Chapter Sixteen

“Maybe we should have a baby,” Julia said.

Ron glanced up from his laptop, which was perched on his knees. Weren’t men supposed to have ugly knees? Stretched out beside her in bed, clad in fleece shorts and a wrinkled T-shirt featuring a silkscreened image of Bart Simpson skateboarding, he had his legs on full display. The hair on his calves was too curly. His feet were large and bony, typical male feet. But his knees were actually quite lovely, two matching ovals covered by taut, smooth skin.

Curly hair notwithstanding, Ron had ridiculously appealing legs. Everything about Ron’s appearance was ridiculously appealing, with the possible exception of that silly T-shirt. Two years into this marriage, Julia still found herself astonished at times that a guy as hot as Ron Joffe could have fallen in love with her.

Usually, she felt comfortable, even a bit smug, about having wed such a gorgeous guy. But she was suffering from insecurity these days. Insecurity about the job she was doing, the business she might be failing, and the love she wasn’t feeling from her family slopped over into insecurity about her marriage.

If they had a baby, it would cement their connubial bond. Also, she could take a maternity leave and forget about Bloom’s for a few months. Maybe she could extend her maternity leave, take off for a year…and by the time she was ready to return to work, Grandma Ida would have named someone else to run the place and Julia could just stay unemployed.

Or she could go back to Griffin, McDougal and become a law associate once more, researching prenup agreements and divorce settlements, helping marriages that were falling apart to fall apart a little more thoroughly.

She didn’t want her own marriage to fall apart. Even if Ron’s knees had been knobby and oddly angled, and his eyes hadn’t been the color of rich dark chocolate, and his smile didn’t cut adorable dimples into his cheeks, she would still want to be married to him.

But a baby would strengthen the glue that held them together. She was staring down her thirtieth birthday. Maybe she ought to find out if she was better at raising children than she was at running Bloom’s.

“We’d have to move,” Ron pointed out. “We can’t have a baby here.”

True enough. They were living in Ron’s one-bedroom apartment in a brownstone a few blocks from the store. It was bigger than the apartment she’d lived in before they’d gotten married, but most coffins were bigger than that apartment. Both apartments were walk-ups, too. She supposed people had babies in walk-ups, but schlepping a stroller up and down the stairs wouldn’t be easy.

“Do you want to move?” she asked Ron.

The look he gave her reflected a blend of amusement and exasperation. “I mean, sure, if you want to have a baby, I’m not opposed. Having a baby involves sex, so I’m good with that.” He tapped a key on his laptop, evidently saving whatever he’d been doing. “But if you want to have a baby just because you’re pissed at your mother, I don’t think that’s a good reason.”

“I’m not pissed at my mother,” Julia argued, although of course she was extremely pissed at Sondra. “My mother would be thrilled if we had a baby.”

“Do you want to thrill her?”

Julia sighed. No, she didn’t want to thrill her mother. She wanted to convince her mother that hiring trained, capable people to replace Adam and Uncle Jay was absolutely the most useful thing Sondra could possibly do. But she’d tried to convince Sondra of that for a week, and she’d failed. Just one more black mark next to Julia’s name, one more piece of evidence that she was incompetent.

Her cell phone rang. “That’s probably your mother right now, calling to tell you how thrilled she is,” Ron said before steering his gaze back to his laptop.

Sighing, Julia tossed aside the book she’d been trying to read—she was a failure at reading, too, because her mind wouldn’t remain on the pages in front of her, but kept wandering back to Bloom’s—and reached for her phone. Not her mother, she noted as she saw the name on the screen. She swiped and lifted the phone to her ear. “Susie?”

“I’ve got bad news for you,” Susie said.

Wonderful. She was probably calling to tell Julia she’d decided to abandon Bloom’s and work for Uncle Jay, too. Or go back to waitressing at Nico’s. Or she’d won a MacArthur Genius Grant and was going to write poetry full-time, which meant she would no longer write the Bloom’s Bulletin and design the store’s windows. That would qualify as tragic. “Should I be sitting down?” Julia asked, even though she was already sitting.

“Uncle Jay has investors.”

Julia took a moment to digest this. “Okay,” she said slowly. She hadn’t thought much about how he was financing his new venture. She’d assumed Adam hadn’t chipped in much, since he didn’t have much to chip in. She knew Grandma Ida wouldn’t have given Uncle Jay any money. Uncle Jay had received his Bloom’s salary and he’d received his share of the business’s profits, but he seemed to enjoy spending money more than saving it. She’d figured he didn’t have enough to bankroll a new business. He would have had to finance it some other way—with a loan, or with investors.

“Bottomless pits of money,” Susie elaborated. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Maybe just because I’m the nicest person in our family.”

“Who are these investors?” Julia asked. “Does Uncle Jay actually know people who are bottomless pits of money?”

“Uncle Jay doesn’t share his social life with me,” Susie said. “Rick asked Wendy and she said one of them has a British accent. Or maybe an Irish accent. She can’t tell the difference.”

That was Wendy. For years, the family referred to her as The Bimbette, because she was too cute and sweet to be a bimbo, but too buxom and vacuous to be anything but a bimbo. If they ever explained this behind-her-back nickname to her, she might actually take it as a compliment—because she was a bimbo.

“Rick told you this?”

“We went over to check out the store. Adam offered me a consulting job. Treat me better, or I might take him up on it.”

“You wouldn’t.” Julia heard the pleading and panic in her voice.

“That’s what you said when I told you I was getting a tattoo, and I got a tattoo.”

True enough. Susie didn’t listen to Julia. She never had.

“Just stop being so bossy, okay? I’m tired of you taking all your shit out on me.”

“I don’t take my shit out on you,” Julia protested.

“You take it out on me, instead,” Ron muttered next to her. She gave him a kick, not to hurt him but hard enough that he’d know it was deliberate.

“You do,” Susie said. “And I’m sorry Bloom’s is falling apart and no one is talking to anyone, but it’s not my fault. If you want to whine to someone, whine to Mom.”

“I can’t whine to her. She’s trying to steal my job.”

“Then whine to Grandma Ida.”

“She’s upset enough, as it is.”

“I’m upset enough, too.”

“All right. I’m sorry.” Julia wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for, but she was touched that Susie would share this scrap of information about Jay’s financial backers, even though she had no idea what to do with it. Susie was still her sister. They were still family. If Julia’s saying she was sorry made Susie feel better, Julia would say it. “What did Uncle Jay’s store look like?” she asked Susie.

“It looked like nothing. An empty storefront. They’ve come up with a real dandy name for the place, though: Jacob Bloom’s Delectable Food Emporium.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Stupid, right? They’re such schmucks. Okay, I’ve got to go. Casey is setting the alarm clock. I hate alarm clocks. He should just use his freaking phone.”

“Either way, it would wake you up,” Julia pointed out.

“Either way, I’m still mad at you,” Susie declared before disconnecting the call.

Julia stared at her phone for a minute, enjoying the warm bubble of gratitude that swelled inside her. She was thankful not just for the information Susie had shared, but for the recognition that Susie hadn’t abandoned her.

Yet. She still might leave, if Julia didn’t treat her better. A tricky proposition, because Julia believed she was already treating her well.

Another thought overtook that one: Jacob Bloom’s Delectable Food Emporium.

“Bloom’s,” she murmured.

“Hmm?” Ron typed something, then turned to her.

“Bloom’s. Damn it, I wish I’d paid more attention in that class on intellectual property law.”

“What?”

“Trademark infringement. Damn it!” Her mind was whirling now, churning the way it used to churn when she’d been at the law firm, digging through records and precedents in search of something, anything, that would stack the odds in favor of a client.

“What?” Ron asked again.

Energy buzzed through her. She leaped off the bed and paced around the room, trying to burn it off, trying to stay focused. “He’s planning to name his store Jacob Bloom’s Delectable Food Emporium.”

“That’s a stupid name.”

“Not only is it stupid,” she said, “but…Bloom’s. He’s trading on our store’s name, its reputation. We’re Bloom’s. He can’t call his store Bloom’s.”

“He’s calling it Jacob Bloom’s…whatever. Delicious Delicatessen.”

“Delectable Food Emporium. God, you’re right. It’s a really stupid name.”

“But his name is Jacob Bloom. You can’t keep him from using his own legal name.”

“I can if he’s using it to trade on our reputation.” She stubbed her pinkie toe on one of Ron’s sneakers—he had a bad habit of leaving them in the middle of the bedroom floor, which, she supposed, was an improvement over his former bad habit of leaving them in the middle of the living room floor. But she was too excited to get upset about his slovenliness or her pinkie toe pain. “I don’t think Bloom’s is trademarked, but there are common law trademarks. Everyone knows Bloom’s, right? They hear Bloom’s, they think of our store. It’s been in existence for more than fifty years, almost sixty years. It’s established. You hear Bloom’s, you think Bloom’s. Right?”

Ron shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe some people think of flowers.”

“Don’t be difficult.” She hopped over to the bed, sat on the edge, and rubbed the ache out of her toe. “I have to research the law.” Another burst of energy overtook her and she rose again, carrying his sneakers to the closet as she paced. “Even if common law trademark doesn’t pertain, Uncle Jay doesn’t have to know that. I can write a threatening letter full of legal jargon. One of my old buddies at Griffin, McDougal can sign her name to it and send it out under their letterhead. We can scare the shit out of Uncle Jay.”

“Do you want to scare the shit out of him?”

She grinned and flung herself back onto the bed. Suddenly, she felt enormously competent. More than competent—triumphant. Euphoric. Superior.

Of course Ron had fallen in love with her. She was Julia Bloom. A goddess.

“Put your laptop away,” she said, lifting it off his lap and replacing it with herself. “Time to celebrate.”

Ron looked bemused but pleased. What she was about to do with him involved sex, so he was good with it.