Ben's Bakery and the Hanukkah Miracle

by Penelope Peters

  “Uh-huh.” Ben kept wiping down the trays in the display case. Leftover treats for half-price sale the next day were already sitting out on the counter. There weren’t that many of them; sales had continued to be brisk, even opening late on a Saturday. It meant he’d have to bake extra muffins and scones the next morning – Sunday crowds were already heavy, and as a good business owner, he’d want to take advantage of that.

  All Ben could really think about, though, was how the entire day had gone by without a single sign of Adam or any of his hockey team. Their non-appearance hung around Ben’s neck like iron chains.

  “Not that I’d recommend that course of action. Waste of good alcohol, really.”

  “Yeah.”

  Sheldon sighed; the front legs of his chair hit the ground with a crack. “Okay, Ben, what’s wrong? Financial solvency does not usually elicit this kind of response.”

  “I’m fine,” said Ben, shoving the last tray back into the display case. He straightened up and turned so that he wouldn’t have to face Sheldon. “Just thinking about what I need to do for tomorrow.”

  “Hmm.” Sheldon didn’t sound like he believed him. “Last day of Hanukkah. I assume you’re going out with some display of fried treats.”

  “Something like,” echoed Ben. “Sunday crowd, you know. All those church-goers and the folks who are thinking about how they would be going to church, if they were that sort. Seems stupid to waste the opportunity to sell fruitcakes to them.”

  Sheldon was quiet; Ben couldn’t see him, but he could imagine the dubious expression on his face well enough.

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” said Sheldon finally. “You’ve spent the last two weeks insisting that the hallowed walls of this establishment would be all-Hanukkah, all the time, for the eight days of the holiday. You fought me tooth and nail over selling Santa Claus cookies alongside your dreidels. You’re in the black during the home stretch, and now you want to advertise fruitcakes?”

  “It’s good business policy,” said Ben stubbornly.

  “Fuck business policy,” said Sheldon. “What happened to your convictions?”

  Ben huffed. “This isn’t about convictions, Sheldon—”

  “Like hell it’s not. Turn around and say that to my face.”

  Ben sighed and turned. Sheldon’s lips were a thin line, but he didn’t look half as angry as he sounded. Instead, he looked worried, similar to how he always looked when Ben tried to avoid going to a meetup with the rest of the skating team.

  Well. Ben had gone, finally. He’d hoped it meant the last of seeing worry on Sheldon’s face. Apparently, that was a false hope.

  “I proved my point, okay?” said Ben, keeping his tone clipped. “I produced nothing but Hanukkah treats for a full week, so I’m pretty sure everyone is well aware that I’m celebrating Hanukkah and not Christmas. But you know what? I’m a Jewish baker in a Jewish bakery and I don’t have to prove that to anyone for any reason, and if I want to make fruitcakes and Santa cookies then I’m damn well going to make them and sell them to whoever wants to buy them.”

  Sheldon gave him a slow clap as he nodded his head.

  “All right,” he said. “On one hand, congratulations for finally realizing you’re not responsible for proving yourself on any account. On the other – you’re just full of realizations this week, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t go looking into it,” said Ben, turning back around, because he could already feel his cheeks start to heat up from the confrontation.

  Seriously, don’t. I’m pretty sure you’re going to figure out why and I don’t want the additional scrutiny.

  “I take it the thousand dollars wasn’t quite as well spent as I thought,” said Sheldon.

  Ben gripped the side of his counter and looked up to the ceiling, as if searching for help.

  “Sheldon—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The funny thing was he did sound sorry. Ben looked over his shoulder; Sheldon wasn’t looking at Ben at all. His shoulders were slumped, and he stared inside the empty display case as if he couldn’t bear to look anywhere else.

  “I meant it as a joke, really,” continued Sheldon. “And then it seemed like the guy actually liked flirting with you. And you were flirting back. I guess I thought – well, I hadn’t seen anything else make you laugh like that in years. I figured if it took a thousand dollars to give you a week of getting the fuck out of your head, it’d be a thousand dollars well spent. I didn’t think getting back into your head was going to make you worse off than before, though.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help,” Ben pointed out.

  “No, you didn’t,” said Sheldon calmly. “But I’m your friend. You shouldn’t have had to ask.” Sheldon leaned forward on the counter. “Look. You were right about the Hanukkah thing. And I’m glad for you, honestly I am. But as sorry as I am that it didn’t work out with Adam, I’m also still glad that he at least got you the fuck out of this building, because it was good to see you at dinner the other night. Even if you never step foot on the ice again, he did that much. And I have to think that’s a good thing.”

  Ben closed his eyes. “I did, though.”

  “Huh?”

  “Step foot on the ice.” Ben opened his eyes and almost wanted to laugh. Sheldon looked completely gobsmacked – mouth open in shock, eyes wide with disbelief.

  “You... what?” sputtered Sheldon.

  Ben was almost going to enjoy this. “That date we went on? We went skating after dinner.”

  “Holy shit,” said Sheldon. “Are you fucking with me?”

  “Not really. And then I went again with his hockey team – they had an open skate thing in between the games. I kind of had a panic attack and he had to talk me down from it, but... yeah. I was out there for maybe five minutes.”

  “Holy shit,” repeated Sheldon. The shock was wearing off; now he just sounded amazed. “Okay, I take back what I said. Thousand dollars well spent, man.”

  Ben rolled his eyes and turned back to the counter. “Don’t get too excited, he’s still going back to Montreal tomorrow night.”

  “I never expected true love for a thousand bucks. I mean, maybe a nice dinner and a roll in the hay, but – actual ice time? Cherry on the cake.”

  Ben snorted. “Yeah, well. Glad I could do that for you. Happy Hanukkah.”

  Sheldon let out a whoop. “Guess I better make a stop at the ATM. When’s your ice-ice-baby coming by for tonight? I need to express my gratitude in both monetary and other forms.”

  Ben’s chest swelled and contracted as he pressed his lips together. Stupid, to be feeling this emotional over such a dumb....

  “He’s not,” said Ben. “At least, I don’t think he is.”

  Ben busied himself in the display case; he could only dimly see Sheldon standing on the other side, distorted by the curve of the glass.

  “So – that’s it?” said Sheldon flatly. “You’re breaking up?”

  “Technically, we were never together. It was a fling, Sheldon, stop making it out to be more than it ever was.”

  “Ben. The guy got you on the ice, something your nearest and dearest haven’t been able to manage in the last three years. And you’re telling me you’re just going to throw that away?”

  “There’s nothing to throw away,” said Ben. “It was just. A. fling. Contractual obligations fulfilled.”

  “Not on my end.”

  “Well, maybe it wasn’t all about your end!” Ben pulled out of the case, his back aching from having bent over for so long.

  “Well, shit, son,” said Sheldon. “If your ass entered the equation, I’d say you did like him.”

  Ben groaned and slumped forward on the counter. “Sheldon. For the love of GD, stay out of my love-life.”

  “Hey, man, you’re the one bringing your ass into the conversation.”

  “Sheldon!”

  “Just tell me if I need to ensure his ass needs an introduction to an American boot before he heads back to Canada.”
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  Ben smiled wryly. At least Sheldon wouldn’t be able to see it; the last thing Ben needed was to give Sheldon any indication that his humor was appreciated.

  “It’s fine. We had a mutual disagreement. Besides, it’s not like there was much of a future for us, anyway. He’s going back to Montreal, and I’ve got a life here.”

  “The way you say that makes me think you’d be open to a future.”

  Ben groaned. “Would you please stop reading into this? I liked the guy, sure. He’s smart, he’s funny, he’s patient. He’s good with kids, he’s got a decent job, and he’s sexy as hell, not even counting the accent. But he was also conceited and stubborn and unwilling to accept that different people might come to a religion from different perspectives and have a different take on what it takes to be—”

  Ben cut himself off and took a breath. “Anyway. It’s fine. I have a feeling he won’t come around looking for your thousand dollars, but frankly, if he did—”

  “Wait,” Sheldon interrupted. “Does his views on religion have anything to do with why you suddenly want to sell fruitcakes tomorrow?”

  Ben winced. “Not exactly.”

  “Well, fuck him, then,” said Sheldon. “My aunt Ida goes to church twice a week, but her fruitcake is crap. I’d rather eat yours any day of the week.”

  Ben couldn’t help but laugh. “Sheldon. It’s not about the fruitcake. I don’t think he cares whether or not I sell fruitcake. He cares that he’s the type of Jew who probably goes to services every week, and I’m the type whose parents put up a Christmas tree every year.”

  Sheldon shrugged. “And I attend your Passover seder every year, too. Doesn’t make me any less Protestant.”

  “Yeah, you’re not hosting it,” Ben pointed out. “There’s a difference.”

  Sheldon shrugged. “Whatever, man. Pretty sure the Big Guy doesn’t care how you celebrate the holiday, as long as you remember He’s the one behind it. That’s kind of what all religions boil down to, isn’t it? Be good to one another, and remember Me?”

  “Yeah,” said Ben slowly. “Yeah, I think they do.”

  “I always figured you had the first one down,” said Sheldon. “Guess if he doesn’t, he’s not good enough for you anyway.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” said Ben. “He’s a good guy.”

  “He needs a lesson on the second point, then.” Sheldon straightened up. “Anyway. You in a good spot, man? ‘Cause your accounts are solid for now, and I’ve got a date waiting for me in Harvard Yard.”

  Ben nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “Good.” Sheldon began to pack up his things. “Do what you want with the fruitcakes tomorrow, Ben. But don’t let yourself be guilted into selling them, or not selling them, just because of what one Canadian asshole thinks about what makes you a good person.”

  “Right,” said Ben, watching him. “I’ll think about it.”

  Sheldon slung his scarf around his neck and picked up his laptop case. “Seriously, man,” he said, giving Ben an eagle-eyed stare. “You’re the best person I know. I’m glad this week worked out for you – mostly. I wish it could have worked out better.”

  “Yeah,” said Ben. “Me too.”

  Ben watched as Sheldon left the shop and headed down the street. After a moment, he walked over to the door and peered out.

  It was just after six, but the sidewalk was already cleared of most pedestrian traffic. There was a light snow falling, giving Mass Ave an ethereal, otherworldly look. Red and green Christmas lights twinkled on the other side of the slushy street, and Ben knew if he pressed his ear to the cold glass, he could probably hear the faint strains of Nat King Cole as it spilled out of the restaurant next door.

  There was no sign of Adam or a rowdy group of teenaged hockey players, coming for a late afternoon treat. Ben had resigned himself hours before that there wouldn’t be. It was still hard to give up hope.

  In another two days, he could pack up the overpriced, specially designed menorah that he’d bought online. He could gather the dreidels he’d hunted down at five different stores in three different cities. All the blue-and-white Hanukkah decorations he’d found shoved in the back of the holiday aisles over the course of half a decade would return to their plain white storage boxes for another year.

  He could put out the generic tinsel and holly and the tiny Christmas tree he used to decorate the window, all the Christmas decorations he’d purchased without even really having to look, all stored in specially-designed Christmas-themed storage containers that were only ever on sale for four months out of the year.

  It was so easy to generate Christmas spirit. Ben didn’t have to think about it, or work for it. It just was.

  Mom always said it’s what makes Hanukkah more special, thought Ben. Doesn’t always feel like that, though.

  Ben locked the door and turned down the lights. He started putting up the chairs, straightening the tables and putting everything in order.

  It does sometimes, though. Like making all those latkes for Adam. That felt good, knowing I could give him that. And lighting the candles together. I haven’t lit candles with someone else in a long time.

  Sweeping, mopping, taking out the trash. Ben went through the motions, always keenly aware of who passed by the windows on their way to somewhere else.

  And who didn’t.

  I wonder which I’m going to miss more – lighting the candles with someone else, or lighting them with Adam.

  Ben put away the mop and the broom. He made sure the ovens were off and the fridge was closed.

  He walked up to the window and reached in to turn the seventh bulb on the menorah.

  It shone, warming his fingers the moment the connectors activated. Ben thought the display even looked a little brighter.

  But somehow, it didn’t feel as good lighting the candle by himself as it had doing it with Adam beside him.

  Adam, thought Ben. I’m going to miss Adam.

  Ben shook his head.

  But if he can’t me accept for who I am – then I’m better off without him.

  Chapter Eight

  On the eighth night of Hanukkah...

  The last day of the tournament dawned with a bright blue sky and not a single cloud in sight. The boys were subdued after their loss the day before – but Adam was pleased to see them still joking with each other at breakfast.

  “You know what this means,” said Tom over a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, and watermelon. “We can actually have more than one donut from Ben’s bakery.”

  Given the sudden excited noises the others made, this had not occurred to them yet.

  “Oh, man, I hope he has the cherry sufganiyot again, those were soooooo good,” groaned Andreas.

  “You think he’d give me one of the alcoholic ones if I say it’s for Coach?”

  “I think he’d give it to Coach, not you.”

  “Do we even have to go to the rink today? Can’t we just stay at the bakery?”

  “You’re going to today’s game,” said Adam firmly. “For one thing, you need to support the other teams in the tournament. For another, it’s a good learning experience watching other teams play each other, something you don’t get much of a chance to do when you’re playing already.”

  “But we can get donuts first, right, Coach?” asked Pierre.

  Adam hesitated.

  “I’ll take you,” said Farida. “Coach has an early meeting today.”

  “Totally asking for an alcoholic donut for Coach.”

  “Dude, you’re not gonna get one.”

  “But if it’s for Coach?”

  “It’s not for Coach! Ben’s not stupid.”

  Farida cornered Adam by the elevators. “So on a scale of Silly Mistake to Total Moron, how badly did you screw it up with Ben?”

  Adam stiffened. “Who says I screwed it up with Ben?”

  “The cornered expression in your eyes when the boys said they wanted to go to his bakery this morning. You looked like a vampire who’d
just been served an entire garlic pizza.”

  Adam snorted. “Do you sit up at night and think of those?”

  “I take it he didn’t like the idea of you coming to Boston?” guessed Farida.

  Adam shook his head. “We never got that far.”

  Farida studied his expression with a frown on her face. “Wait a minute – does that mean you’re actually considering it? For real?”

  “I was,” said Adam.

  Farida straightened her shoulders and took a breath. “Hold on. You were considering it. And now you’re... not considering it, at the same time that you’re apparently unwilling to go to Ben’s bakery because you had a fight?”

  “Farida, you’re reading into this.”

  “I think I’m reading quite a lot into this. Am I wrong?”

  “The situation with my dad hasn’t changed,” Adam reminded her. “Given the choice between staying where I’m needed, and moving to a city I don’t know and where no one needs me, I’ll take the former, thanks.”

  “You think Ben doesn’t need you,” said Farida slowly.

  “He doesn’t,” said Adam sharply. “And apparently he doesn’t much want me, either.”

  Farida frowned. “You said you didn’t even tell him about the offer. How can you be so sure he wouldn’t want you here?”

  “I’m sure.” Adam jabbed at the elevator call button again. Where was an escape route when he needed one?

  “What would he say, if I posed that question to him?”

  Ugh. “Drop it, Farida. He’s a good guy, he’ll be friendly if you go into his bakery today, but be kind and don’t press him on this subject, okay? It’s not any of your business.”

  The elevators doors slid open, finally. Farida crossed her arms and frowned at him as he stepped inside. “Fine. I won’t ask.”

  “Good,” said Adam, pressing his floor number and holding the button down. Maybe if he was lucky, he could ride in solitude, without one of the kids giving him the third degree.

  The doors slid shut before he realized:

  Farida had promised that she wouldn’t ask.

  She hadn’t said a word about what the kids would say.