Page 29

Starring Ivy and Zagan from All I Never Wished For

“ M y wife makes the best zeppelins ever.”

Ivy looked up from the papers she was grading. “What did you say?”

“You make the best zeppelins,” Zagan repeated, coming close and pressing his cheek to her face, long, strong fingers sliding down her side.

“You had your first week with a full courseload, you went to three faculty events, you made sure the baby was a happy baby... and then you make zeppelins. You make sure your husband is a happy husband. You know, even though I am the djinn, you make all my wishes come true,” Zagan purred, lips nuzzling her neck.

Ivy shut her laptop. The papers could wait. Going back from maternity leave was hard, emotionally and physically.

“Zeppole. They’re not zeppelins, those are old-timey airships.” Ivy turned to him more fully, wrapping her arms around his neck. “What’s more, you have all the knowledge of the centuries, you can speak any language, you’re all powerful—”

“Formerly all-powerful. You freed me from my powers, which are more curse than blessing, the longer you have them. And you know this.” Zagan’s arms wrapped around her waist, hands skimming her hips.

“And you know what zeppelins are.”

“I know, I know, but there are lots of foods that have names for other things, too. Subs. Like submarines? You know, the ones I like, over at the new Italian place? When they do the lunch special, with the meatballs and the homemade sauce, which Mr. Argento calls ‘gravy,’ and the provolone cheese...” Zagan stopped for a moment to sigh.

“Oh, and that’s another one! I thought gravy was what you made with the turkey at Thanksgiving, but it is also the good red sauce that Mr. Argento’s nonna taught him. ”

Ivy shook her head and laughed. “I think I’m seeing the point. You really thought these little balls of dough were called ‘zeppelins’?”

“If a sandwich is a submarine, a doughnut can be an airship, no?”

“You make me fall in love with you more every day. In all the little ways, sweetie.”

“That is good. Because I ate all the zeppole—but I will make more. I will make them. I just need your recipe, my angel.”

“All of them!”

“There were only about ten left!”

“Ten, Zagan! Ten doughnuts!”

“Ten little bites.” Zagan held up his forefinger and thumb to convey how small those bites were.

Ivy rolled her eyes. “And you think you can make them the way I do just by following my recipe?”

“I was all-powerful. I have the wisdom of the ages,” he wheedled.

“I don’t want to grade anymore essays, anyway.” Ivy grabbed his hand and marched them toward the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll teach you, Sweet Tooth.”

“You are too good to me.”

Ivy tied on her apron. “I try. Okay, we’re going to need flour, sugar, milk, yeast, and an egg. I’ll get the cinnamon and nutmeg.”

“I’ll get two eggs. We should make a double batch. And, my angel, if I am a very, very good student—do you think you could take everything off but that apron?”

“Zagan!” Ivy blushed as she went to the spice rack. “I still have all the extra saggy skin in my middle from having the baby.”

“Yes! You had our baby! And you have been tired and busy, and I have been very, very patient.” He came up behind her, kissing her neck.

“I think since she’s been born, I have only gotten to appreciate you five or six times.

How am I supposed to make sure you want to have another baby if you won’t let me practice? ”

“But everything is sagging!”

“That is why God gave you a husband, silly!” Zagan clucked his tongue and slid his hands up to cup her heavy breasts, moaning when his palms connected with her tightening nipples.

“I’m supposed to hold everything up if it sags.

And do not say ‘sags’ like it is a bad thing, Ivy.

That word you say with a frown and sadness, and it breaks my heart.

Say things are resting lower, if you like.

They deserve a rest. Say your skin stretched, because it carried a whole new person.

My God, Ivy... Say you are covered in more fluffy softness for your husband to bury his face in, because I could never, ever get tired of hugging you, or touching you, or marveling at every little line and cell of you.

You are rea l, Ivy. Do you know that is the biggest wish for a djinn, to be free, to be real, not confined and forced to smoke and shadows?

You made me real, too. You made a child to write another chapter in our love story. ”

“Oh, Zag...” Ivy sighed and let herself fall back into his arms, dropping the small glass jars of cinnamon and nutmeg on the counter.

“Perhaps we need another class before cooking class. And this one, I will teach.” Zagan said, sweeping everything off the kitchen table.

Bottles, bibs, burp cloths, and a dozen papers and plastic baby spoons went toppling to the floor.

“Honey!”

“I will clean that all up—when I’m done with this lesson.”

Ivy let herself be swept back onto the table, let her handsome husband pull everything off of her, even the apron, even though the kitchen was bright and her body had never been perfect.

Maybe that’s the lesson, she thought as his body pressed against hers.

You don’t have to be perfect to be loved.

That’s even better than learning how to make zeppole.