Page 39 of Make Room for Love

“Are we good?”

Mira smiled. “That’s up to you.”

Isabel didn’t quite meet her gaze. “Then I guess we are.”

17

Isabel hadeither the best or the worst sense of timing. She’d come out with her feelings to Mira right before the most unbearable day of the year. Maybe the honesty had been necessary, or maybe she’d just made Mira uneasy for no good reason. Either way, she was too frozen now to feel anything at all.

She was exhausted as she trudged up the stairs to the apartment. It had been a day of work like any other. She had called her parents during her lunch break and replied to the few texts she’d gotten. She hadn’t had the appetite to eat. What she wanted was to sleep and only wake up when it didn’t hurt anymore, and she might be waiting a long time for that.

It was only five o’clock, though the sky was already dark. She just wanted the day to be over. At least Mira wouldn’t be home for another few hours. Her union meeting was tonight.

No.The lights were on, and Mira was in the kitchen. She turned around when the door opened, and it was clear from her expression—serious, hesitant—that she knew. Isabel had mentioned the date to her just once, and she had remembered.

“Good evening,” Mira said. “I made dinner, if you’d like to have some. But I understand if you’d rather be alone.”

Isabel came closer to crying than she had all day. After doing so many things to drive Mira away, she still had no idea what she’d done to deserve Mira’s kindness. But her body acted of its own accord. She dropped her backpack on the floor and staggered to the dining table.

Deserving or not, she couldn’t spend tonight alone.

She sat down, still in her dirty work clothes, and put her face in her hands. Part of her was where she had been two years ago. Getting the call that Alexa and James had been in an accident. Sitting in the car to the hospital, shaking as the heavy rain blurred everything around her.

Mira’s hand was soft on her shoulder. Isabel came back to herself, sitting at her dining table, the scent of something delicious wafting from the stove. She was suddenly weak with hunger.

“Do you want dinner?” Mira asked.

“I should shower and change.” But Isabel didn’t stand up, didn’t move. The candles flickered in the menorah on the windowsill. Mira must have lit them right before Isabel came home.

“You can do that after you eat.” Mira set something in front of her. It was a bowl of stew, thick and colorful with white beans and vegetables: winter squash, greens, carrots. A mug of green tea followed.

Isabel’s vision blurred from tears. Maybe she wouldn’t have the strength to hold them back in front of Mira. Maybe she didn’t want to bother trying anymore.

“There’s something else,” Mira said. She took a casserole dish from the oven and set it on a trivet on the table.

“What is that?” Isabel’s throat was tight.

“I made noodle kugel. My mom made it for my aunt Miriam’s yahrzeit, which is her death anniversary, every year after weattended services. It’s one of maybe three things she ever cooked. But, um, I thought you might…”

“Your mom also lost her sister?” Isabel almost couldn’t say it aloud. Mira nodded.

Isabel was fighting a losing battle. A tear rolled down her face. She numbly wiped it away in full view of Mira.

“You should eat,” Mira said.

Her gentle voice was a balm. Isabel picked up her spoon and started eating mechanically. The stew was hearty and filling, and it warmed her through. Her hopelessness was loosening its grip.

Mira put a plate of the beige noodle pudding, studded with what looked like raisins, in front of her. Isabel glanced up. “You should eat, too,” she said, trying to regain some control over the situation.

“I will. Do you want me to stay?”

Isabel nodded.Please.

Mira sat down. They ate in silence. Returning to a dark, empty apartment would have been unthinkably awful. Isabel was quietly overwhelmed by gratitude. Mira’s kindness went far beyond a simple favor that could be repaid.

Mira said, “Will you tell me about her sometime? It doesn’t have to be now.”

Isabel nodded again, not trusting herself to speak. Out of all the things she hated about losing Alexa, one of the worst was knowing her memories were fading with time. Eventually, they’d slip away, and she would never have new ones to take their place.