Page 17 of Challenged By You
“Who the hell did Karlson hire on the editorial staff recently? This is twice in one week—first you, then me.”
Now, I’m the one letting out a tortured sound. “Chelsea,” I remind him.
And then together we both double over laughing. Karlson’s daughter, the girl who was raised with us as our little sister, graduated with her liberal arts degree in between raising two hellions. After giving birth to her third and flourishing—per Karlson—through editorial classes, he hired her as a junior editor.
“Well, are you going to talk to Peter about her?” Julian demands. Peter is the head of the editorial staff atCity Lights.
“No, I was thinking about sending her roses as a thank-you,” I murmur aloud.
“Excuse me?”
“Come have lunch with me and I’ll tell you about it, Jules.”
“You’re buying. Last night was a late one.”
“Why? Out searching for ways for the bachelors of New York to propose again?”
“Actually, no. I stayed in.”
I straighten off the back of the sofa. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing more than being lonely in the middle of a city of millions of people. Why is it so hard to find someone who doesn’t want to go out all the time? Who maybe wants to sit back wearing old sweats and watch end-of-the world movies with a bottle of beer and some popcorn? What happened to those kinds of dates? Why does every night out have to involve putting on a new suit, an act, and heading to the trendiest club?” I hate how bewildered Julian sounds. His heart is so enormous, but writing the dating and advice column for Karlson’s paper might strip away his soul an article at a time.
I make the offer immediately. “Listen, I’m going to check out a sixty-year-old pizza restaurant in the Bronx for the column for lunch. Come with me.”
“You want me to go with you where?” I elicit the laugh I was hoping for. “What did you do to piss Karlson off?”
“More like the other way around. Come on,” I cajole him. “It will be an adventure.”
“You’re on. I’ll be at your place in an hour.” Without saying goodbye, my brother disconnects.
Shoving off the couch, my thoughts turn to Trina. I snatch up my mug as I wonder where the father of her children is. “What kind of douche does that to a good woman let alone his kids?” Then I shrug, because it’s not really my business until I remember Chris’s petulant “Nono” when I dove into my meal without waiting. Or Annie’s calm until she thought her mother was leaving. And for a brief moment, I think back to the numerous times Karlson explained our father was just never a part of our mother’s life. “Your mother didn’t need him when she had you boys,” he told us over and over. For years that never made much sense.
Now, I wonder if Trina Paxton’s children will hear something similar from their mother.
Making my way into my spacious kitchen, my mind wanders back to the memory of me and Julian clinging to our mother’s legs as she laughed. “I hate to leave you both, my adorable boys, but I promise Mommy will take you to the zoo on my next day off.” Only, I begged just a little harder for one more thing. Something that made our mother run late so there wasn’t another zoo trip. And an ache that’s never quite healed begins burning in the region of my heart.
Plunking my cup down on the counter with force, I deliberately call up the image of my mother’s dark hair and eyes. “What would you think about us now, Mom?” I wonder aloud. Taking a deep breath, I recall the way she’d make homemade sauce, standing at the stove for hours even if she’d been on her feet all night at work. If I concentrate hard enough, I can still smell the light scent of vanilla that would wrap around us when she hugged us close.
Clenching my fist at my side, I wonder if the similarity between Trina Paxton’s plight and my mother’s is what had me coming up with this cockamamie idea or if it truly was the need to atone for the mistake ofCity Lights. Uncomfortable with probing too deeply, I leave the kitchen and head into the master suite to throw on jeans. Somehow I don’t think the place we’re going to requires more formal attire.
* * *
“This is so farout of your league, I’m afraid you’re going to break out in hives,” Julian teases as we walk up to the front of Louie and Ernie’s Pizza in the Pelham Bay section of the Bronx. “They may use paper napkins…ummph,” he gasps just as my elbow connects with his ribs.
“Yabutterback off, pal. I’m not in the mood for your shit. I’m seriously glad I didn’t drive.”
“You and me both. The closest garage is… Hey. Did you just make a food pun? Jesus, if you’re resorting to food puns, either there’s a woman involved or we’re both about to be hospitalized for salmonella.” Just as Julian says that, an elderly woman with the kind of hair that gets set once a week by a professional slides in between us, gawking.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I say politely.
“Are you those two brothers on that show I watch on Home and Garden?” she demands.
“No, ma’am.” I try to edge away, but Julian blocks the way. Without even looking, I can tell he’s preening at the idea of being compared to a celebrity.
“Good. They spend way too much money on lamps. Don’t they know they can get something just as nice at Crystal-Smith on Bruckner? Darn shame how much they waste.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I give her my somber face—the one I use when I’m ordering for a restaurant I’m about to review.
