Thank You for Sharing by Rachel Runya Katz EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Rachel Runya Katz
- Language: English
- Genre: Multicultural & Interracial Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
“COHEN-JACKSON, huh? That’s quite the odd combo.”
When Liyah looks up, her airplane seatmate is glancing at her full name
in script on the cover of her planner before making eye contact. There’s a
small smile playing at his lips, as if he finds her surname amusing. This
reaction is not new to her, but she is simply Not In The Mood.
Liyah nearly missed her flight this morning. She managed to leave for
the airport within a reasonable amount of time, an impressive feat for
someone raised at the intersection of the Jewish Standard and Colored
People time zones, but the fog had other plans. Karl (Neen informed her
that the fog in San Francisco has a name) usually burns off around midmorning but was thicker and slower to dissipate today. So she, Neen, and
Ringo Starr (her best friend’s beloved VW Beetle convertible also has a
name) found themselves trapped behind a seven-car pileup, Neen anxiously
sticking their head out the window every forty-five seconds to assess the
nonexistent movement of traffic.
At the departures’ lane, Neen spared Liyah their usual teary goodbye
speech. Instead, they wordlessly offered Liyah their right ear, which she
met halfway, bumping together the matching star studs in their earlobes.
Such had been the pair’s secret handshake since a drunken evening in Alien
Piercing & Tattoo nearly seven years prior. Liyah wound up sprinting to her
gate and, suffice it to say, she skipped out on the bagel she’d planned to
purchase before boarding.
She’d heaved a sigh of relief (she was not out of breath; her body just
hated running) when she arrived at her assigned seat and found that her
neighbor was someone her age. With her luck, she’d pictured a shrieking
toddler or, God forbid, a chatty old man. She thought his presence meant a
few hours of peace as she attempted to subsist off a free bag of pretzel mix
and ginger ale.
Apparently, she thought wrong.
She gives him a long look, eyes skating over his high cheekbones, the
slight bend in the bridge of his nose, burnt honey-colored almond eyes. He’s
white and East Asian. Korean, she guesses, before mentally kicking herself
for playing ethnicity detective. She realizes he’s just done the same to her,
and mentally kicks herself yet again for feeling guilty. Her metaphorical
shins are starting to bruise.
Where is he from? Someplace that would give him enough cultural
literacy to spot a truth in her last name (Cohen being decidedly Jewish,
Jackson being decidedly not) but not enough to remain unfazed or to know
he should stifle his shock. Or, at the very least, not to say something to the
effect of, “You’re quite obviously Black and apparently Jewish? How
strange!” Never mind that a man his age has probably committed the bulk
of Drake’s discography to memory.
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