He tilts his head the way a curious puppy might. “What was I asked to buy?”
“Bread. A very specific brand,” I answer. “I want grains, and no preservatives. Not the most expensive brand in the store, but not the cheapest either. I give you the exact name I’m looking for, and really easy instructions. Luke, please go to Jonah’s and buy me a loaf of this brand bread. What do you do?”
He stares into my eyes for the world’s longest sixty seconds before he tilts his head the other way. “I… go to the store and buy the bread.” He looks around, self-conscious and waiting for the shoe to drop. “I don’t get it.”
Snickering, I sit back again when the hostess with the no-longer-bulging eyes comes back with two bottles of wine. One red, one white. She doesn’t have to speak. She merely holds the bottles in offer, and stares longingly into Luke’s soul. Notice me. Love me!
Smiling for the girl – a genuine smile, yes, but the way he doesn’t actually see her is cruel – he chooses the white, and pushes his wine glass just an inch closer as she sets the red down, cracks the white open, and pours.
She goes through the same routine with me, but she doesn’t long for my soul. Rather, she wishes to have me taken care of – via cement shoes and a deep body of water – so she can take my place at this table.
As soon as she sets down the half bottle of white, and walks away with the red, my eyes go back to Luke to find him resting his chin in his hand and smiling.
“What?”
He shakes his head and smothers an almost silent snicker. “Nothing. And that can’t have been the whole question. No way you analyzed my brain with that nonsense.”
I bring the glass of wine up to my lips, and taste. It’s icy cold, fruity, and delicious. “Okay. No. There’s more to the question.” I take a deep swallow, then setting the glass down, I spin it and smile. “Say you get to the store, and there’s none of that bread left. That entire brand is all bought up. What do you do?”
He studies me for a moment, searching for my meaning. “Is there no bread in the store at all?”
“Yes, there are other brands. Just none of Brand A anymore. All sold out for the day.”
“Okay… and what makes Brand A so special?”
“It’s tasty, but not unique. Seeds and grains. Flour, yeast. Nothing that hasn’t been replicated a million times before in brand B, C, and D’s warehouses.”
“So…” He allows his brows to rise, rise, rise until it becomes almost comical. “I buy a loaf of brand B, C, or D. Right?”
He’s so unsure, so worried about getting the wrong answer, that I burst out laughing and bring my glass of wine up to try to smother it.
“Did I get it right? Ally!” he demands when I continue to laugh. “Did I pass?”
“Yes. No.” I set my wine down. “There’s no answer sheet on this. It’s just a question. I wanted to see how your brain would work through the problem until you found a solution.”
“So, how’d I do? Fuck. The pressure is killing me.”
“You did fine.” Sitting taller, I spin my glass of wine and try with all my might to stop smiling so big. “Some people might consider their job done if they were sent to the store in search of A, but there’s no A in stock. Maybe there’s B, and maybe there’s C and D, but they were sent for A. If there’s no A, then there’s nothing they can do about it. Job done, time to go home.”
“But if you were sent to the store to buy bread, that means you need bread. Going home with no bread is literally the opposite of what was asked.”
“Right.” I cross my legs beneath the table and try not to focus on the way my heart continues to do flips in my chest. It’s making me woozy. And nervous. “If I asked you for bread A, but there’s no bread A, I would expect the correct answer to be bringing home any kind of bread at all. Because any bread is better than no bread.”
“Unless you’re celiac.”
“Unless you’re –” I stop, and let my gaze snap back to his. “Yeah. Unless you’re celiac.”
“So did I pass?” He’s like an eager puppy, searching for his treat. “Did I pass your analysis?”
“Well, you brought bread home, so yeah, you pass that one.”
“Fuckin’ A,” he hisses and does his own mini victory jig. “And they said I’d never amount to anything in life. Next question?”
“Oh… um…” I grab my menu when I catch sight of the hostess watching us from her desk, and scanning the list of meals, I know I’m going to settle on what I always have. “Okay. First thing that comes to mind when I say single mom.”
“Wait.” Smile gone, Luke’s eyes widen as he watches mine. “Are you a single mom?”
“No.” I set my menu down again. “I’m just asking what flashed through your mind when I said it. And don’t forget, my mom was a single mom. So watch what you say.”
He chuckles and brings his wine up to sip. “When you said ‘single mom’, I guess my first thought was hands.” He thinks on it for a moment, nibbles on his lips, then settles and nods. “Yeah, hands.”
“Hands?” I narrow my eyes. “I don’t get it.”
“Well, like, if I’m dating a single mom, then I’m thinking about her, right? Obviously, I’m already into her body. She’s clearly pretty fucking charming, since we’ve made it to talking about the kid. So then I’m thinking hands. Because kids have sticky hands, right? They’re always sticky, or they’re coated in paint to make handprints, or they’re slippery from popping soap bubbles in the garden, or they’re wrapped around a weed, because to a little kid, a flower is a flower. If it’s pretty, then it’s for Mom.
“I have this niece; she’s not actually my niece, but I already explained to you about how, in our family, everyone is related, even if they’re not. So Alyssa, she’s getting older now, but I met her when she was a toddler. Sticky hands, flower-holding hands, hand-holding hands, puppy-scratching hands. And now, she’s learning sign language for her deaf friend, so… hands.” He lifts both of his and flexes them. “She communicates with her hands a lot now, even when she’s talking to us folks who can hear. So… when you said ‘single mom’, I thought of the kid, and when I thought of the kid, I thought of hands.”
“That was…” I sit back again, taken aback, and swallow. “Insightful.”
He flashes a proud grin. “It was? I pass?”
“I mean, when I asked about single moms, you could have said sneaky sex, date night, hiding away, split custody.”
He watches me with smiling eyes. “The sneaky sex would be a bonus, for sure.”
“But that wasn’t your answer.”
“Maybe I have an unfair advantage because of my life experiences. I know Alyssa, so I already have that in with little kids. They’re not foreign and terrifying to me. And then there’s Smalls; her mom was a single mom when she met Uncle Aiden. Aunt Izzy… well, it’s not exactly the same. But the idea is already there in my world. Maybe I come from a nuclear family with the married parents and one home, but that doesn’t mean other family types are unknown to me.”