Jon
JON HAD RETURNED to New York after a successful trip to Boston, and he’d followed his sister’s advice. He also put on some music, a country song that reflected the tears that threatened to burst out of his eyes. The bottom line was that he didn’t know what to do.
Because he’d spent the afternoon walking around the apartment, really looking at what Molly had done. It was beautiful. Not just beautiful, but perfectly him, as much as he’d described. It was the kind of apartment he’d imagined bringing her to, the kind of apartment where he could come home after a long day, a long flight, or a long weekend.
The living room couches were comfortable enough that he didn’t have to go far inside of the apartment to relax. They were leather, and puffy like cotton. The wooden table at the corner, the elegant wooden bookcases that waited to be filled with his CDs, his stereo system. There were even mounting brackets for what he assumed would be a television on walls she’d painted dark blue. She’d managed to create a room that screamed him, company, comfort, and calm.
He’d gone farther into the apartment to find more evidence of her care. The second bedroom had been painted white, with the logo of the label he worked for in beautiful, blue, Hebrew calligraphy. The desk, the filing cabinets, the bookcase, and what had to be the mounting block for his music player, were all open, ready, and waiting to be filled.
Which meant his bedroom was even more tailored to what he’d wanted. There was only a bed and a dresser, both open and waiting to be filled. In the corners of these walls, just below the crown molding, was a really cool design. He walked closer, intending to take a good look at it. He could smell the tail end of the new paint fumes, which meant it hadn’t been here for long.
And when he saw what it was, he lost it. She’d managed to put an Empires logo on the wall, in a way that looked like a classic monogram. She’d put him on the walls of his apartment, and he’d been too stupid to notice. He had to get her back.
INSTEAD OF IMMEDIATELY calling to apologize, he needed to figure out what to do. Just bringing her a Chanukah present wouldn’t cut it. Not for this. Which meant he needed brain fuel.
He headed to the garage, got into his car and drove down to Abe’s deli. He parked in his usual spot, then headed into the deli.
There were huge crowds of people there. Chanukah, and a few other holidays, were coming upon them, so people spilled out of the deli, onto the sidewalk. They flocked to Abe’s Kitchen because they wanted to taste the good stuff, deli food made as they remembered it.
He sighed, pulled down his hat and walked farther in. And yet . . .
It was as if the Red Sea had parted; the patrons stepped aside, leaving a path for . . .
“Jon,” Abe said. “You. You wouldn’t be here unless . . .”
“I love her,” he replied, not leaving room for pretense.
“Good. You’re a smart boy. So I’ll tell you. You want to win back my girl? You tell her what she was trying to tell you. What she did for you. Out of love. She didn’t just make you a space you fakacta bum. She made you a home. Now you show her you appreciate it. And her.”
He nodded. And he understood.
“Now take this, for you, and go home to your space and think about it.”
And based on Abe’s tone of voice, there was only one thing he could do. He nodded. “Thank you,” he said, taking the bag with one hand and shaking the man’s hand with the other. “Thank you.”
Then he left the deli.