Challenged by You: A Fusion Universe Novel

by Tracey Jerald

  Chris yanks her hair and bellows, “Mama, food!”

  Giving him a disdainful look, she asks calmly, “Is that how you ask?”

  “No. I sorry.” He lays his head on her shoulder. “Hwungry.”

  “Me too,” Annie chimes in.

  “Then tell me, babies, what do you want to eat?” I don’t know why, but I love that Trina’s not using baby chatter with them. It pulls at memories I haven’t remembered in a long time—ones only Julian might remember along with me. I make a mental note to ask him about them later.

  “Sweet toast.” Chris throws his arm that’s not around his mother in the air.

  Sweet toast? “How nutritious is that for what, two, three-year-olds?” I wonder aloud.

  Instead of taking umbrage, I’m treated to Trina Paxton’s throaty laughter. The husky sound ripples down my spine as she leans against the wall, bracing each of her children against her. Her laughter must be contagious to them, because they start giggling too before reaching out to tickle one another.

  A few moments after she regains her composure, she grins. It changes her face from intriguing to pretty in a heartbeat. Her light blue eyes, which both of her children inherited, sparkle like shards of diamonds. “Come on. You can watch how I make it. Then you can decide,” she challenges before ducking around a corner.

  Following her, I watch as she straps Chris into the single high chair before reaching in a broom cupboard for something resembling a hiking pack. Quickly placing Annie inside, she swings her on her back. I might have to apologize to Trina’s neighbors downstairs because I’m certain my jaw might be in the apartment below. I try to stand out of the way when Trina leans into the refrigerator to pull out bread, eggs, milk, and butter. From an upper cabinet, she pulls down cinnamon, nutmeg, and sugar. “Sweet toast. French toast,” I interpret correctly.

  Amused eyes meet mine as she begins to crack eggs. “It’s easier to explain to two-year-olds. By the way, excellent guess. Do you have children?”

  “No. My cousin Chelsea has blessed us with three.”

  “What a lovely way of phrasing it. Do you enjoy children?”

  “I like her demons,” I say with complete honesty. I’m rewarded with another quick laugh.

  “I appreciate that,” she says as her hands move so fast they’re a blur.

  “What’s that?” I ask, fascinated as she gets the batter ready.

  “Honesty.” Piercing blue eyes meet mine. “I expect it from everyone I deal with. I expect that’s why I didn’t react well when I came face-to-face with you. I was accused of lying at work the other night as a result of your review.”

  “I heard about that when I learned about the review being wrong.”

  “I’ll apologize for my quick temper. I’m…passionate about certain things. The truth is one of them.”

  Trina makes quick work of heating the pan with minimal fuss and dipping the bread in, including, I note, the crusty ends. “Did you run out of bread?” I ask politely.

  “Today’s grocery shopping day.” She tips her head back toward a list taped on her refrigerator. “The good thing is there’s a canned sale, so I’ll be able to stock up on a few things.”

  I scoot behind Trina as she flips the perfectly caramelized bread to get closer to the list. My lips part in surprise. “It’s so specific.” I’m scanning over what would be quick items to pick up in most households: jarred fruits, canned veggies, bread, milk. But Trina has even the amounts written down. Plucking the list down, I demand, “Is every week like this for you?”

  Without even a glance in my direction, she flips over a few more pieces of toast before saying, “That’s for two weeks.” I must emit some kind of sound because she goes on blithely, “I also get a shipment from an online retailer of pull-ups and snacks for these two. It’s much more cost effective.”

  “Why are you doing this on your own?” I stress the question I asked last night in the dark of the train. “Does Seduction pay its employees that poorly?”

  “Actually, no. They’re on the generous side. Like I said, when you factor in the cost of living in the city, day-to-day expenses, child care, savings plans, you have to be very careful with what you spend.” Finished with the toast, Trina goes to work making a quick sauce from the butter, milk, spices, and sugar. “I hope this works for you. I’m not a fan of feeding the twins complete junk, though they are a fan of… God, it pains me to say it.”

  But my eyes have already spotted the boxed item on her grocery list. “No. There’s no way a chef as talented as you feeds your kids mac’n’crap.”

  “I augment it.” There’s a definitive edge to Trina’s voice as if she feels the need to defend herself.

  “But you could make it better from scratch. Just like this.” I gesture to the sauce she’s pouring into Dixie cups for the kids to dunk into before setting aside the rest for the remaining two dishes.

  Pressing her lips together, she reaches up for a new jar of applesauce. Holding it up, she asks, “Yes, no?”

  “Absolutely no. I hate apples even more than I hate processed food,” I announce flatly.

  Her eyes widen slightly, but I notice she carefully slides two extra pieces of french toast onto the one of the plates before getting a single bowl down for herself. I feel like a heel standing there stealing food from her mouth as she waits on me, but I’m afraid if I intervene, it will cause more havoc or worse yet hurt her pride. Soon, she’s undoing the straps to swing Annie off her back. “Ready when you are,” Trina says.

  Jerking out of a zone, I wait for her to sit with Annie on her lap. Trina slides a small bowl and spoon onto the tray with applesauce for Chris before saying firmly, “Apples first.”

  “Toast,” he grunts back at her.

  “It’s too hot, baby. Eat that while it cools down,” she coaxes.

  Her son grunts again before picking up the plastic spoon and smearing a bite over his lips. His eyes light up. “Sapple sauce!” Of course, his exuberance comes with the spitting of his food in all directions.

  I discreetly wipe my nose as some of it traverses the length of the small cafe table. “Oh, shoot. I forgot your apron,” Trina say guiltily. She begins to shift Annie, who’s already lifting a spoonful to her mouth. Petulantly, and solely because I disturbed her mother, she flings the tiny amount backward so it lands on Trina’s forehead. “No move, Mama,” she orders.

  I snicker. I can’t help it. The glare Trina shoots in my direction should drop me to the floor, writhing in agony. I duck my head to cut into the best breakfast I’ve had in eons, but not before I catch the curving of her lips. Turning my focus back to my breakfast companions, I listen to Trina explain to her daughter, “Annie, Mama was getting a towel for our guest. That’s not how we behave.” The next thing I know, a glob lands on my hand. Chris has decided to join his sister in painting me in today’s breakfast. “Oh, for the moments I wish for a dog,” Trina gripes as my head tips back onto my shoulders with silent laughter.

  “I now understand the offer of an apron.” My voice is filled with mirth. I hear a squeak. Expecting horror, I’m surprised to see amusement on her face. I offer her some consolation. “My brother and I were much worse, if that offers you any comfort.”

  “It does actually. And you both managed to grow up sane?” I see her slide a spoonful of slimy applesauce into her mouth, and I have to refrain from shuddering. I debate whether or not to answer, but since I’m so blatantly invading her privacy for this article, I figure I need to open up about who I am.

  “Julian—my twin—and I are still thick as thieves. We were raised by my mother’s brother, Karlson, and his wife after Mom passed away.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that. How old were you?”

  “We were six. His wife died a few years ago.” I impart the information brusquely, but my heart cracks wide open. She doesn’t recognize it, but a myriad of emotions crosses her face as a mother, a woman, and simply, a human. All of whom are empathetic. I don’t know what she reads on m
y face, but she must get the signal to change the subject.

  “Okay, who’s ready for their sweet toast?” she announces to her kids. High-pitched squeals erupt in the kitchen.

  “It’s outstanding,” I proclaim as I shove in another forkful.

  Chris rewards me by blowing a raspberry in my direction, pointing at my empty plate, and declaring, “Bad,” with a harrumph in his voice. I lose it laughing thinking he’s playing with me.

  Annie giggles in Trina’s arms. Chris crosses his arms and says, “No, Nono. Bad!”

  “What?” I lay down my fork while I try to regain my composure. “Was it something I said?”

  “More like something you did. You ate without him,” Trina explains.

  “Oh.” Instead of blowing him off because he’s a child, I do something I think more adults should do when they’re wrong: I apologize. “You’re right, Chris. That was terribly rude. I should have waited. I’m sorry.”

  Chris appears to think about it before deciding my fate. “Okay, Nono,” he says, before shoving a bite of french toast in his own mouth.

  After making sure Annie’s settled, Trina forks up a bite of her piece and a half of toast. She chews and swallows, then informs me, “I’d do just about anything in order to have these moments with the kids.”

  An odd feeling churns in my gut. “Even put up with a job you hated?”

  “How do you know…well, yes. I’d do that as well.”

  Leaning forward, I brace my forearms against the cheap table before dropping a bomb on her. Best to get it out of the way. “Because I was outside the door when you laid into Chef Spencer. You stood up not only for yourself but for every employee in that kitchen.”

  I’m still trying to remember how to breathe when I finish. “I went in to apologize and heard—”

  “Everything,” she finishes grimly.

  “Yes. But here’s the thing, Trina. As much as you may not believe this, I appreciate this side of who you are. I was flung back in time to when I wasn’t much older than they are—” I nod at her children, before continuing. “—and overhearing a very similar conversation between my mother and uncle. Mom loved being a nurse but was having a problem working at the hospital because of a rude administrator. We didn’t always have the financial stability we enjoy now. Mom had two twin boys to raise. Uncle Karlson was working at a major newspaper in the city. Hell, he hadn’t been married to Aunt Lucy for long, if memory serves. There wasn’t a spare nickel between the three of them, not until after Mom died. Karlson used his part of Mom’s life insurance to establish City Lights, while saving ours for our education. Close to thirty years later, the afternoon I walked in to apologize at Seduction, I was able to make a difference because it was the right thing to do. Wouldn’t you?” Sitting back, I await my judgment.

  In the meanwhile, Chris is using the last of his french toast stick to paint his tray. In Trina’s lap, Annie’s dunking hers over and over like it’s a diver in a pool. And to my right is a woman I don’t know but who is becoming more and more riveting by the moment.

  Maybe I stepped in where I shouldn’t, but I did so for all the right reasons.

  So, I’m grateful when her mental decision is made and she only asks, “What is it you expect this month to entail? I’m warning you, it’d better not do anything to interrupt my schedule with my children.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I do have to ask one thing?’

  “What’s that?”

  “If you could take the kids and get the best food for lunch in the area that isn’t a chain, where would you go?” Before she can answer, I go on. “Because that’s the first place I want to review.”

  A wide smile spreads across her face. “Oh, that’s easy.” Then Trina proceeds to tell me about a Bronx pizzeria that’s been around for over sixty years, tantalizing me.

  As if I hadn’t been from the second I walked through her apartment door.

  Chapter 7

  Jonas

  “Who are you and when you find my brother, tell him it’s too early to call,” Julian yawns in my ear.

  “I’m keeping a new schedule these days. By the way, the use of ‘Whatcha’ in your column really adds a certain flair about it. Was it deliberate?” My lips curve with suppressed laughter even as I’m reaching for my third cup of coffee.

  “I didn’t use—” There’s a stillness on the other end of the line before Julian groans.

  “Just saw it?”

  “Who the hell did Karlson hire on the editorial staff recently? This is twice in one week—first you, then me.”

  Now, I’m the one letting out a tortured sound. “Chelsea,” I remind him.

  And then together we both double over laughing. Karlson’s daughter, the girl who was raised with us as our little sister, graduated with her liberal arts degree in between raising two hellions. After giving birth to her third and flourishing—per Karlson—through editorial classes, he hired her as a junior editor.

  “Well, are you going to talk to Peter about her?” Julian demands. Peter is the head of the editorial staff at City Lights.

  “No, I was thinking about sending her roses as a thank-you,” I murmur aloud.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Come have lunch with me and I’ll tell you about it, Jules.”

  “You’re buying. Last night was a late one.”

  “Why? Out searching for ways for the bachelors of New York to propose again?”

  “Actually, no. I stayed in.”

  I straighten off the back of the sofa. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing more than being lonely in the middle of a city of millions of people. Why is it so hard to find someone who doesn’t want to go out all the time? Who maybe wants to sit back wearing old sweats and watch end-of-the world movies with a bottle of beer and some popcorn? What happened to those kinds of dates? Why does every night out have to involve putting on a new suit, an act, and heading to the trendiest club?” I hate how bewildered Julian sounds. His heart is so enormous, but writing the dating and advice column for Karlson’s paper might strip away his soul an article at a time.

  I make the offer immediately. “Listen, I’m going to check out a sixty-year-old pizza restaurant in the Bronx for the column for lunch. Come with me.”

  “You want me to go with you where?” I elicit the laugh I was hoping for. “What did you do to piss Karlson off?”

  “More like the other way around. Come on,” I cajole him. “It will be an adventure.”

  “You’re on. I’ll be at your place in an hour.” Without saying goodbye, my brother disconnects.

  Shoving off the couch, my thoughts turn to Trina. I snatch up my mug as I wonder where the father of her children is. “What kind of douche does that to a good woman let alone his kids?” Then I shrug, because it’s not really my business until I remember Chris’s petulant “Nono” when I dove into my meal without waiting. Or Annie’s calm until she thought her mother was leaving. And for a brief moment, I think back to the numerous times Karlson explained our father was just never a part of our mother’s life. “Your mother didn’t need him when she had you boys,” he told us over and over. For years that never made much sense.

  Now, I wonder if Trina Paxton’s children will hear something similar from their mother.

  Making my way into my spacious kitchen, my mind wanders back to the memory of me and Julian clinging to our mother’s legs as she laughed. “I hate to leave you both, my adorable boys, but I promise Mommy will take you to the zoo on my next day off.” Only, I begged just a little harder for one more thing. Something that made our mother run late so there wasn’t another zoo trip. And an ache that’s never quite healed begins burning in the region of my heart.

  Plunking my cup down on the counter with force, I deliberately call up the image of my mother’s dark hair and eyes. “What would you think about us now, Mom?” I wonder aloud. Taking a deep breath, I recall the way she’d make homemade sauce, standing at the stove for hours eve
n if she’d been on her feet all night at work. If I concentrate hard enough, I can still smell the light scent of vanilla that would wrap around us when she hugged us close.

  Clenching my fist at my side, I wonder if the similarity between Trina Paxton’s plight and my mother’s is what had me coming up with this cockamamie idea or if it truly was the need to atone for the mistake of City Lights. Uncomfortable with probing too deeply, I leave the kitchen and head into the master suite to throw on jeans. Somehow I don’t think the place we’re going to requires more formal attire.

  “This is so far out of your league, I’m afraid you’re going to break out in hives,” Julian teases as we walk up to the front of Louie and Ernie’s Pizza in the Pelham Bay section of the Bronx. “They may use paper napkins…ummph,” he gasps just as my elbow connects with his ribs.

  “Ya butter back off, pal. I’m not in the mood for your shit. I’m seriously glad I didn’t drive.”

  “You and me both. The closest garage is… Hey. Did you just make a food pun? Jesus, if you’re resorting to food puns, either there’s a woman involved or we’re both about to be hospitalized for salmonella.” Just as Julian says that, an elderly woman with the kind of hair that gets set once a week by a professional slides in between us, gawking.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” I say politely.

  “Are you those two brothers on that show I watch on Home and Garden?” she demands.

  “No, ma’am.” I try to edge away, but Julian blocks the way. Without even looking, I can tell he’s preening at the idea of being compared to a celebrity.

  “Good. They spend way too much money on lamps. Don’t they know they can get something just as nice at Crystal-Smith on Bruckner? Darn shame how much they waste.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I give her my somber face—the one I use when I’m ordering for a restaurant I’m about to review.

  She reaches up a gnarled hand and pats me on the arm. “Such a good boy. Now, him?” She points her shaking finger at Julian, who’s wearing a broad smile. “He’s trouble.”