Mother Shucker (Sibby Series Book 3) by Samantha Garman

Author:Samantha Garman [Garman, Samantha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tabula Rasa Publishing
Published: 2019-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Macaroons: [mac-ah-roons]

1. A small cookie, typically made from ground almonds and coconut.

2. These are eaten at Passover, and they always seem to come out of their tin container in one giant, sticky lump. They are gooey and gross.

I opened the bathroom door in the deli to find my husband leaning against the opposite wall. He was trying not to look amused, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

“You think my vomiting is funny?” I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest and simultaneously wincing at the soreness of my ginormous breasts. Yeah, pregnancy was a hoot. I was already wearing a nursing bra because my boobs had a propensity to leak.

Way to go, biology.

I was never doing this again. These kids were gonna come out of me. They’d be cute and I’d love them, but that was it. If Aidan wanted another, he could have it himself.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. Berating my husband in the 2nd Avenue Deli. The scent of fresh rye bread and gribenes teased my nostrils, and immediately my mouth filled with saliva. The urge to puke again came over me.

I forced it down.

The twins were not taking my love of rye bread from me. They could have my big feet and the hair in odd places if they wanted, but if they took my love of deli food, I’d never forgive them—and I’d make sure to tell them that when they were old enough.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think so.” I pressed a fist to my closed mouth.

Mind over matter. My ancestors were Maccabees. I would not succumb!

“What set you off?” he asked as we headed back into the main dining room toward our large table in the back.

“Watching my father eat his pastrami sandwich. It was that last bite, where the chicken liver oozed out from between the bread, glopping onto the plate.”

“Stop, you’re going to make me lose my appetite.”

“I don’t know if I can keep anything down except for matzo ball soup. If your children revolt at the thought, then there’s no safe place for them.”

“You do realize that you’re talking about fetuses who can’t yet know the meaning of Jewish guilt, right?”

“It’s never too early to learn.”

We arrived back at the table. Mrs. Nowacki had joined the family and was currently eating her blueberry blintzes and talking to Bubbe. Those two had become fast friends and I hated the idea that they would be separated when Bubbe went home with my aunt later that evening.

Mom looked up from her sandwich—how that woman managed to keep it from falling apart I’d never know. I always mangled my food. It was an art form, really. Aidan didn’t share food with me because of it.

“You okay?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t think I can sit across from Dad. The smell of the Russian dressing and chicken liver—”

“Switch places with me,” Aunt Becca said.

We did a round of musical chairs. I sat across from Bubbe and breathed in the scent of her brisket.

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