Okay, apparently they couldn’t tell anything had happened. “You guys remember that you’revery badat yeast, right? That’s why we leave the sourdough to Uncle Gerald.”
“ ‘Bad’ is such a strong word,” Mom said. “We’re... not great at it.”
“I’m going in.” Aunt Rachel poured a full packet of yeast into the milk, then added a pinch of sugar. She looked up, alarmed. “Should I have added the sugarfirst?”
Mom and Aunt Rachel stared at each other in horror, then turned to their phones for internet advice. “I’m getting coffee,” I said.
I took my mug over to Grandma in her armchair and sat on the loveseat kitty-corner from her. “Morning, Grandma.”
Grandma watched her daughters-in-law. “They’re baking.”
“They’re trying,” I agreed. “It’ll be a valiant effort, in any case.”
“I could never bake,” Grandma said. Her gaze focused across the room, and I turned to see Abby and Noah entering, both of them freshly showered. “Her grandmother baked.”
“Did you want to bake?”
Grandma’s tone turned thoughtful. “Not really.”
“Well, then.”
Grandma laughed. “I suppose you think I’m silly, being jealous of a dead woman.”
“No,” I said. “Because it’s not really about her, is it?”
“No,” Grandma said after a moment. “It’s not.”
“Shira,” Uncle Gerald called. “You have a visitor.”
I barely kept myself from vaulting to my feet, certain my face had turned bright red. My heart stuttered to a stop then continued on, double pace. Tyler stood in the doorway of the great room. Oh my god. I had made out with him for hours last night. His hand had gone under my shirt, his body had pressed down on mine...
His arrival had to be a good sign, right? Unless he planned to say yesterday was a mistake.
“Hi,” Tyler said.
“Hi,” I said.
He wasgorgeous. He’d always been gorgeous—I’d first noticed him because his laughter sounded like music and because he looked like a young Greek god—but it had been an unattainable beauty and then an irritating beauty. Now, for the first time in ages, I felt like I could soak him in without awe or bitterness. I felt, almost, like he wasmine.
Only he wasn’t mine. We were friends who had kissed, and no more.
To convey all this, I said, “We’re making babka.”
“What’s babka?” He came to my side. “Hi, Mrs. Barbanel. Ms. Levin.”
“It’s a chocolate pastry.” To my mom and aunt, I said, “Tyler made the mini chocolate-and-cranberry cakes at the Christmas party.” I felt a surge of pride in Tyler, which made no sense, given I had nothing to do with Tyler’s skills.
Mom started to respond but was interrupted as Rose came barreling into the room. “Shira! We need you!” She pulled to a stop and stared at Tyler. “You. Again.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“You can’t have Shira; we have precedence,” she said quickly.
“The babka has precedence,” I told her. “I’m supervising these two.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “We’re not children.”
Rose and I didn’t laugh, but we didn’t not laugh, either.
