“So, what happened?” my dad demands.
I hesitate. If I tell them what really happened, they will blame my big mouth. They’ll say I should have stayed out of Alex’s work concerns and kept my opinions to myself. And who knows? Maybe they’re right.
“Listen,” Owen cuts in. “Maybe we should talk about this another time, when we’ve all had some time to process it.”
I’m both grateful for my brother and annoyed that he has to step in so our parents will leave me alone. Ever since he got his graduate degree and landed his tech job, they’ve treated him like an adult, asking for his opinion and respecting his boundaries. While I’m still the screwup kid who needs to get her life together.
Sometimes I wonder if that will ever change.
I shove my plate of penne alla vodka to the side, having lost what little appetite I had to begin with. The server comes to remove it, and while she’s reaching between me and my dad, Jacob leans in and murmurs, “Are you okay?”
I just shake my head and look away.
Owen makes a valiant effort to lighten the mood, steering the conversation toward a funny story about a robot accidently driving through a wall at work, and Jacob eggs him on with uncharacteristically booming laughter. I appreciate their efforts, but my dad’s face is as hard as a burned loaf of bread, and my mom keeps sighing and shaking her head like I’ve brought pumpkin pie to a summer party. It would be too much for anyone to overcome.
Once again, I’ve ruined a perfectly good dinner with my wild declarations and impulsivity.
The server stops by with dessert menus, and my mom puts up a hand to refuse hers. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite. I’ve got a terrible headache.”
That’s when I remember I baked for everyone. “We were going to have dessert at my place, remember? I made a flourless chocolate cake with raspberry coulis, and white chocolate basil macarons.” I look back and forth between my parents. “You still want to come for dessert, right?”
They exchange a glance, and then my dad shakes his head. “I think it’s going to have to be another time.”
“But—” I walked all the way to the gourmet food store in Greenpoint for Tahitian vanilla beans. I spent all day baking in my tiny studio kitchenette. I macerated two pounds of raspberries. But it’s going to have to be another time? “Maybe you could come back to my apartment and take some with you? For later?” I can hear the longing in my voice. Please say yes. Please make an effort because it’s important to me.
“Your mother isn’t feeling well, Sadie,” my dad snaps, like I’m selfish for asking.
“Okay.” All of a sudden, my throat is burning, and my eyes are dangerously close to spilling over. “Maybe another time.” I focus on my hands folded on the table, because if I have to make eye contact with anyone, I’m definitely going to cry.
The server is mercifully quick with the bill, and soon we’re outside on the sidewalk.
“Where are you parked?” Owen asks. My dad names a parking garage a couple of blocks away, and it’s decided that Owen will walk my parents there.
“Thanks for coming,” I murmur, because that’s what I’m supposed to say, and then I give my parents half-hearted hugs, because that’s what I’m supposed to do. “I’ll see you later.”
I stuff my hands into the pockets of my dress and hurry down the sidewalk toward the subway station. I don’t want to give Jacob the chance to say goodbye to my parents or we’ll end up on the same train back to Brooklyn. It’s times like these that I’m grateful for the anonymity of New York City. I don’t have to put on a brave face, and nobody will even blink if I’m crying on the subway.
As soon as I’ve crossed the street to the next block, the tears spill over. It’s not just my parents’ disappointment that hurts. It’s Kasumi’s silence, and my breakup with Alex, and Rob-fucking-Thurmond. It’s everything that was supposed to turn out right this time around and somehow went as upside-down as a pineapple cake.
Chapter 21
I’m almost to the subway when Jacob’s voice reverberates down the block from somewhere behind me, calling my name. I pick up my pace, pretending I don’t hear him. I can’t take Jacob seeing me with my swollen nose and mascara dripping down my face, on top of everything else. But he says my name again, only a couple of feet away now, and his footsteps thump on the pavement. “Sadie, wait.”
“What is it, Jacob?” I swipe at my wet cheeks with the palm of my hand.
He brushes past me, putting a gentle hand on my arm. “Hey.”
Stumbling to a stop, I stare over his shoulder. “Did you need something?”
Jacob shifts his body in the direction of my gaze until he appears in my line of vision. “I came to see if you’re okay, but I guess it’s pretty obvious that you’re not.”
“I’m fine. I just want to go home.” Alone. Pulling my hand into the sleeve of my jacket, I use it to swipe at my eyes.
Jacob cocks his head, looking me over, and then turns to a nearby hot dog vendor. He asks for a bottle of water and a handful of napkins, leaving a few dollars in return. Shifting the bottle of water so it’s under one arm, he hands me the napkins. When I’ve mopped up most of the tears and mascara, he opens the water and holds it out to me. “I’m going the same direction. Let me ride with you and make sure you get there okay.”
Behind his glasses, Jacob’s eyes are bittersweet chocolate, and all my desire to be alone melts away. I nod, wiping my cheeks one last time. “Thanks.”
We walk to the train without talking. I don’t want to discuss my feelings or rehash our disastrous dinner, so I appreciate that Jacob doesn’t always need to fill the silence.
When we get off the train at our stop in Williamsburg, the crowd surges onto the subway platform. Jacob tucks my hand into the crook of his arm, so we stay together. When we’re out of the crush, I should let go, but I don’t. There’s something comforting about holding on to this solid man, something comforting about his warm scent that calls to mind his peaceful, quiet apartment in the days when I lived there during my Very Bad Year. Jacob glances at my hand on his arm and keeps walking.
Once we’re out on the street, it’s a short walk to my building. After I fish my key out of my purse, I look up at Jacob. “So, I don’t know if I mentioned that there’s cake in here. If somebody doesn’t help me, there’s a very good chance I’ll eat it all by myself.”
Jacob’s lips curve into a smile. “You had me at chocolate raspberry.”
Five minutes later, Jacob is settled on my couch with a plate of flourless chocolate cake and a side of macarons. I sit on the bed across from him and take a bite of my own piece. It’s perfect—a dense, rich layer of fudge with tart raspberry puree running through the center. “Hmmm. Not bad.”