time, I just ask your sister to bake while she’s at the shop.”
“That only savesyourtime,” Judah said, laughing.
“I always offer to pay,” Lisa sniffed. Then she jerked her chin at a claw clip on the counter nearest Judah’s elbow, “honey, could you? It’s not my fault she won’t take my money.”
“Mom,” Abi said, her tone saying more than she had to. Lisa held her head still as Judah twisted her hair into an approximation of a bun and clipped it in place since her hands were busy. Lisa glared at her daughter with mock ferocity. It was an impressive example of multitasking.
“Your sister is a big girl. If she thinks I’m overstepping, she can say I’m overstepping,” Lisa said.
Judah laughed, and his wife turned to look at him, pointing. He lifted his hands in surrender and Lisa nodded, mollified.
The oven timer buzzed.
Abi laughed this time.
“You are both so lucky,” Lisa said, wiping her hands on a towel as she approached the oven. Whatever else she said was lost as she bent over to remove the brie from the rack with the folded towel. She straightened, lifting the cheese out of the oven and blowing a tendril of hair off her face. “Tell me again about this coleslaw business?”
Abi made a face. She wasn’t so close to her parents that she was going to tell her mother she’d been making out with a man at the Co-op, but it had been days, and she was still thinking about Simcha’s snide remarks. All week, every time the other woman had come into the Preschool she’d been acting strangely. Abi hadn’t tried to talk to her about the incident, and Simcha seemed content to simply make her miserable with the possibility of spreading the gossip, but the way she’d implied that “coleslaw” stuff about Ilan infuriated Abi.
“We’re not having coleslaw, are we?” Judah asked, oblivious, but his angular face was still faintly amused by the bread maker discussion.
Abi widened her eyes to show the abysmal failure of his question before outlining Simcha’s comment and Ilan’s explanation of the context. Judah whistled low to show he thought it was out of order, opening a drawer in the counter he was leaning against and removing a spoon. Wordlessly, he handed it to Lisa, who took it over her shoulder without even glancing at him.
What must it be like to have that kind of silent conversation with someone?Abi wondered. How many years had it taken for her parents to reach that level of silent understanding and communication? Had it happened while Abi and Leah were small children? Or did it come later, after the two had gone away to college and Judah and Lisa were able to relearn what it was to be a couple without the responsibility of feeding small children or angsty teenagers?
Abi knew she wanted that someday. Knew it in her marrow. It was just that in that same place that she wanted it, she knew she would never find it. Or at least, she hadn’t so far, so the likelihood of finding it some day in the future seemed to be getting less and less likely. She sighed, wondering if perhaps she was being over-dramatic. Her parents were just being her parents.
Lisa plucked the jar of compote from Abi’s hands, and Abi jumped. She hadn’t even realized she was still holding it. She slid into one of the bar stools that lined this side of the kitchen island as her mother spooned some of the mixture onto the center of the baked cheese.
“Simcha Hallerman is a mean-spirited busybody,” Lisa said, and Abi looked at her, shocked. Lisa never talked about people like that. She was too politic. Judah’s mouth twisted in agreement, but his face said he was as surprised as Abi that her mother had voiced such an observation.
Abi looked at her father. Usually, Lisa went out of her way to offer alternative reasons why people might do the things they did. Judah blamed it on her being a lawyer. It was her job to be thinking about every possible behavioral angle. She made a face and sighed. “I don’t know why she dislikes the guy so much. It just seems like such a weird thing to say in the first place. Slut-shamey, almost. Can you slut shame a guy?”
“If the guy is the town bicycle, and he’s happy with that, he’s got nothing to be ashamed about as long as he’s properly serviced and lubricated.”
“Dad!” Abi said, and Lisa snorted with laughter.
“What? I was being supportive of his life choices,” Judah said amiably.
“Your father has a point,” Lisa said. “Although it sounds like Simcha’s upset she wasn’t offered a ride.”
