“It’s more fun to talk with someone who doesn’t use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like “What about lunch?” – Winnie the Pooh

“What about lunch?” Jacob asked in a very low voice, looking straight ahead as we sat on the stone stoop in front of my cousin Maria’s apartment building trying to stay cool on a sizzling summer Saturday. Kids playing in the street were having water pistol fights dodging waves of heat with streams of water.

I wasn’t sure he wanted me to hear what he said. Maybe he was talking to his gurgling stomach.

“Huh? Did you just ask me to lunch or were you talking to someone else?”

“Aah, you, Valentina.” Jacob shifted a little closer. I got a heady waft of Old Spice Lime but I scooted away the same distance.

“You know I can’t be seen with you in public,” I tucked the skirt of my yellow sundress under my thigh just in case he might move closer again. One spaghetti strap slid off my shoulder and I quickly shoved it back up.

Jacob is my brother’s friend. He played basketball at Roosevelt High in Borough Park and my brother, of course, was the star forward on his basketball team at St. Francis in Crown Heights. Their teams competed throughout high school. Then, after graduation a couple of years ago, they became fast friends. Now they play together on an evening basketball team at the Brooklyn Youth Center in Bedford-Stuy. That’s how I met Jacob. We’ve been seeing each other on the sly for about six months.

“What’s not public about this? We’re not exactly hiding. Maria knows we’re here.” His voice got a little louder and his dark cocoa eyes looked directly into mine.

“Jacob! Have you lost your senses? My pop would have me go to confession every morning if he knew I had anything to do with you. You’re a a a – oh, I don’t remember the word he said. He thinks all you want is to get into my pants.”

“And I do. I love you, Val. I want you to be my girl, maybe even my wife,” he paused. “After you graduate.”

“Italians can’t love Jews.”

“Where’s that written?”

“It doesn’t have to be written. It’s just the way it is.”

“What about your brother? He’s married to Rachel, she’s Jewish.”

“Yeah, but she got pregnant and they had to get married. Besides, she was a Jew and now she’s a Delconti and she converted so, she’s Italian”.

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“If you love me, will you convert?” I was more than a little curious about his answer.

“Well, that’s something we’ll have to talk about. Maybe you might want to be Jewish… if you…”

“I don’t like the food.”

“Back to lunch. We could leave the neighborhood and walk to Koenig’s deli on Bedford Ave. They have the best knishes.”

“I just told you.  I don’t like Jewish food.”

“It’s not really about food. It’s about love. I know you love me.” He put his arm around my waist and drew me closer. I pretended to struggle but I knew he was going to kiss me and I didn’t really want to miss it so I gave in – a little.

Just as his warm lips touched mine soft as a feather, Maria shouted down from the third-floor window, “Hey Juliette, you and Romeo better hustle. My dad’s on his way home and you know he feels the same about Jacob as your pop does.”

I grabbed Jacob’s hand, scrambled down the steps and across the street dodging sprays of water. We started through an alley toward the next block, when Jacob suddenly stopped, pushed me against the brownstone building, his body smashed against mine, his hands against the wall on either side of my head, and kissed me full force like it was something he needed to keep breathing. My knees went wobbly.

“Ok,” I said in a husky voice as soon as I could catch my breath. “I’ll try the knishes”.