Page 89 of The Comeback Summer

“Yeah. Every Jewish mother’s dream except mine. My parents expected me to join the family business, and it didn’t really matter that I wanted something different. Did you always want to go into PR?”

“Yes and no,” I say honestly. “I wanted to be just like my grandmother. It was always such a huge deal when I’d visit her office when I was a little girl, seeing her name—our name—in big letters on the wall. She told me it would all be mine one day if I wanted it. Mine and my sister’s.”

“It’s a blessing and a burden, isn’t it?” Adam says. “Being born into a career.”

“It is,” I say, and the moment feels oddly somber. Having GiGi’s business to run has been a blessing—I didn’t have to stress about choosing a major or finding a job after college, and I get to work with my sister every day. But I suppose it’s been a burden, too. The pressure to keep it going. To not lose everything she worked so hard to create.

“How about brisket tacos?” I suggest, trying to lighten the mood.

“Or brisket quesadillas,” he says, his face lighting up again. “Brisket nachos?”

“Better than lox nachos,” I say, laughing.

Our eyes meet across the table. His are warm brown, like maple syrup, with flecks of green around the pupil. They stay locked on mine for a moment, then drift downward, toward my mouth.

Startled, I look away.

Adam clears his throat and leans back in his chair. “Thanksfor the ideas,” he says. “I feel inspired again, for the first time since... maybe ever.”

“Happy to help—but don’t feel like you have to totally reinvent yourself. From the preliminary research I’ve done, there’s a lot to love about your diner. Sometimes people just want the mandel bread they know and love. You know?”

He nods. “So, you think I should hold back on the kishka fried rice?”

“Maybe start small. You could try to expand your clientele, get new people interested in what you provide—or better yet, give your current customers a new reason to come in. Like for dinner instead of brunch.”

“Oh god, there’s this one customer who would love if we opened for dinner,” he says, then tells me the story I already know about Harvey, the ornery old guy who asked three women out on the same day, one for each meal.

As he talks, it dawns on me how royally I have screwed this up.

Even if Adam were interested in a relationship with me, it could never happen—I spent way too much time talking to him as Hannah. And if he became part of my life in any meaningful way, he’d have to meet my sister. And then he’d find out that our meeting wasn’t the chance encounter he thought it was. That I orchestrated the whole thing.

The thought puts a damper on my mood, but if this is going to be my first and last kind-of-sort-of date with Adam, I should just enjoy the night for what it is. A fun side plot in Adam’s story, before he eventually finds his leading lady.

Thirty

HANNAH

I’m standing in our darkened kitchen, eating raspberries out of the carton—so anxious about talking to my sister that I haven’t washed the berries or turned on the light—when I hear her key in the lock.

Libby walks in. Her eyes are lit up and sparkling, her cheeks flushed. Then she sees me and winces, almost like she’s embarrassed to have been caught.

“Oh, hey,” she says, flicking on the light. “Didn’t know you were home. What’re you doing in the dark?”

I hold up the carton like an offering, like maybe this will keep my sister from reacting badly to the bomb I’m about to drop. “Eating raspberries.”

She narrows her eyes; her big-sister spidey sense knows something’s up. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing.” I put the raspberries back in the fridge, which allows me to break eye contact. My hands shake as I shut the door. “How were drinks with Suji?”

“It was—” She pauses. “It was good. We came up with some good ideas for the networking event.”

Libby puts her purse down and toes off her shoes. Then she walks into the kitchen, pours herself a glass of water.

My stomach is in knots. I need to talk to her about Josh. But why is it so hard?

“What did you end up doing tonight?” Libby asks.

I swallow. “I... went sailing.”

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