There was that chuckle again. Avi vowed to make her laugh at least once more before they got to Pennsylvania. It was a good sound.
“You going to Erie for the holiday?” he asked.
“It’s a bucket list thing.”
“Erie? For Hanukkah?” He laughed. She needed to get out more.
“No,” she said, impatient. “It’s – never mind. I’m actually going to Manhattan for the holiday.”
“By way of Erie? That’s roundabout.”
“And lucky for you.” She informed him.
“I’ll be in Manhattan for the holidays, too.”If I make it to Buffalo alive.
“Another show?”
“No, reunion with mymishpacha.” That’s how he thought of his found family, the eight best friends he’d met in Israel.Theywere his true home, family, belonging. Avi had never been so ready to board the Baller with his crew…yet dreaded the dynamic he had inadvertently shifted. And the ripple effect it would no doubt have. He had literally rocked the boat with that disasterous proposal, and it was up to him to right the ship.
They rode a few more miles in silence before she caved…just a little.
“Maybe we got off on the wrong foot.” She shot a glance at his wet sandal. “Or maybe your left foot, to be exact.”
He quirked a brow at her, but she owned up to nothing.
As if on cue, he shivered. A full body, involuntary shiver he tried to stifle that started at his shoulders, clad only in his thin hoodie.
Cue the Jewish guilt.
Leah pulled off the highway at the next designated text stop, hopped out of the car, and surveyed the neat piles of items in her hatchback.
“You know that saying I’d give you the shirt off my back?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re not quite there yet.”
Everything, including the eight carefully packed Mahjong sets, was stowed according to stop, so what she sought now was fairly accessible and she didn’t have to rummage through much.
“Put this on; it’s the only warm thing I have that will fit you.” Without hesitating, Avi jumped out and slipped into Mrs. Horowitz-of-blessed-memory’s fur coat.
“Whose is this? She was a big girl.”
The sight of him in the black fluffy Persian lambswool coat set giggles off. “You look like a reject from a Macklemore video.”
He crossed his furry arms. “That’s stone cold, girl.”
Back in the car, his sightline snagged somewhere north of her neck, but not before dragging up the length of her body. “Yeah, well…Amy Winehouse’s estate called – they want their wig back.”
Oh, he didnotjust throw shade at her patron saint of hair and one of her favorite singers, Our Lady of the Backcomb!
Maybe she had coiled a large section of her heavy, straightened hair to keep it off her face while driving. Hardly a beehive. And maybe shehadwinged her eyeliner just a little extra today. Until she could figure out if his comment was a compliment, backhanded or not, she kept her retorts to herself.
“Can I at least borrow your phone to call mine?” he asked once they were back on the road. “Maybe it has a prayer of being answered.”
She thumbed her passcode in and passed it over without a word. From the corner of her eye, she watched him cross a furry arm as he listened, swearing silently to himself at the audible beep.
“Hi future Avi, this is present Avi, the dumb fuck who got oil-spotted. Call me back – or not.”
