“No. Not like I should, anyway.” He shakes his head, like he’s confused about something. “We’d known each other forever, and I think I proposed because it seemed like that was what I was supposed to do. I was taking a next step on a path that had ended.” He shrugs. “But that’s overnow.”
When he places my wine in front of me, I grab the glass and take a bigdrink.
“How did Claire go to sleep?" I ask. As excited as I was to be part of her nighttime routine again, I thought it prudent to wait one more day to make sure my illness is completely gone. I feel bad I haven't been well enough to help her to sleep. I was trying so hard to do everything just like I did when we were living with my dad, right down to the Eskimo kisses and twirly fingers at the door. I like to think my substitute can’t possibly do it as well as Ican.
“She wanted a Nataliestory."
My eyes fly open. Natalie story? From someone other thanme?
“Oh, really?" I try to play itcool.
“Yep. I'm getting pretty good at them." Isaac blows on his fingernails and wipes them on the front of hisshirt.
I raise a palm. “All right, all right. Cool your jets. Starting tomorrow I can resume the Nataliestories."
Isaac winces. “I don't think so. Claire said my elephant noises are better thanyours."
I make a face. “What? No, no, no. My Morabi is spot on." I’ve got the sounds of Natalie’s pet elephant down, noquestion.
“Then doit."
“Um, no." I wouldn't be caught dead making elephant sounds in front ofIsaac.
Isaac doesn't share my embarrassment. He raises an arm to his nose so it sticks straight out and up. A trumpeting noise comes from his throat, loud and frighteninglygood.
I bend over and hold my stomach, the laughter competing for gulps of air. When I straighten, Isaac's twinkling eyes are onme.
“Do you want to hear an ugly truth?" heasks.
My laughter fades. “Are you finally going to tell me why you were in the bar thatnight?"
Something passes through his eyes, dulling their glimmer a fraction. “No.” He goes to a lower cabinet and pulls it open, but I can't see what's in it because his body blocks my view. “My ugly truth is that I don't care for redwine."
I lean on the counter and press my chin to an open palm. “Then what do you like to drink, Dr.Cordova?"
He reaches into the cabinet. “Tequila.” He comes away proudly holding up abottle.
“Really?"
He laughs. “Well, yes. I amMexican."
“Are you stereotypingyourself?"
“I guess. You want?" His eyes hold hope. He wants me to like what helikes.
“I've never had tequila." I know he's going to think I'm from another planet. Who has never hadtequila?
“You're kidding?" He's excited now, grabbing a lime from the basket with the oranges and tossing it on the cuttingboard.
I shake my head. “I'mnot."
“Well, then, I'm going to teach yousomething."
He cuts the lime into quarters and grabs a container of salt from acabinet.
“Nope. No way." I shake my head. I know what he'sdoing.
“Fine. If you're happy with that boring red wine. Be my guest." He laughs. “Or my roommate. Be myroommate."
