Vin turns and leans against the sink, setting the water aside. “He’s…good. His scarring is…bad. The whole left side of his face is just…fucked. But…he says the pain is a lot better than it was. Plus, his daughter was with him. And to her, he’s Superman. She was squishing her face against his and playing with his cheeks and stuff.”
I’m smiling through tears. “How old is she?”
“Three?”
“God, I’m so glad he has her to love him like that.”
“That’s exactly what he said. And about halfway through, his daughter’s stepdad showed up.”
“Oh, he’s not with the mom?”
“I guess not. Because the stepdad showed up with all these watermelons. Like five watermelons. And he said hello and then took Mimi, the daughter, to the playground. And I was like,That’s a lot of watermelons.And Ethan was like,Oh, don’t get me started.Because I guess Shep, the stepdad, has been doing all this research on foods that are healing for tissue injuries. And so he makes Ethan eat all these special recipes since the accident, and this week he’s on about watermelons.”
I’m smiling because Vin is smiling.
“I guess you had to be there,” Vin says with a shrug. “But…I just got the feeling that he’s all right. Or he will be. He’s got his people. And he says he’s almost got full function of his face back…He actually seemed even better than we are. To be honest.”
“Well,” I say, leaning my elbows on the counter. “You can’t expect him to fall apart in your arms. I’m the only one who does that.”
“And Raff on occasion. Where’d he go, by the way?”
“He went home. He said he wanted space.”
I raise my eyebrows at Vin and he raises his back at me. “They grow up so fast,” Vin says, and makes me burst out laughing.
“I’ll wait until dinnertime to check on him.”
“Progress,” Vin says, and goes up for the high five.
And honestly? I think it really is.
I draw so much over the next few weeks that I start YouTubing hand and wrist stretches. Vin has been very patiently performing both modeling duties and taste-tester duties.
His only request was that I conclude my section on anchovies.
I’m working my way through the pantry ABCs. Anchovies, beans, crackers, couscous, chicken broth, you get it. Basically, I make a dish, I write down the recipe, and then I draw a little picture of it.
Then Raff scans it into the computer.
When we’re done, I’ll have a gigantic PDF titledRoz’s Brain.From there, maybe I’ll apply for a grant so that Harvest NYC can produce the book and start selling it and make a little extra dough. Or maybe, gulp, I look for a publisher on my own.
“Maybe you’ll get TikTok famous!” was Shan’s guess.
“Why does she need to be famous?” Esther grouched. “And send that PDF over to me. I need it.”
But Vin and food have not been the only things I’ve been drawing.
“Rafael!” I shout one Wednesday night. “Get your shoes on.”
Raff scrambles up from his pretzeled doomscrolling. “What?”
“Go do an errand for me.”
“Okay!”
I’ve been pawning off errands and tasks to Raffi left and right these days. I’m humbled by how fast he obliges. I guess nobody wants to be the baby brother for the rest of their life.
I give him directions, explicit instructions, and cash. He puts the cash back in my hand. “Please. What is this, milk money? Either let me pay for it or Venmo me later. Cash is just embarrassing.”
