Gathered Up. Annabeth Albert

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СКАЧАТЬ It’s not a cultural thing per se—obviously the religion I grew up with condemns it, but it’s more…I don’t like it. Messy. Involved. Uncomfortable…”

      Ev needed to never have kids and all the varieties of mess they brought into one’s life if he thought anal sex was a distasteful amount of yuck. But to each their own and all that. “I get it. Fair enough. What do you like?”

      “Nuh-uh. I get a question now. Have you been with more men or more women?”

      I didn’t have to think hard. “Three girls, four guys. Told you; I’m not exactly a slut.”

      “And if you could only have one…”

      Why did people always want to ask this question? I groaned. “I’d choose the one I was in love with and wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I’m not picking an ice cream flavor. Not that it’s going to happen any time soon, but I’d pick a partner. Not a gender.”

      “And why won’t it be happening?” Ev swallowed. Heck, even his sipping beer was a sexy sound.

      “The kids. My whole focus has to be on them right now. I don’t have time for anything more, and I’m not going to have a parade of people in and out or do a lot of quick hookups.”

      “Yes. I hear you. My priority is Mira. And it appears we share a dislike of hooking up.”

      Oh, I’d hook up with Ev in a heartbeat, but I wasn’t telling him that. I’d break an awful lot of my rules for him.

      “But it’s nice to have friends right? Can’t have too many of those,” I said instead.

      “Certainly. Oh, look, another episode is starting. Do you have to go or shall we watch?”

      I grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch. “I’m in for the long haul. Bring on the bogus collectible coins episode.”

      Chapter 5

      Dear friends, I get so many questions about knitted gifts. These can be problematic, especially when you are gifting to someone who is not a crafter. Start simple: a quick little project, one that you can give from the heart and not feel put out if the praise isn’t as abundant as you might like. Giving should always be its own pleasure.—Evren’s Yarnings

      Ev and I became regular text and phone buddies after that. We seemed to be in a very similar predicament on the evenings we didn’t work. Renee had a new study group this spring term and was leaving me with the kids more and more in the evenings, while Mira’s pain was often at its worst in the evenings, making Ev reluctant to leave her. Neither of us had a real way to leave the house, but we were both a little starved for adult contact. My phone would buzz shortly after I got the kids settled, and my pulse would speed up, mouth smiling even though I was alone in the room. I got in the habit of flipping on the TV as soon as I said hello. We worked our way through most of the auction reality shows together, him knitting and me doing laundry or other household stuff while we talked.

      “I made something to celebrate spring,” he said one day when he came into the shop for some soup as a late lunch. “Flowers.”

      “Flowers?” I readied his soup and chai as quickly as I could.

      He withdrew three knitted blooms from his pocket. Each was affixed to a small clip. “These were my testers. For your girls?”

      “Thank you.” I smiled broadly. I put them in my apron pocket before the other baristas could notice.

      “And for you…shall we have a beer together again tonight?” he asked, making the phone gesture as an older gentleman came in and got in line behind him.

      “Absolutely. Working till nine. Call me after.”

      My phone buzzed around ten, right as I sat down with a microwave pasta dinner as a late snack. The kids and Renee had eaten all of dinner, as usual. That was okay. Coming in to a nice quiet home was its own kind of reward, even if Renee did leave the dishes for me. Oh, well. I’d get those done while I chatted with Ev.

      “Hey,” I said softly into the phone.

      “I am having some baklava and thinking of you,” Ev announced.

      “Oh man, that sounds amazing. I think this frozen dinner is supposed to be lasagna, but don’t quote me on it.” I laughed.

      “Ah. I made Mira a nice couscous pilaf and some skirt steak. She didn’t eat much again. I wish I’d known your dinner was going to be so meager—I would have walked over some leftovers.”

      “And I would have kissed you,” I said without thinking. “My kingdom for a steak.”

      “I do not generally require…payment for feeding my friends,” Ev said carefully. “But I would enjoy cooking for you sometime. Hala Tanya and Hala Mira taught me to cook and I find it very relaxing.”

      “My mom’s ancient Betty Crocker Cookbook and four starving siblings taught me to cook and I hate it. Come cook for me any time. I’ll even do the dishes. That’s what I’m doing now.” I ran the hot water to start dishes. “Maybe the next apartment will have a dishwasher.”

      “Next apartment?”

      “Yeah,” I said, and strangely, I found myself telling Ev about the national barista contest and my dreams of a better place for all of us. Not even Renee knew how much the contest meant to me.

      “That is indeed a good goal. So you want to stay a barista?” He said it so nonjudgmentally that my defenses didn’t kick up like they usually did when people asked me that.

      “I tried some community college classes before Mom died. School’s just not my thing. After she died, taking on loans for classes I barely passed seemed almost…selfish. Renee’s going to school now. She’s majoring in environmental studies and has all sorts of save-the-world dreams. But me, I love being a barista. Love the work. Love my customers. But…”

      “Yes? Tell me.” Ev made me feel like even my wildest dreams weren’t stupid.

      “There’s this barista I used to work with at People’s Cup—Robby. He has a coffee cart of his own downtown now. That might be nice. Someday. It takes start-up cash, though, and I’m not sure I’ll ever have that.”

      “Maybe you will win more contests. And it is always good to dream.”

      “You don’t think I’m foolish for not wanting something more…professional?” I thought about that all the time—trying to get something better-paying for the sake of the kids. But being a barista was what I knew. I didn’t exactly have a wealth of other employable skills.

      “I think it’s good honest work, canim. You are making the best life you can. That’s all any of us can do.” Ev’s words washed over me like a benediction. It had been so long since someone had told me I was doing a good job. I didn’t even need to know what the Turkish word meant—it felt good to my ears.

      “I’m not exactly impressing people making a living out of knitting,” Ev continued. “I had a great job for a bit with a big design house, doing their knitwear line, but I chose to quit to come be with Mira.”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ