FRIDAY
13 JUNE, 1997
ISAIAH

               I find indescribable comfort in watching Dorian cook in my kitchen like it's his. At the slice of his first onion, he forgets all his anxieties about imposing on my space or messing up some carefully cultivated order — which doesn't exist because my organizational scheme is putting things wherever I happen to put them — and makes himself at home. Because that's what it is now: our home.

I try to ignore my guilt over the fact that I have no idea how to cook a Sabbath dinner as I sit on the workbench perpendicular to where he works.

'Are you sure you don't want any help?'

'Yes.' The edge to his voice is hardly indefensible considering this is, at least, the fourth time I've asked.

I tug at the earrings on my left lobe. 'A hundred per cent sure?'

'Yes.'

Still, I ask again. 'Are you really sure?'

'Shay–' Dorian lays the knife down, shutting his eyes for a breath. 'When it comes to cooking, I have a very particular way of doing things, and I appreciate the thought, but I don't want you to touch anything.'

My shoulders slump. 'I feel useless.'

The confession is more vulnerable than I expected and I look away exactly when he looks up. I've never observed Sabbath properly — I never had the privilege to stop everything for twenty-five hours nor would my mother have allowed it. And since Dorian always observed it with his family, he never taught me how either. The only time we got close to spending Sabbath together was the night he left.

'I don't know how any of this works. I've never done this before. I don't know any of the rituals. And–' I cut myself off.

The tap runs as Dorian washes his hands. They're cool when they fall to my knees to push my legs apart so he can stand in front of me. I don't look at him even when the intimacy makes my heart skip.

'It's okay.' His voice feathers my cheek. 'I'll show you.'

He kisses my forehead. 'First, we light the candles,' he says. 'It's supposed to be done by the woman but I suppose we take turns. Then it's kiddush over wine, though I bought grape juice because I don't like wine and you can't drink. Usually, we stand on Fridays and on Saturday, we sit, but if you're in pain, of course, you can sit tonight too. Then we wash our hands, recite the kiddush for that, and then challa. We're not supposed to speak between those. And then we just eat. Fish first, then soup, then meat. And I made chameen for tomorrow.' 

He continues to thumb my cheeks the whole time he speaks. 'It's okay. I'll show you everything.'

I lean into his hands though the dread only grows. 'I feel like you're gonna hate me.'

'Why would I hate you?'

'We never lived together so you don't know this yet, but I always leave tings half-done because my own body is constantly at war against me and I've never got the energy to do em all the way. I'll do the washing up but I never dry em or put them away. Same with clothes: I just leave em on the drying ting till I use em again. I will literally be sweeping and just leave the dust pile on the floor. So you always gonna be picking up after me like I'm a child and you'll grow to hate me.'

I exhale sharply to mark the verdict as a judge hits their gavel. Glaring at him, I silently challenge Dorian to dare to disagree.

He just smiles.

'I won't hate you.' His voice is so gentle it brings tears to my eyes. But I continue to scowl, so he goes on. 'How about this: I'll finish your chores when you can't as long as you always answer the phone, open the door when someone knocks without making an appointment, and never leave me alone in a room with a stranger.'

I deepen my glower. He's mocking me — that's not a fair trade at all. I'm the tourist who buys a souvenir for three times its worth and he's the merchant who laughs about it the moment I turn my back... except the reverse, where he convinces me to pay far too little and somehow I'm still the fool.

But his sincerity is unflinching and the shame that grows like vines through my bones wilts a little, enough to shed only a leaf or two but they weigh a dozen tonnes each. He does hate the phone to a degree parred only by Auntie Tamila's dog's hatred of the hoover.

'Okay.'

'Okay.' He kisses my forehead to sign the contract and steps away. 'Now don't disturb me again or I'll never finish everything and this is our first Shabbat together; I want to do it properly.'

As my gaze floats to the ceiling, I recite it quietly to myself. Shabbat, the way he says it. Then the way I do, in English: Sabbath. Shabbat. Shabbat. Sabbath.

'Will you teach me to read Hebrew? Sorry, I know you said not to disturb, but... Will you? Actual Hebrew, not just the transliterations.'

Dorian nods. 'I'd love to.'

We leave for service when the sun begins its languid decline. We wear suits — I finally bought one of my own for Passover and Dorian apparently "accidentally stole" his from his parents. It's too hot to wear the jackets until necessary and they drape over our arms.

I hold out the keys as we walk for the car. 'You wanna drive?'

Dorian recoils from me as if I'm threatening him with a handful of cockroaches. 'I should tell you,' he says, spotting my perplexed expression, 'I hate driving. Please don't ever make me drive unless you're in pain.'

'Good.'

Grinning, I pull him close by the belt loops of his trousers. I lean up slowly, until I know he feels my breath, but pause where I can still meet his eye. 'Because I love it when you look pretty in my passenger seat.'

Dorian exhales a laugh. I catch it in my mouth.

He doesn't hesitate to reciprocate the kiss. His suit jacket drapes over my back as his arms settle on my shoulders. Dropping the car keys, I slide my hands up his waist until my thumbs lodge into the valley at the base of his ribcage where my fingers slot perfectly, as if it was precisely for holding him like this that my hands were created. The ironed cotton of his shirt is the only barrier keeping me from my destiny.

The summer heat beats down on us, the dry air suffocating, but the fire that burns under my skin when his tongue runs against mine is heavenly. I stand on my toes to press firmer into him.

He jerks back abruptly. 'Okay, that's enough.'

Dorian has rounded the car before I process his absence. He gets in the instant I unlock the doors, though whatever hurry he's in, I don't mirror it. I don't even turn the engine on.

Tilting my head, I watch him. The sun dances when it meets his skin. The rays must feel exalted for getting to illuminate something so beautiful — nothing on Earth could bring such honour.

He smiles in the sheepish way he does whenever I compliment him. 'What?'

'I love it when you look pretty in my passenger seat.'

My hand falls to his thigh but Dorian pushes it off. A frown has just begun to form when it turns into a smirk instead.

'Are you horny?' I ask, fully well knowing the answer. 'What, you go six years without sex and now you can't handle twenty-five hours?'

Dorian adamantly stares at the cypress directly ahead. 'It's not funny. We don't need to talk about it.'

'Dorian, this is our first Sabbath — Shabbat — together. I won't spend it making fun of you.'

I finally turn the engine on.

'Next week though... well, I ain't making no promises.'

Giggles still bubble out of me minutes later when the CD, which turned on with the engine, has gone through two whole songs. Dorian continues to brood until his attention snaps to the radio. 'What is this song?'

'It's called Rat Race.'

I fish out the album case and offer it to him. He takes it as eagerly as an archaeologist presented with rare ancient artefacts. 'It's good,' he says as he slides out the liner notes booklet. 'It... massages my brain.'

I cut my eyes to him with feigned offence. 'Of course, it's good. Do you think I would pay for bad music?' I suck my teeth only to chuckle when he frantically searches his empty lap. 'Cuz, you don't gotta record it. I own the CD.'

He freezes, then thaws with a sigh of genuine relief. 'Right.'

I let him listen to the rest of the song and study the notes in peace as we arrive in town. The road to the truss bridge is packed and I drive well under the speed limit as people cross without bothering to look left or right. Because their only other option is the plains where their clothes will get dirty, people hang out in the streets. Cars parked on the curb play summer hits with all their doors open and friends sprawl across the seats holding drinks that sweat in the sun.

'I were thinking...' I glance at Dorian. 'Maybe you can open a restaurant.'

He looks at me blankly. 'What would I do there?'

'Serve food.' When the mockery fails to shift his expression, I go on. 'This half of town used to be one of them those cultural melting pots. Then with all them austerity measures, money got so scarce that the communities segregated. You've got your Polish Jews on one side and Carribeans on the other and Pakistanis in their small corner, nobody leaves their neighbourhood except the kids who go to school but even if they're in the same building, they've separated inside it. Food brings people together. And your food has such a unique ability to do that. I think it could really make a difference.'

'I don't know.' He fidgets with the CD case as he squints at the bustle in the street. 'Cooking is such a peaceful routine. I don't want it to become stressful.'

'That's fair.' I put on my best American accent: 'I'm just spitballing.'

He casts me a smile that says: I'll consider it and I know he will. How lovely it is to communicate like this again, to offer smiles with the intention of them being interpreted.

My joy shrinks as we approach Sha'are Sedek Synagogue. Dorian winds into himself as if he isn't two meters tall and muscular but I can't blame him for wanting to hide. We arrive with only five minutes to spare and the car park is busy. His parents are already here.

I park as far from the doors and other cars as possible. The music turns off with the engine and the following silence is so tense, I swear I hear his heartbeat.

Undoing my seatbelt, I turn to face him. Dorian stares intently at his palms.

'You sure about this?' I whisper because it feels appropriate. Anxiety weighs on my chest; I can't tell if it's mine or his. 'We can go in separately, or I can wait here. I honestly don't mind. You don't have to do this for me.'

'I'm not doing it for you.' Dorian doesn't whisper.

He might as well shout, you're so self-centred. And maybe I am, maybe I'm the one who's afraid, maybe I always have been. But I'll break if he regrets me.

'Once we do this, we can't take it back.'

'I want this with you.'

I still hesitate when we're outside the car but Dorian takes my hand, pressing a kiss to the base of my thumb before he guides me to the temple doors. 'I love you, Isaiah,' he says gently into the breeze. Isaiah: God is my salvation. Maybe They will be. Maybe Dorian and I will both be saved.

The final rays of the setting sun spear me from the horizon and, in my fragment of blindness, panic strikes — What if this isn't real? What if you're not real? But his hand is heavy in mine and, sensing my distress, he tightens his hold. I turn to him and he smiles, dimples deep in his cheeks. The sun inside him is twice as warm.

I understand what he means: this feels too much like home to not be blessed. God will not punish us for this. No death can keep me from you; I will find you in the world to come.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Well that's it, that's the end. If you read this far, thank you so much. I hope you leave with some thoughts and feelings. I'm actually really proud of this! Let me know your thoughts if you like. You can also leave a review on StoryGraph.

Did you prefer one character/POV more than the other? I have never written dual POV or dual timeline before so I am very new to this. I struggled quite a lot with creating at least somewhat distinct voices whilst also ensuring the book had a uniform voice and ✨vibe✨. Also hopefully the flashback timeline didn't feel redundant. I debated for a long time whether to include and in the end I decided it was important for the emotional pacing of the book bc otherwise, the first half of the book would have been so fucking depressing it would have drained everyone's energy. I know a lot of people don't like dual timelines and flashbacks but I hope these scenes weren't a complete bore. 

I hope the arc between them felt realistic and not rushed or anything. A lot of exes-to-lovers stories can be quite difficult to root for the couple but I tried my best to make their dynamic healthy in the end and not super toxic whilst also giving them enough tension and drama to keep the story interesting. I would have liked to include a few more scenes of them just being friends in the end, but to maintain a 50/50 split between each POV in each timeline, I would have had to add six whole chapters and the book would definitely have started dragging at that point. So I hope that it wasn't too rushed. I thought it was important for them to be friends for a while to properly learn to trust before getting together romantically. I also hate when friends-to-lovers books make out as being "just" friends and then "upgrading" to romance so I pray that is not the impression you got.

I hate when romance stories describe love as a drug or an addiction so I tried to go for the opposite vibe. I also hate the idea of "falling" in love as though by accident or that love gets boring through familiarity and routine so I wanted to write about attention and knowledge as the source of love. This is actually my love manifesto thinly veiled as a novel. RIP Isaiah, you would've loved All About Love by bell hooks🙏.

There are a lot of identities in this book that I don't have so if anything was offensive or distasteful, do let me know so I can edit it! I'm not Black or Jewish but I tried to write the love between them as being specifically Black Love and Jewish Love through their taking care of each other's hair and their Star of David necklaces being the catalyst for their intimacy and such.

Do give the Spotify playlist a listen if you haven't yet! It is very long but I put a lot of effort into it haha (don't shuffle it though).

Anyway, thank you so much for reading this. I absolutely love these characters and I'm going to miss them a lot. If you enjoyed, I am always writing new things so maybe you would like my other books as well. They are all queer. This is getting far too long so I'm gonna stop now, but thank you again <3