The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2) - Rosie Danan Page 0,93
and fulfilled . . . he wasn’t sure he even could.
“Hey, can we stay at your place tonight?” Naomi pulled out the flask she kept her water in and took a swig. “I wanna finish reading your copy of The Puttermesser Papers.”
“I’m actually staying here overnight, but I can get it for you tomorrow.” He finally popped some food in his mouth, the aroma getting to him. The flavors burst on his tongue, salty and rich—perfect.
“You’re sleeping here?” Naomi frowned and lowered her fork.
“Yeah,” he said once he’d finished chewing. “Sorry, I should have told you sooner.”
He was so bad at texting. Had stopped taking his phone out of his bag back when the bubbes had turned it into a dating hotline.
Come to think of it, the solicitations for dinner and drinks had actually slowed to a crawl. Word about him dating Naomi must have spread since their last seminar. “Sometimes the homeless shelters get full when the weather’s bad. We turn the rec room into a place for people to sleep overnight,” he explained. “It was the congregants’ idea, actually. They do all the work. Organize the volunteers who take shifts making sure everyone’s safe and as comfortable as possible. I don’t have to be here, and I can’t always make it”—he ran his thumb across his eyebrow, hoping she didn’t think he was posturing at nobility or something like that—“but I try to, just in case they need anything.”
“You’ve got yourself some good congregants.” Naomi folded her legs into a crisscross position on her chair. “I forget sometimes,” she said, “how many people you have to think about besides yourself.”
More guilt. Thick and sour in his stomach. “You have a lot of other people to think about as well.”
She made a little dismissive noise. “I have employees. It’s not the same. I help people because they serve my company and my interests. You just help people, full stop. Because you like them. Or no.” She pointed her fork at him. “You don’t even have to like them, do you? You just help them because you can.”
Sure, he helped strangers and his community, but what about the people closest to him? Who took care of them when he couldn’t? He hadn’t called his mom this week. Hadn’t asked Leah when she’d leave to start filming for the upcoming season. They never complained, and maybe Naomi never would either, but . . .
His dad would never have let his loved ones come second, not if he could help it.
“Naomi.” He wasn’t entirely sure he could get the words out. “Do you wish . . . do you wish I did something else? Had another job, I mean?” Ethan didn’t see himself ever giving up his calling, but he still had to know.
She put down the container of rice she’d been hunting through. “That’s like asking me, do I wish you were a different person.”
He recognized the truth. Being a rabbi wasn’t an expendable part of his identity. Emotion sat thick in his throat, crawling up his vocal cords no matter how many times he tried to swallow it down. He’d made his choice after his dad had died, and he didn’t regret embracing Judaism, choosing a life of service. But running to something good was still running away.
“Do you?” He’d thought about asking his family the same question a million times. Knew they’d never answer honestly. But Naomi wouldn’t lie to him.
And she didn’t.
She got up out of her chair and crouched down next to his, reaching for his hand and placing his palm flat against her chest, above her breast, where he could feel her heart, steady and sure. It was the oddest, singularly most comforting thing anyone had ever done for him.
“No, Ethan,” she said, slow and clear. “I don’t wish you were different. No more. No less.”
With her steady heartbeat under his fingertips, her eyes devoid of pity but colored with compassion, Ethan knew what he’d been looking for in all those books. He placed his hand on the nape of her neck and brought her mouth to his, said thank you in his kiss.
The milestones in the Modern Intimacy curriculum were supposed to be spread out over weeks, or even months. But they kept diving into them headfirst, one after the other. A crash course instead of a seminar.
What if it was all too fast? If in their haste to get to their destination, they were burning all the rubber off their tires?