The Next Best Thing (23 page)

The muscle under his eye jumps. He looks at me, waiting for me to say something else. But since everything I’ve said tonight seems to be wrong, I just reach out and press my hand over his heart.

And after a few beats, he puts his own hand over mine.
“I’d better go upstairs,” he says finally. “Make sure my dad’s blood pressure has come down.”

“Okay,” I whisper. “See you tomorrow.”

“More than likely,” he says. Then he lets go of my hand and walks out, leaving me feeling like I’ve let him down, when all I’ve done is told the truth.

“S
O YOU’RE
LEFEKSZIK
WITH
E
THAN
?”

This is my greeting the next morning when Iris and Rose come into the bakery. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Word does get around in this town.

“Hi, Iris. Hi, Rose.” I pause. “If by that tangled up word, you mean am I—” I pause “—
dating
Ethan, then the answer is yes. How did you know?”

“Saw your mother-in-law at the Starbucks,” Iris says, gesturing with her cup. My mother enters now, also clutching the trademark earth-friendly cup.

“Should everyone be going to Starbucks?” I ask, trying to keep the edge from my voice. “They’re our competition, remember?”

“Have you had the hot chocolate there?” Rose says. “I thought I died and went to heaven!”

“You’re all traitors,” I mutter. “If you’d let me set up a café, we could sell hot chocolate, too, and—”

“So how is it?” Iris wants to know. “Do you compare them constantly?”

“No, as a matter of fact, I—”

“I thought that was against the law,” Rose muses in her singsong voice. “Iris, you told me it was against the law.”

“So? How long has this been going on?” Iris demands, reapplying her Coral Glow with surgical precision.

“I’d rather not discuss it,” I say as the bell rings over the door. Thank God. Captain Bob. “Hi, Bob! What can I get for you?”

“Captain Bob, is it against the law to marry your brother-in-law?” Rose asks him.

“I—um…hello, there, ladies.” His bloodshot eyes find my mother. “Good morning, Daisy. You look lovely today.”

“Bob. Thank you.” My mother gives him an imperious look and goes into her office, closing the door behind her.

“Why do men love the women who abuse them?” I ask Captain Bob.

“Self-hatred,” he answers. “What’s this about the brother-in-law?”

“I’m dating Ethan.”

His bushy eyebrows raise in surprise. “Jimmy’s brother?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He studies the tray of gooey danishes Rose is shoving into the display case. “Can I have a cherry danish? And how’s that going? With Ethan, I mean.”

“Uh…fine. Just fine,” I answer. The bakery fills with our paltry assortment of morning regulars.

“I always thought Ethan was so decent,” Rose comments as she counts out Mr. Maxwell’s hard roll allotment.

“He
is
decent, Rose. You know that,” I plead.

“He and Lucy,” my aunt explains to our customer. “She’s…er…
dating
…her dead husband’s brother.”

“Wouldn’t that be incest?” Mr. Maxwell says, frowning.

“It’s not incest!” I yelp. “He’s not
my
brother. He’s—”

“Lucy! Check the bread!” Iris calls.

I shove through the kitchen doors and yank open the oven. Jeepers! My internal timer has failed me for the first time ever, and the bread is nut brown, not golden. Dang it. Four dozen loaves, unsellable. Unbelievable. Jorge pats my
shoulder as he comes in, shrugging out of his coat, and I sigh, then head for the proofer, hoping I have enough dough to make up for it.

Around ten, I prepare to go home for my nap. Iris and Rose are dying to interrogate me…little comments have been dropped all morning, and I could really use a little quiet time.

“See you in a few hours, Mom,” I say, glancing in the tiny office.

“Okay, sweetheart,” she says, barely looking up from her computer screen, where a game of solitaire is in progress. My mother is the only Black Widow who hasn’t weighed in on the subject of my love life, and I’m suddenly hungry for some maternal advice.

“Have you got a sec?” I ask, leaning in her doorway. I’m exhausted…didn’t sleep well for obvious reasons. All night, I tossed and turned and irritated Fat Mikey.

“Sure,” she says, closing the lid of her laptop.

Mom’s office is barely big enough for her desk, let alone the guest chair that’s wedged into the corner. It takes a little wrestling, but I manage to close the door for a heart-to-heart.

“So. Ethan and I are, um…together,” I say.

“I gathered,” she answers.

“Did you see Marie this morning, too?”

“I did,” Mom says. “She was quite upset.”

I cringe, hoping my mother-in-law wasn’t compelled to detail all that she saw but knowing better.

“Caught you and Ethan on the couch, I understand.”

“Yep,” I say, feeling my face ignite. I take a breath. “So what do you think?”

Mom cocks her head. “About what?”

“About Ethan and me,” I say a little crossly.

She shrugs. “Do what you feel you have to, honey.”

“I could really use some advice, Mom.”

She purses her lips and glances at a framed picture of Emma, a new addition to her desk. “I know you must want a baby,” she offers.

“Sure. A family of my own, all that.” I nod, glad she’s on the right track.

“You know, single women can adopt from Guatemala these days. I read an article—”

“Is that your way of saying you don’t approve, Mom?” I interrupt.

“Well, no,” she hedges. “I just…if you want to be with Ethan, do it. But if you’re looking for a sperm donor—”

“Mom!”

“So? You asked, I answered. Do what you want, honey.” She gives me an assessing look. “I can’t believe you wear that in public,” she murmurs, taking in my yoga pants and sweatshirt.

“I’m a baker, Mom,” I answer, standing up stiffly. “Even Coco Chanel would dress down for baking.”

“There’s dressing down, and then there’s hobo,” she murmurs.

I think of the cashmere sweaters in my closet. The secret shoes and expensive lingerie. The mahogany boots that cost me a week’s pay. The credit card bill that shocked even me last month.

“See you later,” I say. Mom smiles sweetly and with that, I leave, mother-daughter bonding complete. Forget the nap. Time for a little trip to Nordstrom’s.

“S
O YOU’RE WITH
E
THAN, HUH
?” Ash’s black-painted lower lip wobbles, but she puts on a good front, jamming her nail-bitten hands into her pockets and raising those painfully overplucked eyebrows as if she’s really interested.

“Um…yeah.” I’m not sure what else to say.

“I guess that explains why he was always here. Shit, I’m so stupid. Should’ve guessed.” She tries to give a tough-girl smile, but her lips don’t quite make it. Ash shifts, her sooty hair swinging listlessly against her pale face. “So, like, how long has this been going on, anyway?”

“A while,” I admit.

“That’s great. He’s great. So are you. Good for you both.” A tear slips out and runs down her face, leaving a sooty smear.

“I’m sorry, honey,” I whisper. “I know you—”

“Don’t pity me, Lucy, for Christ’s sake! You can be with…I’m not…I gotta run.” She turns and walks down to her door, her chains rattling, her enormous, heavy shoes thudding. I hear a little squeak, and my own eyes fill. She’s crying. Dang it, dang it, dang it! If only kids weren’t so cruel, if Ash had a nice boy who was brave enough to see under that black paint and chains…

I’m about to face more music—Bunny’s has its last baseball game of the season. And guess who our opponent is? International Foods, of course, due to their freak win over Nugey’s Hardware. Doral-Anne’s pitching put them over the top, dang it all.

The urge to hide in my apartment has never been greater. Ethan and I are now common knowledge. Parker heard it at nursery school and left a cheery message—“Hey, heard you and Ethan came out of the closet! Good for you, girlfriend!” Bill at the post office expressed the commonly held and quite erroneous idea that Ethan and I fell under the porno/incest umbrella. When I stopped by the library today, the entire four-person staff fell abruptly silent, smiling awkwardly as I returned my books and DVDs.

At the ball field, the Black Widows sit in a row in the
exact center of the bleachers, a plaid blanket across their laps. They’re right next to Parker and Nicky, who are there with the Mirabellis. Nicky’s sitting on Gianni’s lap, tickling his grandfather on the chin.

The Mirabellis catch sight of me. Marie gives an awkward wave, and Gianni gives me a stiff nod. Parker waves, too, and I hope she’ll do something to ease things a bit. Tricky, though, since Gianni and Marie really want Ethan with her…

“Hi, Lucy.” It’s my sister, holding Emma, who’s bundled up in the cutest little fleece hoodie.

“Hi!” I say, giving her a hug. “Hi, Emma! How are you, sweetie? I missed you.” I give my niece a kiss, breathing in the smell of her shampoo. She grasps my finger and smiles, then spits up a little. “How are things, Cory?”

“Things are pretty good,” she says, wiping the baby’s face. “A little nerve-racking, but good. In fact, I was wondering if, um…if Christopher could play on Bunny’s team. Next year.”

I glance at the sidelines, where Chris is pulling on his umpire’s mask. “Really, Corinne? You’d let him risk his life through baseball?”

She gives me an uncertain smile. “Baby steps, you know?”

“He’s not wearing the Kevlar vest, is he?”

“He’s not.” She bites her lip.

“Good for you, Cory. And yes, of course he can play!” I kiss Emma’s little fist. “Maybe you and Chris would like to go out sometime. Leave the baby with me for a few hours.”

Corinne pales, but to her credit, nods her head. “Sure. Thanks, Lucy. That would be…lovely.” She pauses. “I heard about you and Ethan.”

I swallow. “Yep.”

She hesitates. “He’s always been good to you. He’s wonderful.”

“Yes,” I agree. “That’s definitely true.” I glance around for Ethan…he’s not here yet. I can’t tell if I’m relieved or anxious.

“Well, have a good game,” she says, making Emma wave to me. I wave back, then watch as Corrine stops to say something to Chris. He grins and kisses her, then waves to me.

“I hear you’re doing Ethan Mirabelli,” Charley Spirito says glumly, tapping his bat against his cleats.

I turn to my right-fielder. “Hello, Charley,” I say brightly. “I sure hope we win today, don’t you?”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbles. “It’s just that I thought there was something special between us, Luce.”

I try to remember what might have given him that impression, but mercifully, Chris calls for the game to start.

Today, I find that I’m eager for the season to be over. That the idea of the approaching winter, the shorter days and biting wind, seem cozy to me, with hours spent at my kitchen table, formulating and finalizing my bread recipes for NatureMade. Ethan and I will spend time together like a regular couple. I’ll put on some of my beautiful clothes, and we’ll go out for dinner somewhere nice in Federal Hill.

It’s really time to move on.

“Batter up!”

That would be me. Unfortunately Doral-Anne Driscoll is pitching for International. And there’s still no sign of Ethan.

Doral-Anne stretches so that her shoulders pop, and we are all treated to a glimpse of the snake tattoo on her belly, as she has hacked off the bottom four inches of her shirt. Looking down from the mound, Doral-Anne squints at me, sneers, then spits. I believe I hear my mother muffle a scream.

Knowing her fastball is deadly, I swing at the first pitch a full second before I think I should, and am rewarded with a solid thud of bat against ball. The
bleachers cheer—good to have all my relations here—and I take off for first. The ball drops into shallow right, and I’m safe.

“Nice hit, Lucy,” Tommy Malloy says.

“Thanks,” I pant.

“Hey, I hear you and Ethan are giving it a whirl.”

“Yep,” I say.

“Good luck with that,” Tommy says, leaning forward, his hands on his knees, as Charley takes a practice swing. “Though I thought he and Parker were engaged.”

“Nope,” I answer.

“Ah, well. To each his own, I guess,” Tommy says dubiously. Then Charley gets hit by a pitch, so I’m off to second.

By the seventh inning Bunny’s is ahead, 8-2, and I personally have been on base three times already and scored twice. Doral-Anne is definitely off her game. She looks savage as Katie Rose Tinker takes her Mr. Microphone from a plastic case and taps on it to ensure she’ll be heard. Last year, I gave her fourth-grade class a tour of the bakery (any hard feelings about chipping her tooth on the pumpkin cookie gone in the face of eating cupcakes warm from the oven).

Katie Rose warbles her way through “God Bless America,” with all the squealy enthusiasm of Mariah Carey as we all stand, hats over our hearts, waiting for the torture to end. “…God bless Am
er
ica…my home…swee-eeeeet…ho-wo-wome!” Her youthful voice jumps almost an octave, and if she’s a couple of notes short of being in key, the crowd gives her a standing ovation for her enthusiasm.

And that’s when Ethan appears. The crowd grows immediately quiet, sits right back down and turns their attention to us.

“Hey, guys,” he calls to his team. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey, Ethan,” a few voices chorus.

Well, this is it. I walk over to him, take his face in my hands and kiss him firmly on the mouth. There will be no wondering about if we’re together anymore.

Silence falls over the ballpark.

“Hi,” I say when I’m done.

“Ouch,” he murmurs. Perhaps I was a little too emphatic. But his lovely mouth turns up in that mischievous, curling smile, and he kisses me quickly (and gently), then trots off to second base.

My face burns, but I feign normalcy and take care not to look over at the bleachers, where my in-laws may or may not be engaged in heart attacks. Carly Espinosa, our catcher, gives me a slap on the bottom. “I always thought Ethan was hot.” She grins.

And in the ninth inning, when I decide to steal second, what do you know?

“Safe!” Chris shouts.

“Was that for real?” I ask Ethan. “Or was that the return of my incredible speed?”

“Oh, the incredible speed, definitely,” he grins.

The final score is Bunny’s 11, International 4. My team is once again Mackerly champions.

“Nicely done,” Ethan says, giving me a brief hug. It’s no more or less than anything he’s done in the past, but it feels different, with the eyes of the town on us.

“Going to Lenny’s, Lucy?” Carly calls.

“But of course,” I answer.

“See you there,” Ethan murmurs, then moves off.