Recommended for You

by Laura Silverman

  “Shoshanna?” I spin around and find Jake behind me. He’s wearing my purple scarf, and his skin is already flushed from the cold. I inhale as he steps forward, his concerned eyes trained on mine. “You ran out after talking to Myra. Did she—is the store closing?”

  Silence beats heavy for a long moment. Finally, I manage a one-word reply. “Yeah.”

  And then my face crumples, and without thinking, I move toward him, and he moves toward me, and I hug him, and he hugs me back, and it’s a serious full-body, two-armed hug, and he’s warm, and he still smells like a freaking buttered croissant, and the tension eases from my muscles as I relax into his arms. I can feel his soft pulse in his throat and a little stubble from his jaw, and I think maybe if I could stay here forever, then I really wouldn’t care about a bookstore closing.

  Jake adjusts, just a slight shift but enough to snap me back to reality.

  I slink out of his arms and rub my cold nose, the only part of me not suddenly heated. “Sorry,” I say. “I know it’s just a bookstore.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Jake replies. “I know how much you love that place. And, whether you believe it or not, I like bookstores as well.”

  I laugh. “Even though you’re not a reader?” I expect him to smile back, but he hesitates, scratching his ear and glancing up at the sky. Darn it. Seriously, what is wrong with me? “I’m—”

  Jake returns his gaze to mine. “The thing is,” he says, “books are expensive. And you need a car to get to the library, or time to take the bus, which is hard when you’re working a lot.”

  Oh. Of course.

  “I’m a jerk,” I tell him.

  “You’re really not.” He runs a hand through his curls. “It’s just stuff you haven’t had to think about, you know?”

  And I do know. I know exactly what that weird feeling is to watch someone hand over a credit card without a hint of concern when you’re constantly tabulating every purchase. And yet I’m so lucky, so privileged, that books have never been a scarcity in my life.

  “I’m sorry, Jake,” I say. “Really.”

  His smile is soft. He glances back at the mall. “Do you want to come back inside?”

  “No. Um, my moms will be here soon. Do you need a ride?”

  Jake shakes his head. “My mom is coming in an hour.”

  “Okay. Well, tell her hi. And I’ll see you tomorrow—” I break off because I won’t see him tomorrow. Because tomorrow is Christmas, and the store will be closed until next year, and I don’t know if he’ll still be working here next year. And next year will only be a few months, anyway, and then we’ll all be gone. And then I won’t see Jake Kaplan anymore. And damn, that really sucks on top of all the suck.

  Jake clears his throat, then looks down at the sidewalk, suddenly self-conscious in a way so cute I want to murder him. “Mom and I are having Chinese for lunch tomorrow. Want to join us? You could invite your moms, too.”

  “Yeah.” I beam at him. “That would be nice. Text you later?”

  Jake nods, and then he steps forward and very awkwardly kisses the top of my head, and then I hear him mutter, “Wow, weird move, Kaplan,” as he walks back into the mall. I sit down on a bench and pat the top of my curls with a slight smile.

  Weird move, indeed, Kaplan.

  * * *

  Geraldine: We can come over

  Cheyenne: I have an entire box of peppermint chocolate truffles. Mom got them at work.

  Geraldine: We can watch Time Stands Still. The second one that was so bad it’s a comedic masterpiece.

  Cheyenne: We can watch Time Stands Still AND eat this box of peppermint chocolate truffles

  Shoshanna: I’m okay y’all

  Shoshanna: Seriously. I promise. Enjoy your Christmas Eve.

  Geraldine: But are you sure? Because we love you.

  Cheyenne: We love you very much

  Shoshanna: I’m sure

  And I am okay. For the first time in a week, I feel like I can breathe. I’ve been wound so tight, trying so hard to fix everything, that it’s actually a relief to finally accept I’m the only person I have control over. YouTubers decide when they’re ready to post their content online. Married people decide whether or not they want to stay married. And bookstore owners decide if they no longer want to be bookstore owners.

  My phone beeps again, and I go to check the group chain, but instead I find a text from Jake: Chinese food tomorrow?

  I text back immediately because screw trying to be cool by waiting an appropriate amount of time to respond: Definitely. I got you a present, too.

  Jake: Liar. What is it?

  Shoshanna: Patience is a virtue.

  Jake: Hmph. Your moms joining us?

  I hesitate because I haven’t worked up the nerve to ask them yet. After a moment, I say: Maybe. Will let you know in the morning. See you tomorrow!

  Jake sends a smiley-face emoji.

  I have a feeling Jake isn’t one to send emojis lightly. I smile at the smiley-face emoji for a solid ten seconds. Adrenaline pulses through me, fast and frantic, and at first I’m not sure what to do with it, but then I realize suddenly, desperately, I want to write. So I put away my phone, turn on my computer, scroll to the bottom of my document, and do just that.

  The sun is barely a slip of orange on the horizon when Henry takes Isobel’s hands in his own. Her eyes are soft, and her skin is callused from years of working in the armory. “I think I’ve always loved you,” Henry says.

  “Yeah?” Isobel steps forward and sighs. “About time you figured that out.”

  I write and write, and the sentences turn into paragraphs and the paragraphs into pages, and the entire book begins to open up in front of me, and I know where to take this story tomorrow and the days after that, and I can’t wait to write those words. When I go to bed that night, I don’t worry about my moms or Once Upon or anything else. Instead, I just fall asleep and dream about my characters.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Even though it’s only eight in the morning, I’m already awake when I hear a knock on my door. I’ve been reading in bed for the last hour because, despite my best effort to sleep in, I’m now used to waking up at an ungodly hour for work.

  I put my book down, then shift to sit up against my headboard and say, “Come in.”

  Mom opens the door and steps into my room. She’s wearing leggings and an oversize sweater she probably found in the men’s section of a thrift store. Her hair is up in its catastrophe bun. She looks beautiful. “Merry Christmas, sweet daughter,” she says. “Should we go see what presents Santa left under the tree?”

  “I think I’m on the naughty list.” I sigh. “Something about not believing in our lord and savior Jesus Christ.”

  “Drat.” Mom tsks, and we both laugh. “Hey, you want to go on a walk? With Mama, too. It’s freezing, but we can bring hot chocolate.”

  “Sure,” I say, tentative. “That sounds nice.”

  Ten minutes later, I have a puffy coat on over my pj’s, and we’re outside, hands curled around thermoses of hot chocolate. It feels like Christmas. And it’s not just the yard decorations, though our neighbor’s full set of electric reindeer, sled, and Santa certainly adds to the ambience. The world feels settled, everyone at home, gathered around with their families. I’m with my family. My moms and I walk down the streets we’ve walked down for years. Today is a little different. Their hands aren’t clasped, and Mom falls in line with me more than Mama, but we’re all here together. And that’s something. It really is.

  “We’re sorry about Once Upon, darling,” Mama says. She starts walking in the gutter, one foot directly in front of the other like a tightrope walker.

  I told them last night about the store closing. Every time I say it out loud, it feels a little more real and less like some strange dream I can’t shake off. “Thanks.” I pull on one of my curls and loop it around my finger. “I’ll find another job.”

  “We know you will.” Mom knocks into my shoulder. “I’ll n
ever forget my first job. Ice cream scooper at Shelly’s Iced Delights. Had a wrist injury by the end of summer and overdosed on ice cream. Couldn’t eat it again for years.”

  Mama laughs. “Sounds better than my first gig. Babysitter for triplets. They were four-year-old nightmares. I have never recovered.”

  “I guess I’m lucky,” I say, blinking up into the sky. The morning sun pierces through soft white clouds. “Having a first job I love so much.” Loved. We’re in a cul-de-sac now. Through the windows, I can see one neighbor’s Christmas tree glowing with strung lights. “Um.” I turn to my moms, my cheeks already reddening at the question. “So, Jake invited me to Chinese lunch with his mom today. And invited y’all, too. Want to come?”

  They exchange one of those parent-telepathy looks. My stomach tightens as they decide. I honestly don’t know what outcome I want. If they say yes, embarrassment awaits. If they say no, it means they don’t want to spend more time together. After a long beat, they look back at me.

  “Love Chinese food,” Mama says.

  “As long as there’s General Tso’s on the table, I’m in,” Mom tells me.

  I grin. “I think that can be arranged.”

  We start moving again, Mama tight-roping along the cul-de-sac’s curved gutter. We walk for a full hour and talk about everything, all of the shenanigans at the mall, Cheyenne’s rekindled relationship and Geraldine’s YouTube career, how Mom is going to search for a new job herself next year, because she deserves to be paid more for the hours she puts in, and how Mama feels so fulfilled volunteering for art classes at the senior center. There’s a sharp chill in the air, but each sip of hot chocolate creates a burst of warmth.

  * * *

  Chu’s Kitchen is packed. Boisterous families cram into every available seat and pass dishes and menus around. There are a lot of curls and kippahs and so much laughter, and I love it all. A busboy wipes down our table as a waitress seats us. We all slide into the large booth, Jake and Ms. Kaplan on one side and my moms and me on the other. Jake and I both sit on the inside, and I swear he nudges my shoe with his own on purpose. I smile as I grab a crispy noodle and dip it into the dish of duck sauce.

  “Thank you for inviting us,” Mama says, pushing up the sleeves of her purple sweater. The restaurant is warm and filled with the heavenly smells of garlic and onion.

  “Of course! We’re so glad you could join us!” Ms. Kaplan replies. “Oh, I just love Christmas! It’s my favorite holiday. Everyone is off work. I get to spend all day with my sweet Jakey. I love any excuse to eat Chinese food. And I don’t have to go to synagogue. Perfect holiday, right?”

  Mom laughs. “Pretty perfect.”

  “Also, I love eggnog,” Ms. Kaplan adds.

  I nod. “Eggnog is delicious.”

  “Do you guys trust me?” Jake asks as a waiter passes us menus.

  I tilt my head. “Do we trust you?”

  “He wants to show off and order for the table,” Ms. Kaplan explains. “It’s male chauvinism, and I wouldn’t stand for it, but the boy has good taste buds. Chu’s might run a Jake Kaplan special menu next year.”

  Jake laughs and rubs the back of his head. “But seriously, no pressure if you want to order your own food.”

  “I’m in,” Mama says, flinging her menu down on the table.

  “As long as there’s General Tso’s,” Mom adds.

  “But of course,” Jake replies. “They have the best in the city.”

  “Perfect.” Mom smiles and grabs the teapot to fill up her cup. Ms. Kaplan holds up her cup to be filled as well, while Mama compliments her on her bracelet. We’re all so comfortable already. It feels natural, easy. But that can happen when you’re surrounded by members of the tribe.

  “What about you?” Jake asks. His eyes meet mine as our moms chat. “Do you trust me?”

  My cheeks heat as I nibble on another crispy noodle. “I sure as heck didn’t a week ago,” I reply.

  “One week.” Jake shakes his head. “Is that really when we met?”

  “Unbelievable, right?” I ask.

  It is unbelievable. Because looking at this guy across the table from me, this guy with a crooked left eyebrow and magical baking powers, this guy who deserves a better dad but seems to be the best son a mom can ask for, this guy who can rock the heck out of a flannel, it feels like this guy has been in my life a lot longer than one week.

  “So what about now?” he asks. “Trust me now?”

  “Now…” I grab another crunchy noodle, and Jake does as well. His eyes flash when our hands brush together, and a jolt of electricity runs up my spine. “Now… maybe my feelings have changed.”

  We spend a full two hours at the restaurant. Every time one of us stops eating, another begins again, and then by the time they stop, someone else realizes they can eat a little more, and so on. By the end of it all, we’ve devoured the platters of General’s Tso’s, orange beef, Chinese broccoli, and chow mein, and there’s only an errant noodle or orange slice left.

  I lean back against the booth and groan. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat again.”

  “Don’t say that,” Jake replies quickly.

  “Why?”

  He hesitates. “Because… reasons…”

  I’m about to interrogate him more when the check arrives at the table, and our moms do the squabble over wanting to pay. I invited you all! But we had more people eating! Jake and I offer to help pay as well, but we’re both shushed with ferocity so intense that we break into stomach-holding laughter. Eventually they come to a compromise, and minutes later, we’re heading out into the parking lot. The wind has kicked up since this morning, so blustery it’ll probably take two rounds of conditioner and the big paddle brush to detangle my curls tonight.

  We all walk toward our cars. Our moms chat at full speed, but Jake clears his throat to interrupt them. “Um, hey. So…” Everyone turns to him, and I can’t stop grinning at his discomfort. “I was hoping to take Shoshanna somewhere… I mean, if you want to go?” He looks at me, and I have no idea what he has planned, but of course I nod yes. “Great!” He flashes a smile so genuine I could die on the spot. “So Mom, can I use the car, and maybe Shoshanna’s moms can take you home? If that’s okay with everyone?”

  All three moms are grinning at him like absolute fools, and I snicker as Jake lifts his arms and then forces them back down, like he’s resisting the urge to shove his face in his hands. “You two are very cute,” Ms. Kaplan says.

  “So cute,” Mama agrees.

  “Y’all, please stop,” I say, cheeks burning but at least not as badly as Jake’s.

  “Stop what?” Mom asks. “Talking about how very cute you two are?”

  “Do you have the keys?” I ask Jake. “Because if not, I’m sure I can YouTube how to hot-wire a car.”

  My pulse skips when he laughs. “Yes, I have the keys. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Have fun, you two!” Ms. Kaplan calls after us.

  “Be home by six!” Mama shouts.

  It’s possible Mom adds something about kissing, but thankfully by then I’ve had the good sense to stuff my fingers in my ears.

  * * *

  Gary’s diner is a double-wide trailer that’s been turned into a restaurant. It sits alone in a gravel parking lot with a battered enamel sign that reads GARY’S in navy font with a chipped “A.” Christmas lights dangle around the perimeter of the building, blinking in the overcast afternoon light. As we approach, I read a laminated sign on the door that says CLOSED FOR CHRISTMAS.

  “I think it’s closed for Christmas,” I tell Jake.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Good thing I have a key.” He digs the key out of his pocket, unlocks the front door, and flicks on the lights. The inside is much cuter than the outside, retro with vinyl red booths, tabletops painted in different colors, and a front counter with swivel bar seats. A jukebox sits against a back wall, and after Jake plugs it in, the Temptations begin to play.

  “Your mom would be so proud.
” I sit on one of the swivel seats as Jake walks around to the other side of the counter. “So… what are we doing here?”

  But Jake doesn’t answer my question.

  Instead, Jake unbuttons his flannel shirt.

  I start coughing and consider making a run for it or maybe taking my top off as well until I realize Jake is wearing a T-shirt underneath the flannel. Right. Keep your clothing on, Shoshanna. First-date rule number one, if this is a date, which it’s probably not, but maybe it is, and oh my god, am I on a date with Jake Kaplan right now?

  I clear my throat as he grabs an apron and throws it on over his T-shirt.

  “We are here,” Jake finally answers, now walking back to the open kitchen and pulling out a couple of stainless-steel bowls. “To make dessert!” He grins at me from behind the counter. “And you’re helping.”

  “Am I?” I ask, but I’m already sliding off the stool to join him in the kitchen. Playing hard-to-get is not my strong suit. “Oh, wait! Your present!”

  I turn back around and dig through my tote bag. “Let me guess…,” Jake says. “Is it a book?”

  “That would have been on brand, but you’re incorrect.” I find the present and then walk up to him and hand over the envelope. I rock back on my heels as he opens it. “I know it won’t cover the full cost, but—” Jake’s mouth parts as he pulls out the printed airline gift certificate. “It should cover part of the flight. I can fix Barbra whenever. It’s not like she’s going anywhere. Also, I don’t know your mom’s favorite airline, so hopefully—”

  “Shoshanna,” Jake cuts me off. I stop rambling and look up at him. When his dark eyes lock onto mine, I can feel my heart in my throat. “Thank you.”

  “Sure.” I tug on my necklace. “Anyone would have done it.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “They really wouldn’t have.”

  He keeps looking at me, like he might say something else, or do something else, but eventually he clears his throat and puts the envelope away in his back pocket. “Come on,” he says. “Brownie time.”