One Hot December

“Before mine, too. But my mom did her job and showed me all her favorite movies when I was a kid.”

“You have a mother?”

“Did you think I didn’t?” she asked.

“Don’t take it personally, I just assumed you were forged in the fires of Mordor.”

She laughed softly. Yes...a laugh. Ten points for Asher.

“No, I have a mom. A cool mom. Everyone has a mom.”

“I don’t.”

“Were you forged in the fires of Mordor?”

“I had a mom,” he said. “But she died when I was a baby.”

Flash looked at him and he looked away.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m an asshole.”

“No, you aren’t. You couldn’t have known. She was hit by a drunk driver.”

“Oh, my God, that’s awful. I thought your parents were divorced. I didn’t know your mom had been killed.”

“They were separated when the accident happened. Dad’s always felt bad about that. They’d eloped when she got pregnant with me and both families went to war. Her family hated him. His family hated her...”

“Romeo and Juliet.”

“Sort of, yeah. If Romeo was Catholic and Juliet was Jewish.”

“You’re Jewish?”

“Mom was.”

“Then you are, too. Judaism is passed through the mother’s line, not the father’s. Mazel tov, Ian.” She patted him on the head. He would have preferred a kiss but he’d take a head pat. At least she’d touched him.

“Are you Jewish?” he asked.

“I’m nothing,” she said. “I just know about it because of a friend of mine.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No, a friend-friend. You feel any different? Sudden craving for bagels? Suddenly annoyed at me for making a joke about Jewish people liking bagels?”

“I feel...I don’t know how I feel,” he said, trying to wrap his mind around this new information. It didn’t make much of a dent on his soul, but still, it was good to know he had some sort of spiritual connection to his mother. “Dad never told me that. He never told me anything about Mom or that side of my family. He doesn’t talk about her very much. Doesn’t talk to her family. I’ve never even met my grandparents. Truth is, I think he was still in love with her and only separated because his family pressured him to and so did hers. He was only twenty and she was eighteen when they eloped.”

“What was her name?”

He furrowed his brow. “You want to know my mother’s name?”

“Yes, I want to know your mother’s name. Why wouldn’t I?”

He swallowed a sudden lump of sorrow. He didn’t even remember his mother. Why would he be sad thirty-five years after she was gone?

Ian raised his hand and touched one of the iron leaves on the fireplace grate. “Riva,” he said. “But when she went away to college, she went by Ivy. Dad said it was her teenage rebellion, changing her name. And marrying him.”

“Rebellious teenager. I think I like your mom,” she said.

He felt Flash’s eyes boring into him, searching his face, studying him. What was she seeing?

“I can fix this,” she said. “We can fix it. It’ll be a lot of work, but we can fix it.”

“The fireplace screen?”

“Yeah, the fireplace screen. What did you think I was talking about?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I can pay you.”

She stood up and looked down at him.

“I don’t need your money,” she said. “I’m not fixing this for you. I’m fixing it because it’s beautiful and beautiful craftsmanship like this deserves being preserved by someone who knows what she’s doing.”

“Sorry,” he said, standing up. “I wasn’t trying to insult you. You said it was a big job. I don’t want to take advantage of our...”

“What?”

“Friendship?”

“We aren’t friends.”

“Then what are we?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But not friends.”

She rubbed an iron vein on one of the iron stems of the ivy. A piece of rust flaked off on her finger and she shook her head at it like it had broken her heart.

“If we’re not friends, then I should pay you,” he said. “I’m not the sort of man who uses people. I’d have to fork over a thousand dollars to a pro to get this removed, cleaned, sanded, repaired and reinstalled. Either we’re friends and you’re helping me out of friendship, or you’re a professional welder who is doing this as a job. So you either let me pay you to do the work or you admit we’re friends.”

“You can pay me,” she said.

“Fine.” It was anything but fine. He didn’t mind paying her. But he wanted her to admit they were friends or something other than just employer-employee. She’d quit her job today and here she was again, working for him.

“In sex,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” She wiped her hands on her pants. “You can pay me for the work in sex.”