"Susie?"

She abandoned the bathroom for the bedroom. "That bathroom is gross. The walls are green. They made my complexion look like barf."

As Julia stared at her, she fleetingly resembled their father-the dark, probing eyes, the narrow nose, the skeptical curve of her mouth. Ben Bloom had always appeared skeptical, as if he didn't really believe Susie had gotten an A on her math test-he'd been right, she'd lied about the grade-or he doubted that Julia had memorized Shelley's Ozymandias for her English class-misplaced doubt in that instance, because Julia had always done what she was supposed to do. She'd been the perfect daughter. Susie had been the lousy-math-student-and-who-gives-a-shit daughter. Adam, who took after their mother except that he had the nose he was born with instead of a surgically sculpted one like hers, was the son, in a class by himself.

"You don't look like barf," Julia observed, "but you are a little pale. Are you okay?"

"Other than starving to death, yeah." To avoid Julia's questioning gaze, Susie wandered around the room, tugging on a drawer handle, pulling back the window drape to check the view-a parking lot and beyond it a small strip mall with a Boston Market, a Pizza Hut and a Chinese restaurant called Wok's Up, Doc? Food. Susie sighed deeply. A veritable banquet awaited her just across the parking lot. So near and yet so far.

She felt Julia's gaze on her for a moment longer. Then her sister turned back to the closet to hang up the dress she'd been holding. Susie had stuffed a few things into her suitcase, and they were probably so wrinkled that hanging them up now wouldn't make any difference. "We've got two beds," she remarked, waving at the pair of double beds, with their bolted-to-the-wall headboards and their cardboard-stiff green bedspreads. "I could sleep in one and you and Joffe could share the other. Or he could sleep in one and you and I could share."

"Grandma Ida would stroke out," Julia said with a sigh.

"There are worse things in the world," Susie muttered, then shook her head, fending off a pang of guilt. "That's a terrible thing to say."

"You just spent four hours in a van with her," Julia said, her tone brimming with forgiveness. "You're allowed to say terrible things."

Susie flopped down on one of the beds. The bedspread felt as rigid as it looked. "She spent the entire drive lecturing me on how she and Grandpa Isaac built Bloom's from a sidewalk pushcart into the biggest deli in the world. Her words," she added before Julia could correct her. "And her other topic was, 'Susie, what are you doing with your life?"'

Julia pulled a blouse from her suitcase and hung it next to her dress. How many outfits had she brought? This was a one-night trip, not a cruise on the QE II. "Did you tell her what you're doing with your life?" she asked Susie, sounding just a bit too interested.

"I told her I was living it, more or less. I didn't go into details." Susie watched her sister, hoping she wasn't going to interrogate her the way Grandma Ida had. Not long after Julia had become president of Bloom's, she'd informed Susie that Grandma Ida had told her she thought Julia was a lot like her. Julia had laughed when she'd shared this tidbit with Susie, as if the idea was preposterous. Susie hadn't even smiled. She could see in Julia more Grandma Ida than Ben Bloom: the stubbornness, the focus, the determination. The vaguely judgmental curiosity that made her want to hear Susie's answers to Grandma Ida's nosy questions. Julia was taller than Grandma Ida, and her hair was black thanks to nature, not the ministrations of Bella, the colorist from hell. But yeah, Susie could picture Julia fifty-odd years from now, dressing in cardigan sweaters and frumpy skirts and comfortable shoes, her wrists circled with gold bangles and her mouth pinched as she scolded a wayward granddaughter for having crayoned a picture of purple bananas and orange grapes.

One of Susie's earliest memories of Grandma Ida was of her criticizing Susie's drawing of a tree with blue leaves. To this day, she saw nothing wrong with that childhood picture, and everything wrong with her grandmother for having disparaged it.

"So, what's really bothering you?" Julia asked abruptly.

Susie propped herself on her elbows. "Huh?"

"Something is. I can tell." Julia zipped her suitcase shut and placed it on the chrome rack next to the TV armoire.

"My stomach," Susie said. "I want lunch."

"Besides that." Julia sat on the other bed, crossed her legs yoga-style and rested her chin in her hands. "I know you, Susie. I know when something's troubling you."

"My sister is troubling me," Susie retorted. "And my grandmother. Let's get some food. Joffe must be bored waiting for us in the lobby."

"Joffe is probably in the motel restaurant, stuffing his face," Julia said. "And you're going nowhere until you tell me what's wrong."

"Who died and made you president?"

"Dad died and Grandma Ida made me president. Come on, Susie. I'm your sister. And I'm so sick of obsessing over my damn wedding. I'd much rather obsess over you for a change."

Susie sighed. Julia might have certain Grandma Ida tendencies, but she was the only person in the world Susie wholeheartedly trusted. She wasn't prepared to discuss her Casey situation with anyone yet-but if she had to discuss it, Julia was the one to discuss it with. "Casey asked me to move in with him," she said.

Julia's eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding!"

"Why should I be kidding?" Susie asked indignantly. "We've been seeing each other for a year."

"No-I mean, he just strikes me as kind of..." Julia seemed to grope for the right words. "I don't know. I would have expected him to ask you to marry him, not move in with him."

Susie made a face. "You think I'd spend a year with the kind of guy who'd ask me to marry him?"

"No, I guess not." Julia toyed with the lace of her canvas sneaker, but her gaze remained on Susie. "What did you tell him?"

"I said no."

"Susie!" It was Julia's turn to make a face. "You're living with two roommates in that teeny-tiny disgusting walk-up in the East Village where the stairway always smells of fried onions, and he's got a great big apartment!"

"In Queens," Susie reminded her. "In Forest Hills." Light-years removed from civilization.

Julia nodded. "Exactly. He lives in Forest Hills. A nice middle-class neighborhood. That's why he's the kind of guy who'd ask you to marry him."

"He lives there because you can get more square footage for the dollar. Plus, he grew up in Queens and he has friends there, for some reason."

"And family," Julia pointed out.

"I don't think that was a deciding factor."

"I think it is."

"Yeah, like you know Casey better than I do."

Julia smiled. "I know he's got long hair and a stoner smile. He's still a family man. He refused to have sex with you until he'd spent a lot of time with you, remember? He's a traditional sort of guy, Susie."

"More traditional than me," Susie agreed dolefully. She couldn't argue with Julia. Casey did have long hair, and his smile did have a vaguely druggy appearance, although in the year they'd been together the strongest drug she'd ever seen him take was Tylenol Plus. And he loved Susie's tattoo, and he hadn't been inside a church since his great-uncle Mike keeled over while watching WWE-Raw last October, and even at the funeral Casey hadn't taken communion. But other than his hair and his agnosticism and his professed adoration for Susie, he harbored some pretty old-fashioned values. When they'd met, she would have happily jumped his bones within minutes of catching his eye. She'd walked into Bloom's, made her way to the bagel counter and spotted him standing behind it, all six foot two inches of him, with his dirty-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail and his hazel bedroom eyes glittering as he'd handed her an egg bagel, and the saliva filling her mouth had been for him not the bagel. He'd been the one to insist that they spend some time learning about each other before they got naked.

She'd been intrigued. She'd never before met a man who actually cared more about getting to know a woman's mind than getting her to spread her legs, but she'd admired his attitude. It had challenged and amused her, and their conversations had been great, and the sex, once they'd finally gotten around to it, had been even greater and...

Damn. She wasn't ready to settle down yet. Not even with Casey.

"So...by turning him down, does that mean you've broken up with him?" Julia asked.

"I'm not sure," Susie admitted. "He raised the subject last night. This morning I rented a van and drove to Ithaca. It's not like we worked everything out."

"In other words, you have no idea what you're going back to."

"A pissed-off boyfriend, I'm guessing." Susie sighed. She didn't want him to be pissed off. She wanted to return to New York City tomorrow evening, unload Adam's junk from the van and then spend the night screwing Casey senseless. Somehow, she didn't think that was the way things would proceed.

"I'll be honest with you, Susie," Julia said. "I like Casey. He's done a fantastic job of running the Bloom's bagel department with Morty-"

Susie snorted. "Yeah, that's always a big item on my list. I sure don't want to get involved with any guy who can't do a fantastic job of running the Bloom's bagel department."

"And he's crazy about you."

If he were really crazy about her, he wouldn't have put her on the spot with this stupid invitation. "I don't want to break up with him," she moaned. "But, I mean, cohabitation! It's so serious! You're marrying Joffe, and you're still not living with him."

"Technically," Julia muttered. "And only because my apartment has another eight months on the lease."

"And because you don't want Grandma Ida to stroke out."

"That, too. But you're right, Susie. Moving in together is a big thing."

"I love Casey. I really do. If he breaks up with me, I swear I'll hate him." She felt a tear tremble on her eyelashes and wiped it away, hoping Julia wouldn't notice it.

No such luck. Julia climbed off her bed and onto Susie's, butted hips with her and arched a sisterly arm around her shoulders. "I wish I could make it better," she murmured. "If he breaks your heart, do you want me to fire him?"

"If you fire him, your bagel department will go to hell. And Bloom's earnings support us all," Susie pointed out.

"All right. I won't fire him. I'll just give him lousy hours or something."

Susie managed a limp smile, even though that first tear turned out to be the drum major leading a whole parade of tears. One of the problems with warm weather was that she didn't have long sleeves to wipe her eyes with.

After giving her shoulders a squeeze, Julia climbed off the bed and crossed to the bathroom. She returned carrying a tissue. "You're right," she said as she handed the tissue to Susie. "That bathroom is ugly."

The phone on the table between the beds rang so shrilly they both flinched. While Susie mopped her damp eyes, Julia lifted the receiver. She said, "Hello," listened for a minute, then said, "Okay," and hung up. "Mom and Grandma Ida are unpacked and they want to head over to the campus," she reported.

"Fine." Susie sniffled and rose from the bed. "Let me just wash my face. We'd better get something to eat, too, or I'll faint," she warned as she wandered into the bathroom. She splashed some water onto her cheeks, then patted them with a towel and inspected herself in the mirror. Her hair had settled down somewhat, her eyeliner had survived her little bout of weeping unsmudged, but she still looked like barf. If Casey saw her now, he sure as hell wouldn't want her moving in with him.

Or maybe he would, because that was the kind of guy he was.

Why did he have to be so damn perfect? Susie wasn't ready for perfect yet.

"That's your best shot," Mose taunted, "and you ain't hit it yet."

Casey grunted. What could he say? Mose was right.

They were playing one-on-one on the asphalt outside the Edward Mandel School in Forest Hills, Queens. At four-thirty, the elementary-school kids were long gone and the people who worked regular hours weren't home yet, so they had the court to themselves.

Because Casey arrived at Bloom's around 6:00 a.m. most mornings to fire up the bagel and bread ovens, no one minded when he left at three or three-thirty. Unless, of course, there was a sudden frenzy of customers desperate for bagels. This happened quite often, for reasons he couldn't fathom. The department would be gliding along for hours, never more than one or two people waiting behind those being served, and then abruptly it would be inundated by scores of crazed customers all screaming at once: "Garlic bagels! I must have garlic bagels!" and "I claim that last poppy seed!" and "I'll take one pesto and one dill pickle and one cranberry and two blueberry-no, two cranberry and one blueberry-and three dill pickle, and skip the pesto, and slice them all, wouldja?" and "Back off, chazzer, I was here first!" When things got crazy, he ignored the clock and stayed behind the bagel counter, counting, slicing and keeping the chazzers from trampling one another.

Casey had been working at Bloom's long enough to know that chazzer meant pig. He'd picked up a few Yiddish words from Morty Sugarman, his partner in the bagel department, and a few other words from Susie. She didn't lapse into Yiddish the way some of her relatives did. She was too many generations removed from steerage, he figured.

Susie. What the hell was he going to do?

One thing he wasn't going to do, apparently, was make his best shot-a three-pointer from just to the left of the key. Usually the ball swooshed right through, all net, but today he'd bounced it off the rim twice and off the backboard once. Bad enough to keep missing like that. Worse to keep missing in front of a witness.

Especially when that witness was Mose, who knew Casey's moves on the court better than Casey himself did. They'd met as undergrads at St. John's, when they'd both had the ludicrous idea of joining the university's basketball team as walk-ons. They'd spent an afternoon strutting their stuff for an assistant coach, who had bluntly directed them to the intramural program. "No tryouts necessary," he'd barked. "I think you'll make a team."

"He thinks?" Mose had whispered to Casey as they toweled off their sweat and headed for the gym door.

Eight years later they were still playing, just because they loved the game. Every Tuesday evening during the months of daylight saving time, they played with a group of friends. And Friday afternoons, if Mose could leave work early, they tried to catch a couple of hours, just the two of them, playing one-on-one or Pony. Basketball was one of those things, like ice-cold ale, or a warm, chewy "everything" bagel with a thick schmear-another Yiddish word Casey had picked up from working at Bloom's-or Jackie Chan movies or good sex, that a person could love without being able to pinpoint specifically what made it so lovable.

Susie had once suggested that basketball was like ballet, and he'd nearly choked on the ice-cold ale he'd been enjoying. Basketball was like ballet the way a shell sirloin was like soy curd. Casey knew a thing or two about food; if pressed, he could incorporate soy curd into a recipe. And if his life depended on it, he could probably sit through a ballet. A short one.

"The jumping," Susie had tried to explain. "The way you move your arms. The grace. It's very balletic."

If that was what she thought, maybe their breaking up wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Mose slipped past him for a layup, not terribly difficult since Casey's feet were planted on the asphalt and his mind was lost in Susie-land. Not until Mose threw the ball at him, hard, did he drag his attention back to the court. "Wake up, Woody," Mose snapped.

"Shut up, Wesley," Casey retorted. The nicknames came from the stars of White Men Can't Jump, since Casey was white like Woody Harrelson and Mose was black like Wesley Snipes. That movie was right up there with ice-cold ale and the best of Jackie Chan, as far as Casey was concerned. Maybe it was even right up there with sex.

"Where's your focus, man? Where's your concentration?"

"It's focusing and concentrating on something other than b-ball," Casey admitted, dribbling to his favorite spot, just to the left of the key, and lofting the ball toward the basket. It circled the rim, then rolled off.

"You suck," Mose said amiably.

"No shit." He crossed to the bench beside the court and dug in his pack for his water bottle.

Mose joined him. A sheen of perspiration coated his skin and he pulled from his bag a bottle of turquoise Gatorade. Hideous color, Casey thought, but Mose undoubtedly needed the electrolytes and minerals. He'd actually been playing hard enough to work up a sweat.

They gulped their beverages, lowered their bottles and snapped the lids shut. Then Mose stared at him. "So, what's up?"

"I'm thinking of starting my own catering business."

Mose threw back his head and laughed. When Casey didn't join him, he stopped laughing and stared harder at him. "What are you, crazy?"

"No. I've always wanted to have my own business, and now might be the time." He paused, then added, "I need your help."

"My help? No way."

"You're a business consultant. You've got an MBA. You get paid to give advice to people like me."

"You gonna pay me?"

At that, Casey cracked a smile. "What do you think?"

Mose took another sip of Gatorade, then shook his head. "Okay, Woody, I'll give you some advice and I won't charge you a nickel for it. Don't start your own catering business."

"Why not? I moonlight for that catering outfit on Queens Boulevard-"

"The one run by that gorilla guy?"

"Vinnie Carasculo. He's not a gorilla."

"He's got hairy arms. I wouldn't wanna eat his catered food."

"Okay, so I should open my own catering business. Then you could eat my catered food."

Mose searched Casey's face, amusement and disbelief warring in his expression. He had to look up slightly; even sitting, Casey had two inches on Mose. When they played basketball, the height differential never bothered Mose because, as he loved to point out, white men couldn't jump. But when they sat, Casey's height seemed to vex him. "You've got a sweet deal going at Bloom's," he reminded Casey. "They love you there. You're in tight with the boss's daughter-"

"The boss's sister," Casey corrected him.

"Whatever. You got a good deal there, Casey. They pay you well, you can leave at three in the afternoon and you get to invent weird bagels."

"What's weird about them?"