They had a laugh over that.
“Most likely it was the director’s own…she was always drawing on her childhood experiences,” Tzipi surmised, settling back against him.
“I mean, bring on the leprosy section over that tongue-twister!”
Tzipi chuckled. “It was character-building. As were the five thousand strands of hair that you’ve finally finished stripping from my head.”
“It helped me.” He found himself confessing. “That episode. I was such a fuck-up as a kid. Just a total goof-ball. But at the same time, I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. Having you – well, Rosie – struggling with the same section made me want to practice harder. And your hiccup somehow made it okay. I got through the service. So thanks.”
“Glad I could help.” She leaned her cheek against his knee. “And thank you. The circle is complete. Are we done?”
“Almost.”
He ran and got his shaving mirror.
Her natural hair – short, choppy, way more beautiful than those glossy extensions – stuck up in places.
“I look like an electrocuted pixie.”
“But more like you?”
She met his eyes in the mirror. “Is that a good thing?”
Seriously?
He took the mirror from her hands, and she turned into his arms to face him. “Tzipi. You are amazing. With extensions, without, in a blue velvet onesie, in my Rutgers shirt…doesn’t matter. You’re…” He struggled for the right word. “You’re you. The best thing you could be.”
Her eyes got shiny. “Careful, fanboy. Keep talking like that and I might think you actually like me.”
“I more than like you.” The words came out before he could stop them. “I know we have some shit to figure out. Rob, the contract, all of it. But yeah. I like you. A lot.”
She bit her lip – her tell, the one he’d memorized from Room to Bloom and rediscovered last night. “Even though I impersonated my sister, hijacked your night with your friends and dragged you into this mishegas?”
“Especially because of that.” He tucked a piece of short hair behind her ear. “Speaking of friends and mishegas…Avi and Leah are having a housewarming party tonight. Come with me?”
“Did you tell them? About me…you…this?”
“Yes.”
“And?” she groaned.
“Yes, and that if anyone gives you shit about it – which they won’t – they’ll answer to me.”
She covered her eyes. “Your friends will hate me.”
He kissed her. “My friends will love you.”
“They’ll think I’m a fraud.”
Another wrong answer, another kiss.
“They’ll think you’re brave as hell.” He caught her hands. “Look, I get it if you want to stay here. Hide out until Kara gets back. But Tzipi. They’re my found family. I want for them to meet you. Really meet you. The real you.”
She was quiet for a moment, studying their joined hands. Then: “What do I wear? All I have are Kara’s designer clothes. I can’t very well show up looking like I’m going to the Met Gala.”
Relief flooded through him. “Is that a yes?”
“That’s a yes.” She bit her lip. “Actually, I do have one thing to wear…but I may have to borrow a sweater.”
