Nothing Less

“I go first.” Nora blinks again and pushes past me. Relief floods me. My mouth can’t be trusted to stay quiet when she’s near.

She pulls open one of the bottom cabinets and grabs a mixing bowl. “How long do you plan on living here, in New York? What’s the last song you listened to? Where’s your biological dad?” Nora’s first round of questions are solid, to say the least.

I don’t want to answer about my dad, but I can’t expect her to be open with me if I don’t do the same.

“I don’t know. I thought about moving back to Washington, but I’m starting to like it here. The last song I listened to was . . .” I pause, trying to remember. “It was ‘As You Are’ by The Weeknd. And my dad, he’s dead.”

Nora’s expression changes, and I get the feeling she thought I would skip the last question. If she were me, she would have. I wanted to.

“My turn,” I say before any condolences can be expressed. “How long have your parents been married? What’s the last book you read? How long was your last relationship?”

Nora’s eyes turn to me. I look away. I know which question she’s going to skip.

She takes a deep breath and pretends like she’s completely focused on her baking. With another breath, she speaks. “My parents have been married for almost thirty-two years. Their anniversary is in just a few weeks. The last book I read was called Marrow. It was so good and so fucked-up. And I’m skipping the last question.”

I nod, taking in her answers. I wish she would have proven me wrong, but I’m not going to complain. Not yet, at least.

Nora doesn’t waste any time before taking her next turn. “What do you like more, sports or reading? What’s your favorite memory from your childhood? And how did your dad die?”

I stand a few feet away from her and lean against the counter.

“Reading. Though I love sports almost as much. My favorite childhood memory is really hard to choose.” I skim through the happiest memories I can pull up. “The first that comes to mind is when my aunt and her husband used to take me to baseball games when I was younger. We went a lot; every time was my favorite. My dad died from natural causes.”

“No one dies from natural causes in real life.”

The smell of onions fills my senses, and I back away slightly. Nora chops the onions like those chefs on TV. It’s pretty cool to watch.

“My dad did. He had a heart attack when I was little.”

Nora regards me quietly, and her hand moves the spoon in quick circles to mix the batter.

“My turn. How did your parents meet? If you weren’t a pastry chef, what would you want to do? Why did Dakota kick you out of the apartment?” I slide that last question in pretty gracefully, I would say.

Using a spoon, Nora drops her mix into the cupcake pan. “My parents met while my dad was on a business trip in Colombia. He does a lot of work with charities, and he had a team in Bogotá to train surgeons at a local hospital there. My dad is from Kuwait, but was already living in Washington State. My mom worked at the cafeteria in the hospital in Bogotá, and my dad fell in love with her.”

I look over at Nora, taking in her features. What a beautiful mix of ethnicities she is.

“If I wasn’t a pastry chef, I would open up a food truck, like the ones that park on the streets in Williamsburg. Dakota kicked me out of the apartment because she felt threatened by me. She told me to stay away from you, and I didn’t listen.” Nora smiles, laughing lightly. “So now I’m homeless.”

I frown in frustration. “It’s not funny that you were kicked out of your apartment.”

Nora rolls her eyes at me and walks to the oven, pan in hand. I move over to her and open the oven door. She sets the pan on the center rack and closes the door.

She turns to me. “My turn. How many people have you slept with? How did you meet Dakota?