But River’s smile was nearly blinding.
Wow, you really like the wine?she scribbled down.I’m surprised, to be honest, as it’s a bit of a strange flavour. But it’s a tradition from Mama’s province in China to drink a glass of Shaoxing before a meal. Normally just the one though … I was going to order a bottle of French Pinot to drink when we’d finished. If you’re enjoying this though, I’m happy to cancel that order.
Cohen reached for the pen, nearly tipping over the table in his eagerness to write down his thoughts.
No, don’t cancel the Pinot,he wrote frantically, before just as frantically searching for an excuse not to drink the second bottle of rice wine he’d inadvertently ordered.Actually, I ordered the rice wine to send to my mother and her wife as a Hanukkah gift. My mother and your mother are such good friends … I think my mother will appreciate a taste of her culture.
River raised her eyebrows, gesturing for the pen.That’s so thoughtful,she wrote.My mama said you didn’t get along with your mother. I’m so pleased to learn that she’s mistaken.
Cohen frowned, wanting to be honest with her.Look, don’t get me wrong, we have a … strained relationship. It’s not ideal. My mother is a good woman, but she isn’t the best mom. She was always so busy when I was growing up … sometimes I went months without seeing her. She tries hard – harder than me, these days – but sometimes I think it’s too late for us. Some people just shouldn’t be parents, I guess.
But on reading his words River frowned, reaching for the pen.But you love her,she wrote.You can see it in your face when you think about her.
Cohen nodded, his body awkwardly stiff, as it always was when he thought about Esther. River sighed, reaching for the pen again.
Look, you want to talk about people who shouldn’t be parents? Think about mine, the ones who abandoned me in the paediatric ICU when I was two years old and sick with meningitis. I woke up and they were just … gone.
You think about them often?Cohen asked, genuinely curious.
River paused, her eyes suddenly darkening, her mouth furrowing softly.Sometimes. Sometimes I wonder why they did it. Sometimes I wonder if they’d ever loved me at all, to abandon me like that.She paused again.It was Christmas Eve when they left me, you know. I would have woken up on Christmas morning to find my hearing gone and my parents gone.She smiled ruefully.Silent night indeed, hey?
Cohen took a deep breath, reaching over to River and capturing her hand between his own. Her hand looked so little, hidden in the palms of his, and his heart bled for the little girl who’d woken in a hospital, no doubt scared to death, only to find her parents gone. He withdrew one hand to write down the only words he could in that moment.
I’m so sorry.
River smiled, using her free hand to reply.
Then you’re already better than them. Send your mother the wine, Cohen. She’ll appreciate it.
They were interrupted by the arrival of plates and plates of food.
‘Lotus root braised in soy sauce, sea-salted kelp, jellyfish salad, aubergine in sea-spicy sauce, bitter melon in garlic sauce, bean curd in a yellow bean paste and eggs in a tomato sauce,’ the waiter told him proudly.
‘Right,’ Cohen replied through an abruptly dry throat, all pleasure receding in the face of such unspeakable horror.
‘River has excellent taste,’ the waiter assured him. ‘Her mother and the manager are friends, so her family have been coming here for years. She always picks out the best mix of flavours.’
He signed as he spoke, and River blushed. Cohen, meanwhile, could only stare. Because was this waiter hitting on River?Now Cohen eyed him suspiciously, because this was the kind of act he did when trying to woo a woman into bed. The cheek kisses, the side-eyes, the undermining of a date, the learning of a new language just so he could speak to them and ... and oh ...
Oh.
Cohen sat back, regarding the waiter anew. Because yes, there was a light in the waiter’s eyes when he looked at River, and yes, he’d clearly learnt to sign for her and her alone. And suddenly, Cohen was reminded of Rushi’s warning, of how men had tried to take advantage of River, of the men whohadtaken advantage of her. Not this man, certainly, and not Cohen, God no, the very thought made him feel ill.
But there it was, sitting as sourly in his stomach as the rice wine. The realisation that the only difference between him and the man who’d abused River’s trust so far wasintention.
He looked at River, at her bright hazel eyes, made brighter with wine and kissing and sunflower paintings by twilight. He looked at the delicate pink flush of her cheeks, a pink brought on by the simplest of praises, and then at the half crescent smile that accompanied that hue. He looked at her, pure and good and light and everything he had ever wanted in life, and suddenly he knew.
He loved her.
He must have looked astounded, stunned even, because River leaned forward, pressing a note into his shaking hand.
I know the food sounds strange,she wrote.But please trust me. I would never let anything bad happen to you, especially on a culinary level. Flavour is kind of my thing, after all.
And he nodded, even though she had stolen the words from his very mouth, just as she had stolen his heart, his soul and every other part he could possibly offer.
The waiter, his own eyes narrowing, must have seen the moment of trust pass between him and River, because he leaned in closer, and when he spoke, his words were edged with malice. ‘Would sir care for a knife and fork?’ he asked. ‘Chopsticks can be tricky ... particularly with such large hands as yours.’
But Cohen waved him away. ‘Leave the chopsticks. I’m fine with them.’ He paused. ‘Even with such large hands like mine.’
