We were cruising into the restaurant parking lot in my 1957 Chevy Bel Air when my phone rang. The chorus of “Fly Me to the Moon” blared, and my heart dropped. Only one contact in my entire phonebook had that ringtone.

My hands gripped the wheel as I scanned the lot for an open space. I hastily pulled into the first one I found, stopping so fast the tires squealed.

“What the fuck?” Sabine cried as her shoulders flew forward, then smacked back into the seat. When we were fully stopped, she reached over and put the car in park, giving me a hard look.

I briefly looked her over, making sure she was okay. She seemed unhurt, but oy, was she pissed. But I couldn’t spare an apology right then. I was too busy digging through my pockets, trying desperately to find my phone.

After checking every single crevice in my godforsaken suit, I finally located it in my left pants pocket – where I always put it, by the way. But I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I fumbled with the phone for a moment, my suddenly clammy fingers scrabbling on the slippery surface. I growled in frustration, growing more and more frantic as the ten-second snippet of Sinatra looped again. Finally, I managed to pull it from my pocket, only to watch in horror as the call ended and the screen immediately went back to sleep mode.

“Shit,” I muttered as I clumsily tried to swipe the screen in the correct sequence to redial. After way too much fumbling, I managed to unlock it, at least.

I hastily wiped my palms on my pant legs and took a deep breath, trying to calm myself before I called the number back. But the air in the car felt stifling, and I couldn’t draw a full breath. From the corner of my eye, I saw Sabine lift an eyebrow as I opened the door and stepped out of the car. And yeah, I was well aware this whole episode was very much out of character for me. I almost never used my phone. As you may have guessed, I wasn’t a huge fan of technology, and the smart phone was, frankly, too smart for me. But I knew how to bring up my call logs, and I stabbed my finger at the screen until it redialed my home phone.

“What the hell is going on?” Sabine demanded, watching me as I paced the narrow space between my car and the one next to it, listening to the phone ring on the other end.

I held up a hand, silently asking her to wait, as someone finally picked up.

“Eric?”

“Faith.” I felt a rush of relief when I recognized her voice. But then I tensed again. None of the nurses who took care of my grandmother would ever call me unless it was an emergency.

Vaguely, I heard Sabine make a noise of disgust. “Who the fuck is Faith?”

I frowned as I spoke into the phone again, ignoring her for the time being. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s fine, hon,” the woman on the other end assured me, and I immediately blew out a relieved breath. Bubbe was okay. Thank God.

“It’s just, we had a bit of an incident,” Faith continued.

The word, and her careful tone of voice, raised the hair on the back of my neck. “An incident?”

“Well, she couldn’t find Ruth,” she began, speaking quickly, like she wanted to get it over with. “So I went looking for her, and found her dead in the backyard.”

I stopped pacing, putting a hand on the roof of the car to steady myself. Ruth? Dead? “Aw, man.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I think it was a scorpion.”

I swallowed down an uncomfortable knot of guilt. Scorpions were a huge problem in our neighborhood on South Mountain, where yards were huge and houses backed right on to the scrub. I was supposed to call the exterminator last week, but I’d forgotten. And now my poor little Ruth had paid the price.

“She’s really distressed,” Faith continued. “I tried to keep her from seeing the body, but she followed me outside. Then she had a meltdown. She’s calmer now, but she’s still crying. She keeps asking for Eli.”

I closed my eyes, scrubbing a hand over my mouth. Shit. If Bubbe was asking for my uncle Eli, who’d died of meningitis more than fifty years ago, then she was really upset. It would take hours to console her, and days to regain anything even close to emotional equilibrium.

If we achieved it at all, that is. Without Ruth, I feared it would be next to impossible. That cat had arguably been more precious to my grandmother than even I was. I grieved for the loss of her, but it was nothing to how Bubbe would feel. And the worst part is, she probably wouldn’t even understand it fully. She’d just feel a profound sense of sadness, without really knowing why.

I still hadn’t replied, so Faith kept going. “I figured you might be able to calm her down. She always responds best to you. And I don’t want her to hurt herself, you know?”

I blew out a frustrated breath. “Yeah, no, I get it.” Bubbe was a danger to herself when she was distraught like this. She forgot the most basic things, like not to touch the hot stove or pick up broken glass with her bare hands. She’d almost sliced the tip of her pinky off once when she woke up in the middle of the night, disoriented, and decided to cut up a pear for a snack – with the biggest chef’s knife we owned.

“Okay, I’ll be home as soon as I can,” I promised as I got back into the car.

Sabine turned, giving me another look that could curdle milk, and I frowned. I knew she was still feeling off from our tense conversation earlier, despite the hot sex we’d shared afterward. And my behavior just now – not to mention cutting our day short – would not help.

I sighed again. I would soothe her mood as best I could later. But I had to deal with this crisis first.

On the other end, Faith breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, hon. I’m sorry I interrupted your day.”

Monday was the closest thing to a day off for me, the only day when I got to spend my time however I wanted. Every other day of the week, I kept the shop open until early evening, then rushed home to spend time with Bubbe. A few times a month, I could sometimes manage to steal away while she was sleeping, leaving her with a night nurse. I’d take the time to see my friends – or until recently, go on dates. But Mondays, I closed the shop at noon and spent the whole rest of the day doing whatever I wanted. Usually I ran errands, or I just went back home, opting to spend more time with my grandmother.

But that Monday, I really wanted to spend the day with Sabine.

I sighed. “It’s okay. Do you need me to bring anything home for her?”

She hummed in thought. “Maybe some of those dates you got from the kosher market that one time? I think some hamentashen might help her mood.”

I smiled wearily. “Yeah, but who’s gonna make it?” I teased.

“You, of course.” Faith snorted. “Like she’d let anyone else do it.”

I chuckled, because that was too true. Bubbe might live in a haze of confusion most days, but she was still as exacting as ever about her pastries. And neither our part-time housekeeper, nor any of the nurses who took care of her, could ever make hamentashen close enough to her recipe to satisfy her. Mine was the only one she’d eat.

“Will do. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Thanks, hon,” she said again, then hung up.

I slipped the phone back in my pocket, taking a moment to take a few slow, deep breaths before I spoke.

“Are you okay?” I asked, turning to look at Sabine.

Her eyes were still hostile. “I’m fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Who is Faith?”

On any other day, I might have crowed over the unmistakable note of jealousy in her voice. She still worked so hard to keep me at arm’s length, and there were a lot of days when I seriously doubted whether she had any feelings for me at all. And though jealousy was an ugly emotion, it at least showed that she cared enough about me to feel possessive. If she didn’t want me to be with anyone else, then that meant she considered me hers.

But today, I was too worried for Bubbe. I didn’t have room in my already crowded thoughts to ponder our relationship status – or the frustrating lack thereof.

I sighed, feeling suddenly old, and at just twenty-eight years of age.

“Oy, vey,” I muttered, rubbing my hand over the back of my neck.

Sabine made an impatient noise, and I peeked at her out of the side of my eye. Her brows were raised expectantly, and the hazel eyes beneath still looked murderous.

I blew out a long breath. “Faith is one of four in-home hospice nurses who help me manage my grandmother’s care.” I turned to her fully, hoping she would believe me if she could look into my eyes. “She’s there Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday from breakfast until eight in the evening, when Sylvia comes to relieve her. Giovanni and Della are there the other four days of the week.”

She closed her eyes, looking first ashamed, then apologetic, and finally sad.

“Your grandmother is sick?” she asked in a small voice.

I nodded. “She has Alzheimer’s.”

A sad little whimper clogged in her throat, and she swallowed roughly. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I told her, though really it wasn’t. I had to believe that one day, there would be a cure for the disease that was slowly taking my grandmother away from me. But at eighty-six years old, it probably wouldn’t come during her lifetime. I would be forced to watch her continue to deteriorate for however long she had left, until finally she died.

It was something I tried not to think about. But it was always there, in the back of my mind. Until things like this brought it painfully to the forefront, kicking me in the gut for good measure.

“How long have you been dealing with this?” she asked.

I took my glasses off, rubbing them with my handkerchief – which of course I found on the first try, now that I was calm. “She was diagnosed almost a decade ago, but it’s gotten a lot worse in the last couple of years. She can’t be left alone anymore, and I can’t be with her all the time. Hence the nurses.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Then her face crumpled, and she shifted, sliding across the bench seat and laying her head on my shoulder. Offering me silent comfort – or maybe taking it for herself. I could feel her sobbing, though she tried her hardest to be silent. I didn’t know if she was crying for me, or Bubbe, or maybe even her own mother. It didn’t matter. I just put my arm around her, letting her do what she so rarely allowed for herself: I let her just feel.

When her shoulders finally stopped shaking, I cleared my throat. “Anyway,” I croaked. “I’m sorry to cut our day short, but I need to get back home.”

She nodded, pulling away, and my arm flopped back to my side. I frowned as I lifted it again, putting the car in reverse. But before I pulled out, I paused to look over at her. “I’ll take you back to the shop so you can get your car.”

She turned to me, quickly wiping her cheeks. “I could…” She looked away, reaching into the glove box, where she knew I kept a pack of tissues. “Um. I could come with you,” she offered, still not meeting my eye. “If you want.”

Her tone was almost aggressively casual, which is how I knew she was really struggling with this. But she’d overcome whatever doubts she had and offered.

My eyes widened. She had never expressed any interest in coming home with me. She wasn’t big on spending the night together at all, in fact. She hadn’t yet let me stay when we got together at her apartment, always kicking me out after we’d had our fill of each other. Though to be fair, she had seemed more reluctant lately to send me on my way.

But she still did it anyway, time after time. And I put up with it. I put up with being treated little better than a booty call, because I was irrevocably, stupidly in love with her. I knew now, without a doubt, that she was it for me. I ached for her when we were apart, and I couldn’t imagine living the rest of my life without her.

So I hung on, day in and day out, hoping that I could melt the ice she’d put up around her heart to keep me out. But she was more stubborn than I’d anticipated. It wasn’t that I couldn’t convince her that her heart was safe with me. She wouldn’t even let me try.

But this, what she’d done today, what she was doing now – this was a good sign. She’d planned a whole day with me, and not just for sex. Lunch and a movie? That sounded positively date-like. And even now, when our plans had to be cancelled, she’d offered to come home with me. She wanted to meet Bubbe and help me deal with the mess that was my home life. She’d offered me comfort and support when I needed it.

I couldn’t really put into words how that made feel. So I kissed her instead, sliding over to her and cupping her cheeks, pouring out all my emotions into this meeting of our lips and tongues. I kissed her until she was clawing at my shoulders and gasping for air.

When she’d caught her breath, the corners of her mouth tilted up in a lazy smile. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I nodded. “I want to spend the day with you, even if we don’t get to do all the things you had planned.”

She shook her head, pushing me back onto the driver’s side with a playful wink. “It’s okay. I mean, I was really looking forward to lunch.” She looked up at the brick building that housed Pizzeria Bianco. “I’ve had this crazy-strong craving for the Rosa for days. But it can wait.”

I hummed appreciatively as I finally pulled out of the parking space. “That is a classic,” I agreed.

“Right?” she cried. “Pistachios on pizza. Who’d have thought it would be the best thing ever?”

I smiled. “Leave it to Arizona to give you the bizarre foods you never knew you wanted, right?”

She laughed. “You’re going to have to give me something amazing to make up for the loss of my pizza, though.”

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. Her face was turned to the window, watching the downtown scenery pass us by as we headed south toward the Cactus kosher market. Her smile was happy as she took in a colorful mural outside of a tattoo parlor, though her eyes still seemed sad.

“I can definitely feed you something amazing,” I promised her. I’d give her all the amazing things, if she let me. I’d let her have anything that was within my power to give.

She hummed happily. “Good. Because I am starving.”

“You’ll love it,” I promised. “But there’s a catch.

She turned inquisitive eyes to me. “A catch?”

“Uh huh.” I nodded, giving her a sly smile. “You’ll have to help me make it.”