Page 67 of Give Me a Shot

“I’m hungry,” she said. “I know we said movie first, then dinner, but I don’t want my stomach growling while we watch.”

Mo laughed.

“Sounds like dinner first, then,” he said.

Leaving her glass on the coffee table, Jess reached out and scooped up Steinem. She stood. The cat protested.

“Sorry, Sty Sty,” she said. “Mo and I gotta eat.”

—

Jess had already set the table, but Mo insisted on doing something to help, so he carefully brought the serving bowl of soup from the kitchen to the dining table.

“It smells delicious,” Mo said as he sat in the seat beside hers. “Did I tell you I’m a big fan of soup?”

“No,” she said. “But that tracks.”

Mo didn’t quite follow. She shrugged.

“Soup is warm, comforting,” she said, ladling some into her bowl. “If you can call a whole type of food comforting. It’smellow. You’re mellow. It fits.” She winked at him and picked up her spoon. “Let’s see if it came out all right.”

Mo nodded and took a large spoonful. It was more flavorful than he’d expected, and he savored it, while taking the opportunity to check Jess’s vibe again. It was much better than earlier that day, but something still wasn’t right.

“This is amazing,” he said. “But how do you get it so…detailed?” He chuckled. “That doesn’t seem like the right word.”

Jess swallowed her mouthful.

“The key is using whole herbs, except the root. Some people feel they’re too strong, but you don’t keep them in the pot the whole time. You cook them inside a cheesecloth, checking the intensity as you go. That’s how my mom…does it.” Her face fell when she said “mom,” but she seemed to pull herself in and quickly took another spoonful.

There were two ways he could go about this. She’d never mentioned her mom before and maybe that was because it would lead to her sister. Mo could either ask some gentle questions or be direct. Jess was usually direct; he’d take a chance. He put his spoon down.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“About what?” She took another spoonful.

He leaned back in his chair, resting his hands in his lap.

“It seems like something’s wrong,” he said.

“Something’s wrong?” More soup.

“You aren’t yourself,” he said.

She stopped, about to dip her spoon in again.

“What do you mean?” she asked, not looking up.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said. “But it feels like something’s been wrong since this morning. You sounded defeated on the phone.”

She rested her spoon against the bowl and sighed.

“It’s hard for me,” she said.

“What is?”

“Talking about my family, about what I feel.” She looked up at him. He was astonished to see tears in her eyes. That wasn’t Jessat all. “We don’t have a good…” She sighed. “My sister…Cassie—Cassandra—would have wanted me to,” she said, voice strained.

Hesitantly, he reached for her hand.

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