Challenged by You: A Fusion Universe Novel

by Tracey Jerald

  “Always has been, ma’am.” The woman chuckles. I ask politely, “Is there somewhere you need to go? Anything you need assistance with?”

  Julian goes ramrod straight behind me at my offer. The woman cackles. “I’m off to play bingo right over there.” She points with her cane, almost taking out a passerby, who curses her in three different languages.

  I wince even as the woman blithely continues. “But you boys go enjoy your pizza.” Without another word, she hobbles down to the corner and waits for the light to turn before heading across the street.

  Julian is silent as we make our way inside. “It’s a woman,” he declares suddenly.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “What’s she like?” We walk up to the counter to order when I notice it’s cash only. I frown, not because I don’t have the money, but because I worry about the owner’s safety. Much like I worried about Trina’s, which is why I rode the damn subway home with her the other night from Grand Central.

  “Do you know what you want to eat?” I ask him impatiently.

  “Food,” he tells me decisively before switching topics again. “So tell me, when did you meet her?”

  Knowing I’ll stand here starving to death under the smell of oregano if I don’t throw him a bone, I answer, “About a week ago. Now, can we order?”

  “Sure.” Turning his attention to the attendant, Julian orders, “I’ll take a slice of meatball and a cheese calzone. Plus a drink.”

  “Are you eating for two?” I ask him with a laugh. “Two slices, cheese and sausage. Plus a drink.” I reach for my wallet.

  “That will be twenty-two dollars.” I pull out a twenty and a five, wait for my change, and dump the rest in the tip jar. “Thank you. Your order will be right up.”

  Julian and I make our way over to a two-seater near the window. “So were you serious, or were you just trying to get me to shut up?”

  “If I tell you the truth, can I eat in peace?” Lowering my voice, I whisper, “I’m actually reviewing this place for the column.”

  Eyes that are the exact same shape and color of my own widen in surprise. “Why didn’t you say something?” he hisses.

  Thoughtfully, I glance around at the impeccably clean restaurant that’s almost filled to capacity at eleven in the morning on a weekday. “Probably because we’ll draw more attention if we’re not acting like ourselves?”

  “Hmm, true. So, the part about the woman…”

  Knowing there’s no way I won’t tell him about my interactions with Trina, I give in. “Is also true. In fact, it’s because of her we’re even here.”

  I’m grateful Julian hadn’t quite managed to lift his drink to his mouth otherwise I suspect for the second time this week I’d be wearing someone else’s consumables. “Shut the hell up.”

  “That’s fine by me since the food’s here anyway.” I offer a polite smile to the server as they dispense our meal. In my mind, I’m not doing the normal critique I would. I certainly don’t expect the waitstaff to know what meal belongs to what diner. After they leave, I analyze my meal without taking a single bite. “Have to be fair because it’s quick service,” I think out loud. “I have to detract for the plastic silverware though.”

  “Oh, God. Here we go,” Julian groans. “Jonas, look around you. Does this place scream real silverware?”

  I frown, recognizing my brother’s truth. “But how are you going to be able to eat… Oh, God.” I start laughing as Julian picks up one full half of his calzone and takes a mammoth bite.

  “Fwuqing fantastic,” he manages in between chews of gooey cheese that likely is scalding the inside of his mouth. But Julian doesn’t give a damn about minor details like that when his stomach is involved.

  “Give me a bite,” I demand.

  “Eat your pizza first. I’ll save you some,” he promises as he chomps down again.

  I lift the fire-baked slice in my hands. I love the sound of the crackle the bread makes when I fold it in half. “God, this is the sound pizza should make.”

  “Right? It shouldn’t bend like a rubber band.” Julian has already hoovered through half a calzone and is working on his slice of meatball.

  I have to remind myself this is a job and to not just shove my face into my slice the way my brother has. Lifting the slice slowly to my lips, I inhale the aroma of spices wafting through the air. “The smell alone might make this rate above four stars.” My eyes drift shut as I recognize the traditional scents of oregano, thyme, garlic, and basil.

  My lips part to take that first precious bite just as Julian’s voice intrudes on my moment. “Jesus, Jonas, if you don’t take a damn bite, I’m not going to keep my promise.” I find him lifting the second half of his calzone in warning.

  “If you eat that, I’m not telling you about Trina,” I warn him.

  Quickly, he drops the other half of the fried cheese moon to the plate. “That’s just wrong. It goes against every brother code we’ve ever shared.”

  “Keep bothering me and I won’t tell you how I got into this mess.” I open my mouth around the paper-thin crust and cheese. Explosions of flavor ripple across my tongue as I chew the single bite. “Damn.” I put the slice down and signal a passing server. “Do you have a box? I have to leave, unfortunately.”

  “What is it?” Julian is suddenly concerned.

  I wait for the waiter to move out of hearing distance. “I want a box to take the rest of this home. It’s fucking fantastic. Then I want to write about it for tomorrow’s column.”

  A cardboard box is quickly handed to me as the harried waiter passes by with a loaded tray in his hands. I grin at my brother. “Keep your calzone. I’ll tell you the story on the subway on the way home.”

  Julian doesn’t have to be told twice as he begins attacking his food.

  Within minutes, we’re fighting our way out the already long line out the door. It makes me wonder how many other places like this I’m going to discover in the next thirty days.

  Julian stops suddenly and pulls up his phone. “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “This conversation isn’t for the subway. I’ll Uber us to your place.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t say that yet. I might try to knock you out along the way and steal your pizza.”

  I don’t respond until the car pulls up. Sliding in, I turn to my brother and clarify, “No, I mean thanks for pointing out the error in my column last week. If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t have gone in to chew out Karlson. That led to a meeting at Seduction where I met Trina.” Going into everything—the screwup, everything I overheard, apologizing to Trina Paxton, her challenge, and the time in between that I’ve spent trying to understand her since—takes up most of the ride. Soon we’re pulling up outside my condo. Both of us slide out, nodding at my doorman.

  Julian still hasn’t said anything as we enter my condo. “You’re awfully quiet,” I prod, before walking into my kitchen to put the pizza on the counter.

  He’s quiet for a moment longer before he repeats something that was a shot in the dark the other night. “Ms. Paxton reminds you of Mom.”

  I’m equally somber. “In some ways, certainly. There’s no way she wouldn’t. In others, not in the slightest. She’s much more outspoken and edgy.” Thoughtful, I drop on to my sofa while Julian takes his normal spot in the chair opposite me. “She’s almost too independent, but there’s this soft side when she’s with her children that’s very appealing. And in a kitchen she’s brilliant.”

  Julian’s eyes widen at my assessment, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “Before I met her face-to-face, I knew she was something special. I took one bite of her dessert and was moved by the complexities in it. Then I saw her standing up to her boss because Chelsea screwed up the editing.”

  Julian winces. “Ouch.”

  “She was fired that night, Jules. She has two children to support on a single salary. Far as I can tell, father’s not in the picture.”

/>   “You’re kidding, right?” His face is filled with disbelief.

  “A boy and a girl,” I confirm. “And when I went to apologize to her in person, she gave me a few verbal jabs right here.” I run my hand under my ribs. “She said I had no idea what it was like.”

  “And you didn’t correct her.”

  “Because she’s right. In the process of trying to move past the pain of losing Mom, I shoved so much of her aside including remembering what living in this city is like for the average person. I don’t know.” I shove to my feet and begin to pace. “Maybe I’m doing this for Mom, maybe I’m doing this because of my own guilt. But I need to see this through.”

  “And in the meanwhile, she has you starting to talk in food puns again,” Julian observes. My head snaps around. “You haven’t done that in so long, I thought you forgot how, despite what your study looks like.”

  “I haven’t been inspired to recently.”

  “Then, I think I like her already.” Julian stands as well. “Take it day by day, Jonas. That’s all you can do.” He pulls me into a hug that no matter how many years pass, still feels like it’s missing something.

  Our Mom.

  “Thanks for listening, Jules.”

  “You never have to ask.” After a few thumps on my shoulder, he whispers, “Jonas?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I have your slice of sausage pizza?”

  “No. Now, go away. I have to write.”

  “I love you too, big brother.”

  I just smile because I know he does. And it’s rare those eight minutes of being older feel pretty damn good. But today is one of them.

  Chapter 8

  Trina

  “Mom.” I’m running ten minutes late because Chris was clinging to me to not go which made it virtually impossible for me to change. “It would really be a big help if you came to my apartment tonight instead of disrupting the kids to bring them to yours.”

  “That’s just not convenient for me, Trina. We have rules,” she snipes.

  “I appreciate that.” Because I certainly don’t understand. All I’m asking her to do is walk down the hall and watch her grandchildren from my apartment instead of hers. “But Chris is acting a little off. I think he’d feel more comfortable if he was with his own things,” I begin before I’m interrupted.

  “I can’t watch my shows from your place. God, you don’t even own a television.” The disgust radiating from her voice stills my movement from hurried to almost slow motion. I bend down and pick up my son and nuzzle him just beneath his jaw. “And if I put the children down when you want me to instead of when I think they should go down…” She drones on in my ear about my failures as a parent while Chris settles against me.

  God, I hate being in this predicament. The very last thing I want to do is to leave my babies in her care to absorb her toxicity. Every time I do, I wonder if she’s spewing the same anger I heard every day of my life. But what am I supposed to do? I gave up every dollar to my name for lawyer fees in order to keep my children, and I will never regret a single dime I spent to retain full custody of them.

  I just need a few more years, I remind myself again as Mom drones on about my selfishness and mistakes. If I can keep living the way I am, I can afford to look into different childcare options. Or save enough money to move us all to an apartment closer to work? It won’t be a small town someplace where I would be able to buy a house again, but if I can free up time commuting, then I’ll have more time for Annie and Chris. Maybe I can find the New York my coworkers go on and on about. Squeezing my eyes closed, I’m unaware of the hot moisture seeping out that lands on my son’s smooth skin.

  “Mama?” Chris lifts his head and places his hands on either side of my face. “No cwy.”

  “Sorry, baby.” I reach for a tissue on the table and quickly wipe his skin. “I didn’t mean to get you wet.”

  “Mama sad?” His head tilts as Annie hears her brother and drags her favorite bear over to hug my legs.

  “I’m always sad when I have to leave you both,” I tell them truthfully. That gets me one set of chubby arms wrapped around my neck in a choke hold and another grabbing onto my leg like a monkey. “But we have to get ready to go to Grandma’s. Mama has to go to work.”

  Chris opens his mouth, but I lay a finger on it. “How about a special treat of fresh fruit when we go to the farmer’s market this week if you both let me get ready?”

  Chris becomes a dead weight in my arms. “Nanners!” he shrieks. He grabs Annie, and they begin shaking their bodies in a banana dance they invented.

  There’s nothing more healing than the laughter that flows through me as I reach over them for my clean jeans. Quickly shedding my leggings, I pull them on with socks and boots. I finish grabbing the twin’s bag filled with extra pull-ups, toys, and food, before I snag my purse. “Okay. Let’s go to Grandma’s,” I encourage. Glancing at my watch, I realize I’m going to have to pay for the express to avoid being late.

  “Okay,” Annie chirps. Grabbing her bear, she heads for the door. Chris is on her heels holding his bunny. Quickly I unlock the door, ushering them into the hallway, but then huddling them in front of me while I relock the triple lock. Quickly, we hurry down the hall to my mother’s, who’s ready with her effervescent mask the minute she sees my kids. After a few moments of being ignored, which is better than the disdain I dealt with earlier, I kiss my kids and race toward the elevator, prepared to sprint to the subway stop the moment I burst from the apartment doors.

  Hours later, I’m pulling a dark chocolate and English walnut pie out of the oven when Chef Sterling comes around. “Impressive, Paxton. I think this will be interesting as the dessert of the day,” she remarks as she passes by.

  I let out a quick breath before replying, “Thank you, Chef.” But instead of moving on, she lingers at my station.

  “Have you given any thought to what you’re going to make when Jonas Rice comes back in a month? As delicious as this is for our clients, I’m not so certain it’s going to wow the most revered food critic of New York City.”

  “To be honest, I haven’t. I have a feeling if I think about it too much I’m going to psych myself out.”

  Her comfortable face turns thoughtful. “That may be true. It may be best to just go with the flow and see what ends up inspiring you.”

  “I don’t want it to be something where I find a half-eaten chicken salad to work with on my station though,” I warn.

  A smile splits her wide face in two. “We’re not planning on chopping you, Paxton. Just do your best and don’t worry.”

  “The first I can promise; the second isn’t as easy.”

  “You’re not in this alone,” she reminds me with a tip of her head. I glance over at the expediter glaring down at a pile of saffron like he’s allergic to it. The head chef is plucking off garlic cloves and flinging them aside like they’ve offended him somehow. Our soup and sauce cook is paddling in a trance. “Everyone here feels the effects of Chef Spencer lingering. My job isn’t just to get us through another critic’s review; it’s to become the cohesive team we need to be in order to withstand much worse.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Unhappy customers. Food trends. And everyday events like people not wanting to eat out during times of recessions.”

  I murmur, “Let alone the people who can’t afford to eat at Seduction to begin with.”

  Chef Sterling stills next to me. “What do you mean, Chef?”

  Afraid I’ve overstepped my bounds, I stammer, “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

  “No, actually, it’s a very good something.” Propping a hip on my station, she asks, “How often have you brought someone to eat here?”

  I snicker. “I’m a girl on a budget, Chef.” But there isn’t any humor on Chef Sterling’s face. Her brow is lowered as she’s deep in thought. “You okay in there, Chef?”

  “So many people crave seduction, at all levels…” Leaning forward, she grabs my face an
d presses a smacking kiss in the center of my forehead. “Thanks for the idea,” she says before she turns and walks off.

  “Might help if I knew what it was!” I yell out to her retreating back. “Maybe toss a girl an idea for a spectacular, knock a food critic’s socks off dessert as payback?”

  Sterling gives me a quick wave before she goes into the glass-walled office and shuts the door. But I am rewarded with the laughter of my coworkers which seems to lighten the tension in the kitchen, allowing us to work with lighter hearts.

  Close to midnight, I knock on the door to my mother’s apartment with a sense of accomplishment. Elle high-fived me on my way out the door. The dessert of the day was sold out by the time I skedaddled to make my train.

  All night long, the waitstaff was swinging through and dropping compliment after compliment as Elle and I continued to prep the plates holding the variation of the traditional Southern classic pecan dish. “They’re all wondering why they never thought to do this at home, T,” one of our servers, DJ, chortled on one of his swings through the kitchen.

  I just wish there was someone I could share it with. At one time, I would have come home from the bakery after having created some new dessert and shared it with Will. He might or might not have pretended to care, but at least he was a person to talk with. More often than not, I think with lingering bitterness, he was preparing to shove the kids off on me so he could “go to work.” More like go to work on his boyfriend. A flood of resentment fills me as my mother flings open the door snapping, “I was just watching a Hallmark movie.”

  “And I’m sure you have it on Pause. Let me just get the kids and I’ll be out of your way.” I start to move past her toward her guest bedroom where I know my kids are resting when her next words stop me in place.

  “You didn’t mention Chris was sick.”

  Slowly, I turn to face her. “Excuse me? What do you mean?”