"It's not a separate matter," I insist.

"But it is. Business is business. Personal is personal."

"Nay. Cafe Louis is my family's business."

Aaron looks serious. "To make good business decisions, I think it's best to take ego and emotion out of the equation. Not that I'm coldhearted about business. But I do separate it from the rest of my life. Work is here, play is there."

"That sounds like a nice way to live," I say. "I've never done that."

"Because you work in restaurants?" Aaron nods, answering his own question. "You work where most people go to relax."

"I guess."

"Well," Aaron says, "we'll find a new playground."

Sisters-in-Law, Part Two All hail exhaustion. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. Too soon, I am awakened by a gentle nudge. "Mimi?"

Opening my eyes, I see Allison sitting on my bed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing. I didn't meant to startle you. I'm supposed to have breakfast with Mom. Do you know where she is?"

"She spent the night at Sid's again," I tell her. Mom's been doing that more and more.

"Oh. Wow. Wait until Jeremy hears this. Maybe I won't tell him. He's inst.i.tuted a don't askdon't tell policy about Mom's dating."

"Can I get in on that?" Under the thin sheet, I stretch my arms and legs.

"Come on, Mimi. One of you has to be mature about Mom dating."

"Why? Hang on. Do I smell bagels?"

"They're still warm." Allison smiles. "Shall we breakfast?"

I sit at the kitchen table wearing a tank top and jammie bottoms. Allison stands in the middle of Mom's kitchen holding a brown bag and a folded section of the Philadelphia Inquirer Philadelphia Inquirer. She holds the newspaper out to me and I see it's the Food section. She says, "I thought you should see that."

What I see is a big picture of Nick above a review of Il Ristorante. The Inquirer Inquirer restaurant reviewer has given Il Ristorante a top-notch, three-star rating. I toss the paper aside. "I don't care." restaurant reviewer has given Il Ristorante a top-notch, three-star rating. I toss the paper aside. "I don't care."

"Good," Allison says. "Me, either."

I change the subject from Nick's success to my own. "Cafe Louis is doing really well. We're up twenty percent for the month."

"Good." Allison holds up the brown bag. "Cinnamon raisin, pumpernickel, or poppy?"

"Do you have plain?"

"No." Allison frowns. "I got the kinds we like. Mom, me and Jeremy, and the kids. I was going to take the leftover bagels home. No one in my house likes plain."

"No big deal. I'll take the unseeded half of the poppy and the unonioned half of the onion."

Allison wrinkles her brow. "But that leaves two halves that don't match."

"So?"

"Fine. Sure. Whatever you want." Allison holds the bagel bag out to me.

"No, you're right. I should have a whole one." Reaching into the bag, I find a pumpernickel bagel.

"I'm sorry," Allison says. "You like plain bagels. Now I know to get them."

I smile at her. She's such a sweetie pie. "Have we cream cheese?" I ask.

"Of course!" Allison reaches for a plastic bag. "What kind of Jewish girl would I be if I got bagels without cream cheese?"

"I've heard stories about people who eat bagels with b.u.t.ter."

"No. I can't believe that." Allison holds up three tubs. "Would you like plain, strawberry, or chives?"

"Plain, please. I'll put fresh chives on top."

"Oh, right. It's probably better that way. You're the food person."

Allison sits. I stand. "Fresh is best. But you know that, Ally. I bought really ripe strawberries yesterday. Why don't I slice them for you to put on your bagel?"

"No, no, the strawberry cream cheese is for the kids. I bought it out of habit."

"You're a good mom."

"I don't know about that," she says. "Speaking of moms, how is ours? I haven't seen much of her since she started dating Sid. I miss her."

There's sadness in her voice, but when I look at Allison, she's smiling. I put a bowl of freshly cut chives on the table. "Did you tell Mom? That you'd like to spend more time with her?"

"No." Allison shakes her head vigorously. "She's enjoying herself. I don't want to get in the way of that."

While I make coffee, I make a mental note to suggest to Mom that she schedule Allison time. But how can I do that without sounding judgmental? Also, I haven't been so good at scheduling Allison time for myself.

"Mimi, how much do you think we'd get if we sold the restaurant?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Just curious." Allison avoids looking at me by sprinkling chives on her bagel. She changes the subject. "Met any interesting men?"

"Two of them, actually." I tell Allison about Joe and Aaron.

"Joe sounds hot," she says.

"Yeah, but Aaron's probably the better choice."

"Why?"

Pouring coffee into two mugs, I say, "Aaron's a nice Jewish boy. Marriage material."

"You don't have to decide right away, do you?"

"I have to get on the marriage track." I tell Allison my mathematics equation. "How else am I going to catch up to you?"

"Me?" Allison laughs. "You don't want to catch up to me."

"But you have it all, Ally."

"Do I?"

"Yes."

Allison takes a bite of her bagel. "You're coming over tomorrow? For the barbecue? It's Father's Day."

"Is it?"

Family Business, Part Three "Do you make special deliveries to all of your customers?" Farmer Joe has once again brought boxes of produce to the restaurant. It's the middle of Sat.u.r.day, a slow, hot day, and we are standing in the shade of the awning that covers the restaurant's back door.

"Your deliveries are always special," Joe says. He looks at the opened boxes, which I have inspected to make sure they match my order. "Everything here?"

I nod. "We don't need much. Tomorrow will be slow because it's Father's Day."

"Yeah." Joe leans against his truck. "Not my favorite day. Not yours, either, huh?"

"No."

"It's not even a good restaurant day," Joe says. "Mother's Day. Now that's a big business day for restaurants, and thusly for me. But Father's Day? Most people stay home and barbecue. Not good for us restaurant folk."

"No," I agree.

Joe pushes his baseball hat back on his head. "You all right, Mimi?"

"Yeah." I lean backward, against the whitewashed wall of the restaurant. "Well, no. This is the first Father's Day that I've been home. Kinda sucks."

"Where have you been?" Joe asks.

"Oh, lots of places. Most of my restaurant clients were in Europe. Paris, Rome, London, Budapest, Berlin."

Joe asks, "Do you miss traveling?"

I think for a moment. "Yeah, I do. I'm glad to be home, but I miss traveling."

"Me, too."

"You've done a lot of traveling?"

"Yep."

"Why, Farmer Joe, where have you been?"

"Let's see. All of America, Western Europe, some of Eastern Europe, bit of Canada, Mexico, a lot of South America, none of Asia, a little of Australia, Israel, Egypt, and the Rock of Gibraltar." Joe smiles.

"It must have taken you years to do all that traveling."

"Six years," Joe says. "After college, I had a job with an agricultural research firm. I went to different farms in different countries to see how American farms could adjust their methods to better compete in the international market. I did that for four years, made a lot of money, got the traveling bug, and kept going."

"You came back to take over the farm when your father died?"

"No," Joe says. "I came back long before that."

"You came back because the farm was in trouble?"

"I came back because I wanted to." Joe looks over at me.

"I guess you can't imagine someone actually wanting to be a farmer."

"It's a hard life, isn't it?"

"I love it," Joe says. "It's in my blood. My family has owned the farm for generations. My forefathers were original settlers of the area. Quakers. Welsh and British."

"My forefathers were Russian peasants."

Joe smiles. "I guess it depends which boat you got on."

"So, you worked the farm with your dad? That must have been nice."

"Not at first. Dad kept trying to get rid of me. He wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer. I had to convince Dad that I wanted to be a farmer for myself, not for him." Joe looks over at me. "I guess you made the same choice."

"I don't know. I guess." I look at the ground.

"Hey," Joe says. I look up to see him standing in front of me. Without asking or saying anything, Joe puts his arms around my waist. He pulls me into a hug, squeezing gently. His hands go on my lower back, applying slight pressure.

Oh, does that feel good.

It feels supportive. And s.e.xy. I close my eyes and feel his body, and I also feel safe.

And then it's over. Joe releases me and steps back, away from me. He smiles. "Looked like you needed a hug."

"I did. Thank you."

"My pleasure." Joe walks to the driver side of his truck. "I'll talk to you next week."

I nod and smile, and when Joe pulls his truck away from the restaurant, I wave.

Kings "Hey there, Papa Bear," I greet my brother when I find him in his backyard standing watch over the barbecue grill. "Happy Father's Day."