Tolstoy Lied : A Love Story (9780547527307) by Rachel Kadish

nearby truck lays siege to our car.
    â€œSo,” I venture. “You think he didn’t want to kiss me? I mean—”
    â€œWhoooooeeeee!” Adam sticks his head out the window and sends a howl to the pollution-tinged heavens. The driver inching forward past in the next lane slams her brakes and turns, with an expression of panic, to find the source of the noise. His head back inside the car, Adam grins at me. “Let me get this straight. You’re actually asking
me
for advice.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œSo, what’s your offer? What fabulous prizes await me if I share my brilliant—my
walk-on-water
—observations?” His expression—part wry, part barbed—defies me to compliment him again. Traffic begins to flow. He zips us forward. The car ahead of us brakes, and we lurch to a halt just in time to avoid a fender-bender.
    â€œI don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
    â€œI’ll advise you on one condition,” he says.
    â€œWhich is?”
    â€œQuit driving.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    He makes a bare gesture with his knuckles toward the well where my flexed foot hovers over the floor mat. “You’re braking right now. You drive even when you’re not driving. If you don’t stop you’re going to get muscle spasms in your foot.”
    â€œI’m not—”
    â€œAnd if you keep denying it you’re going to get carpal ego syndrome.”
    â€œLook.”
    He looks.
    â€œLook,” I repeat. “It’s just, maybe you could leave a little more following distance.”
    He makes a face.
    â€œFor my sake. I know you’re a safe driver.” I don’t know that he’s a safe driver but am willing to make this concession in the interest of peace.
    He makes a worse face.
    I flex my toes, kick off my flats, and prop a foot on the dashboard.
    Adam laughs, a laugh with mercy in it. “Tracy, you want to know what I really think about the hand kiss?” He lowers the sunglasses to the tip of his nose. “If you like this guy, then you must have had, you know, connection. And you’re smart enough to be able to tell when connection is two-sided.” He brings the car to another juddering halt. “So if
you
think he likes you, then he does. Now the only question is, Why no real kiss? Okay. So. Possibility numero uno: he’s shy.”
    I recall the paper plate on its way down to the carpet, scattering tabouli like a spinning Milky Way. “I don’t think it’s shyness,” I say.
    â€œSo that leaves two other possibilities. Either he’s into you, but you gave him the vibe that you weren’t into him. Or else the chemistry isn’t there.”
    â€œHannah thinks it’s romantic that he only kissed my hand.”
    â€œNo offense to my sister, but which of us do you think knowsguys better? I’m telling you, you’ll know everything on the next date. There
is
the remote possibility he was just doing the gentleman thing for first-impression’s sake. But no matter what, lips must lock by date numero two. Nerves or chivalry can muck up date one, but if there’s no serious lip mosh by the second date, then forget it. Either the guy’s not interested, or else he’s
too
much of a gent. In which case you don’t want him.”
    We inch forward in traffic once more.
    â€œYou actually like this one, huh, Trace?”
    I release my breath. “I think so.”
    â€œWell, good luck.”
    I look at him, silently communicating my appreciation.
    With a yelp, Adam punches the sunglasses back up over his eyes. “Jesus, give me a little warning next time you’re going to do that.”
    Later, as an act of appreciation and charity, I dissuade Adam from buying black sheets, a black comforter, black dishes, and black plasticware, on the theory that he will not need to wash them.
    Â 
    George phones at five o’clock to firm