Page 51 of Hold the Pickle
“Busy. I cover shifts when he goes to doctor visits.”
I press the edge of my fork through the crust of the pie. She’s pushing the helping-her-cousin angle.
“That’s great. He has a good crew. I’m sure your help is appreciated.”
“I think so.” She cuts an even bigger piece of pie for herself. Either she’s not paying attention or she’s a stress eater. I can feel her tension rising. It’s in how tightly she holds the knife. The way she keeps shifting on the stool.
“Well, I’ve been talking to your brother Rhett down at Dougherty. He says the Florida division is growing quickly, and they could sure use another leadership position in marketing. Or operations, if that’s your preference.”
I pause in my eating. There’s that pressure Nadia was hoping to dodge. I wonder if I should give her privacy for this conversation.
Her gaze meets mine. I point to the door.
She shakes her head. “I’m not sure I know what the difference would be.” She sets down the knife. The slice is still in the pie plate.
“Oh, I’m sure Rhett could give you the rundown. Why don’t I get you a flight to Miami, say, next week?”
That cranked up the heat. I take another bite and watch Nadia’s expression. She’s in deli mode, ponytail, no makeup, jeans, and a T-shirt. It might be my favorite Nadia look.
“Uncle Sherman,” she finally says. “I’m committed to helping Max and Camryn while she’s pregnant, and probably for a month or two after.”
“Grammy Alma will undoubtedly come to help once the baby is born.” The man’s voice is gruff. He’s used to getting his way.
She draws in a deep breath and I wonder what bomb she’s about to drop. She looks like she’s prepping one.
Then it comes. “I already signed a lease for an apartment here.”
The other line is silent.
Our gazes meet again. I make an exaggerated grimace.
She shrugs, then stares at the phone.
“I see,” he says. “So you will be there, what, six months?”
Nadia drops the next bomb. “A year.”
“A year in Max’s deli? With your education?”
“It was good enough for Grammy. And you, if you recall.”
Ooooh. She’s really hammering it home.
“Your Grammy and I worked hard so that you could have better lives!”
“I enjoy working in the family deli, Uncle Sherman. And…” She falters, as if she might not want to say what she’s about to.
I give her a big thumbs up for encouragement.
“And look what happened with Court. He was miserable.”
I wonder what happened to Court. And who is Court?
Silence again.
Our gazes meet. I like this. It feels like a battle we’re fighting together. I lean over the counter to move her giant slice of pie onto a plate. She’s going to need this in a minute.
“I see,” Sherman says. “Well, take your time in LA. We will revisit this conversation after the baby is born.”
