Page 83 of You Again

“Of course spaghetti’s okay,” Noreen says. “He loves spaghetti. Who doesn’t love spaghetti?”

“Okay then,” Rosalie sweetly growls at her grandmother as a false smile stretches across her face, from ear to ear.

“She’s right,” I assure Rose. “I do love spaghetti.” Especially Noreen’s.

“Sit down, Grammy.” Rosalie pats her grandmother’s shoulder. “You did all the cooking. I’ll dish up and we’ll do the dishes.”

Noreen takes a seat at my left, right across from Rose’s spot at this small table. She looks at me pointedly, the penciled brows on her head lifting. She’s attempting to communicate without words. I give her the smallest of shoulder shrugs. Because I have no idea what I’m doing or what she’s trying to tell me. After Robert’s deception, Rosalie is pretty opposed to any kind of lying, and yet here we are, me and her grammy acting as if we don’t know one another. But Grammy’s mouth is in a tight line. She slides one finger over her sealed lips, her eyes wide, reminding me that Rosalie specifically told her family and friends not to share information unless asked. After that first panic attack came another and another. At least that’s what I was told. Callum relayed all he could as I lay in a hospital bed attempting to recover from our accident.

This situation feels so tricky though. I’m honestly not sure what Rose would want us to do.

“Nice daisies,” Noreen murmurs under her breath. “Her favorite.”

“I know,” I murmur right back.

“Do you want salad?” Rosalie asks from the small kitchen within this dining space.

“Yes. Please.” I clear my throat and raise my voice for Rose. “Thank you.”

“Have you brought up marriage yet?” Noreen shields her mouth with her hand and whispers in my direction.

“What?” I bark, startled. She can’t be serious.

“What was that?” Rosalie asks from the kitchen.

I stare at Grammy, my eyes bugging out.

“Nothing, dear. Just some small talk with your redhead.” But then Noreen’s looking at me again, waiting for an answer to that ballistic question.

Rosalie decided she liked me yesterday and Noreen would like me to bring up marriage today? Is she trying to make her granddaughter run from me?

My face must be stern as I mouth the word “NO.” Because Noreen throws up both hands, waving her white linen napkin in the process.

Seconds later, Rosalie’s back with plates in hand. She sets one in front of Grammy and then me. Rose goes back to the open kitchen for her own plate and Grammy scowls at me. Less than a minute later, she’s back, sitting next to me and Grammy is all smiles.

“So,” Noreen says as her fork twirls, gathering spaghetti noodles. “How many children do you see yourself having, Zev?”

Rosalie chokes on her single bite. “Grammy! I’m so sorry, Zev.” And then she’s glaring at her grandmother.

“I’m still waiting.” Noreen drums her fingers on the tabletop. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she never liked me. Maybe she’s trying to get rid of me on purpose.

“You do not have to answer that.” Rosalie covers her mouth full of food with the shield of her hand. Her eyes glower at her grandmother across the table, and she hisses. “Grammy, no.”

But Noreen only has eyes for me.

“I don’t know,” I say, and it’s true. I want kids—but the how many? I figured we’d know when we were done. I’ve never had a set number or plan. But then Rosalie always did, and I do know her answer. “Ahem. Maybe three.”

“Lovely,” Noreen says. “Three is such a happy number. I have three kids.”

Rosalie smiles beside me. “I like the idea of three, too.” She breathes out a quiet cough and swirls her fork in the center of her noodles. “Not that it matters. Just conversation.”

“And where do you hope to live one day, Zevulun?” Noreen asks. “Do you prefer a big city or a small town?”

This time, I do have an answer. Again, I know Rosalie’s. And our answers happen to match. “Some place like Tesoro—close to a big city, not tiny, but not huge either. That’s ideal to me.”

Rosalie’s mouth fights a grin. She takes another bite of food and nods along with my answer.

“Very nice. Rosalie grew up in Southern California. We always liked the smaller towns there, too. Something quaint and sweet about a place that isn’t busting at the seams with people.”