“I was watching this show where Vikings try to take over England, right? And people keptdying. Small child caught a cold? Dead. Dude looks at someone’s wife the wrong way? Dead. Girl sleeps with the wrong person? Dead. Lots and lots of dead people. It’s giving me an awful lot of life-is-short feels. Do what you want. Talk to your multitude of cousins and let them know running Barbanel is an option. Takejust onefreaking class on biological diversity.”
He turned on his side so he could look at me directly. “So if you want something—even though you’re not sure about it—you’ll go after it? If you want something badly enough, you’ll take the risk?”
I wanted Noah.
I wanted Noah and I didn’t know how to say so, I didn’t know how to lean forward and press my mouth to his. What was I more afraid of—rejection, or giving into this and then having it come to a halt at the end of summer when we inevitably dissolved?
“I’m not sure,” I said. “What about you? Do you take risks?”
“It depends.” He studied me. “It’s easier when there’s some indication the risk will pay off.”
I wasn’t sure I was ready to give that indication. I stared into my lap. “Talking to your grandpa about my grandmother, even if it made him mad, might pay off.”
“That’s the risk you want to take?” He sat up, sounding almost angry. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
“What?” I looked back, startled. “But you don’t want to.”
“But you do. And weshouldtake risks, Abigail Schoenberg.”
“So—we can talk to him?” I wanted, so badly, to have another chance to ask Edward Barbanel about O’ma and her family and her necklace. But Noah’s energy right now was already making me rethink this. “You made it sound like he’d flip out.”
“Then he flips. Didn’t you just tell me I’m not responsible for his emotions? Come over for Shabbat.”
“Shabbat?Are you serious? Besides, I thought your parents went to services.”
“Not this week. A lot of the family is here, so everyone’s staying home.”
I hesitated. “Wouldn’t it be better for me to come over when less people are around? Or have the conversation in a—neutral territory?”
“If we’re having it, I don’t think it matters where.”
“Hm.” I was still skeptical, but who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth? “All right, then. Friday it is.”
“Good.” He stretched, then grinned at me. “This Viking show. Think you can catch me up enough to watch your next episode?”
“Yeah.” I smiled down at him. “I bet I can.” Then I added, trying to sound casual. “Hey—I’m glad you called. And came over.”
He didn’t move or stay anything, but his stillness seemed not cold but watchful, like he needed more context.
I swallowed. “Because you can, anytime, you know.”
“Okay,” he said, which wasn’tthanksoryes this has been a meaningful experience,but then he met my gaze and gave me a small, tremulous smile.
I smiled back and straightened. “Okay. So the Viking’s name is Uthred, son of Uthred...”
Eighteen
Sometimes, late at night when I was reading in bed, I couldn’t stand not knowing what would happen next in my book. I’d skip ahead a hundred pages and skim. I didn’t wantspoilers, per se, but I wanted to know thefeelof the book so I could align with it: make sure I was rooting for the right love interest, find out if the plot skipped forward ten years, learn if the best friend lived or died. Then, after I’d come too close to a real spoiler—or stumbled across one—I’d close the book and go to sleep.
This caused confusion later on in my reading. I’d come across déjà vu–inducing passages and wonder—had the author written the same sentence earlier in the book, like a villanelle poem? Or had I dreamed these lines myself somehow?
No: I’d read them moments before bedtime, and only half remembered them later on. A practical answer. But it gave me the oddest feeling, like I’d been brushed by unnerving magic.
Golden Doors made me feel the same way.
How many times did you have to visit somewhere before it became commonplace? Before your neck stopped craning your head back so you could take in the sprawling mansion, with its gray paneling and dark windows? How long until something felt like an old shoe, until you didn’t even notice the grandeur? Until you felt like you belonged?
A child opened the door when I rang it on Friday night—one of the ten-year-old triplets. She stared at me, speechless, then ran away.
