Chapter 29 #2
Did I say we should wing it? Did I say no one would ask questions about us? Ugh. We are not prepared for such things. Nerves rise in my gut (I blame Margo) and I blurt, “He’s a banker!”
Zev’s gaze drops to me. “I’m a banker?”
Huh. I suppose I could have let him answer that question.
Too late now. “Yes. You are, sweetie.” Playfully, I elbow Zev in the ribs.
It’s awkward as he won’t let go of my hand.
I wrinkle my nose. “He doesn’t like to brag.
Do you, sweetie?” Because I have one pet-name in my vocabulary and apparently I plan to use it all night.
Zev’s thick brows lift as he peers down at me. “About banking? No, I do not.”
“I thought you played soccer,” Robert says, his nose scrunched and his lip curled.
Well, crap. That’s right. I already lied once about Zev’s job, and it happened to be to Robert.
“He does. He is a soccer-playing banker.” I swallow down the lie, and I’m pretty lucky that I don’t choke or fall into a full-blown panic.
“Interesting,” Margo says, sitting beside Robert. Am I imagining it, or is he watching me? I swear the man hasn’t looked away from me once.
Zev and I sit, too. I’m not sure what to do about Robert’s relentless stare. So, I grin at him, and he grins right back—just like he always did.
“What about you, Robbie?” Zev says, and both Robert and I turn our attention to Zevulun. In fact, I’m pretty sure he called Robert that just to get him to look away from me.
It worked.
“It’s Robert,” he says, sitting up straighter in his seat and slipping one arm around Margo’s back. “Rosalie never told you about me?”
“Believe it or not, we have much better things to talk about than you.”
“Rosalie.” Margo leans in, her elbows on the table. “Are you still at Sierra View?”
“Um.” My breath hitches. She knows the name of my school.
She knows more than me. I look at Zev. I answered his occupation question, so the least he could do is answer mine.
But he makes no move to talk for me. Of course he doesn’t.
His brain isn’t broken. His right leg moves, brushing up to mine.
Like magic, I find my voice again. “Actually, no.”
Margo’s brows lift. “Really?” she says as if this is juicy gossip and I’m about to spill all the tea.
She’s going to be disappointed.
“Yeah. It was… great. Super great.” At least, Fran said I loved it. “However, I’ve decided to resign and go back to college.” I clear my throat. “I’m getting my certificate in secondary education.”
Somehow Margo’s brows raise higher. She didn’t expect this. It makes me feel as if I’m being tested and answering wrong. As if she knows me better than I know myself.
My body would like to give into the panic when—
“Rosalie, that’s great.” Robert’s grin widens. “I never understood why you switched to elementary.”
He and I both.
“Yeah, well… options.” I’m unsure how to defend the choices I made when I’m not sure why I made them in the first place.
Zev jumps in. “Rosalie can teach anything. She is a gifted teacher. It doesn’t matter the age of the child.” He sounds like Grammy.
“But teaching secondary has to be so much more rewarding. You’d see more strides in students. You’d be able to have actual conversations. It has to be more challenging.” Robert snuffs out a laugh—and then he winks at me.
Did Margo see that? Did I imagine it?
“You can have a conversation with an elementary student. And you don’t think giving a child the foundation work for reading and writing would be rewarding?
You don’t think creating that groundwork would be challenging?
” Zev scoffs, leaning back in his chair, scowling at Robert.
“Without good teachers in their younger years, older kids will struggle the rest of their lives in all other subjects.”
I think of Partida, of the conversations we’ve shared about books. I can’t imagine teaching her and not feeling rewarded.
Robert lifts one shoulder as if Zev hasn’t made several excellent points.
“It’s true,” I say. “We need skilled elementary teachers to ensure kids can maintain all they want to learn as they grow older.” I feel like I’m making things up as I sit here… and yet, I believe what I’ve said to be true.
“All teachers are important—can we agree on that?” Margo says. She smiles at Zev. Ahem. That’s my date, Margo. “I teach elementary school,” she says, just for Zev.
“We are very aware,” I gripe as if I’m still holding out animosity for this woman who is nothing more than a stranger to me.
Except that, she clearly knows me. And clearly, she’s exuding some guilty feelings. Fran is my trusted bestie, and she told me I couldn’t trust Margo. That she betrayed me. Why is it so easy to forget?
But with my declaration, Margo’s cheeks flush pink, confirming her guilt.
“Sure, Margo’s excellent at teaching two plus two.
” Robert looks at me when he says this, his tone mocking.
Like we’re in on some joke together. “But the Pythagorean Theorem? I don’t think so.
” The comment feels cruel and beneath him.
He’s belittling what she does, and I don’t understand the purpose. She’s his wife.
Zev wraps an arm around the back of my chair, his fingers brushing at the skin just below the cuff of my short-sleeved shirt. Such a small, intimate detail. Maybe he’s an actor. If so, I have to see him in something.
Our waiter comes with drinks, chips, and salsa, ready to take our order. The minute we’ve given it, Margo stands. “I’ll be back. Restroom.” The woman is certainly uncomfortable. I didn’t help with that, and Robert almost acts as if she isn’t even here.
I’m not exactly comfortable either. But Zev is at least keeping me sane.
Maybe he was right. Maybe this was a bad idea. I just thought that if I could see Robert, and if we could be friends, that maybe I could move forward. Even if I needed a mourning period after.
“Salsa?” Robert says, lifting the small bowl from the table and pointing it toward Zev.
Zev’s brows narrow in a glare. “No. Thanks.”
Still holding the bowl, Robert scoots himself closer until he’s holding the little bowl right up to Zev. He scoots again, bumping into the table. The whole thing jostles, as does Robert’s arm, and the entire contents of tomatoes, cilantro, and onions spill into Zev’s lap.
The bowl is empty, and all of our water glasses have wobbled, spilling half their contents onto the tabletop.
Zev stands, arms out, salsa running down each of his pant legs. “Did you do that on purpose?” he barks, his glare on Robert.
“Zev,” I hush. “It was an accident.”
“Yeah. Sorry, man.” Robert’s dabbing every single napkin onto the table, soaking up the wet mess. “You better go clean up.”
Zev peers at me, his blue eyes so expressive that now I am certain the man is an actor. They practically scream the words: WILL YOU BE OKAY IF I GO?
So, I answer. “I’m fine. Go clean up.”
He pauses another minute before glancing down at the liquid seeping into his pants and running down his legs. Then he heads off in the same direction as Margo.
“Finally, alone.” Robert winks at me—again. Maybe sometime in the last six years, he’s obtained a twitch. One he cannot control. One that blinks his eye during inappropriate moments.
I clasp my hands together in my lap. “Margo seems… nice.”
Robert gives a small chortle. “Sure.” He leans closer. “Rosalie, I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to see how you’ve grown.”
Wow. That’s ironic. Seeing how my brain has literally regressed.
“It’s like you’ve forgotten the past and you’re ready to move forward.”
I swallow, my eyes narrowing. “That’s exactly what it’s like.” I lift my half-empty glass to my mouth and take a small sip, then rest my hand on the table.
Robert grins, but it feels different than the smile I remember. “I’m glad. I’ve missed you.”
My forehead wrinkles, trying to make sense of how those words make me feel. “You have?”
“Well, yeah.” He reaches out a hand, covering mine sitting on the still-damp tabletop.
So strange. His touch doesn’t feel the same, not like I remember.
“Next time, maybe we get a drink, just the two of us.”
I stare at him for a long minute. Why is he acting like this? Why would he say that when he’s married? When he believes I’m here with Zev? “I don’t drink.” I pull back my hand. I don’t want to feel his touch anymore. I don’t want to know this Robert.
“I thought maybe you’d grown out of that, too.” Robert smiles, like we’re playing a game of cat and mouse. He’s flirting with me. He’s asking me out. While his wife is in the bathroom. My stomach flips. And my head spins.
Fran was right.
Grammy was right.
Zev was—
Hallelujah, there’s Zev. His khaki pants are rinsed of salsa but still wet. Our waiter walks by just as Zev reaches our table. “Can you bring me a beer?” he says with a growl.
“Someone likes to drink,” Robert says, brows bouncing.
Zev plops back into his chair. “Yeah, well, I may need some subsistence to make it through the rest of this evening.”