Dating Kosher

by Greene, Michaela

  I got exactly what I expected: the look that said ‘you’re kidding, right?’

  “I know it seems like a strange event for a date, but I’m really in a jam.”

  He leaned up against the counter. “I’m not going on my first date with you to a wedding.”

  Shit. I was royally screwed. He had been my last resort. I just stared at him, trying to formulate another angle. My mind was blank, except for a painfully vivid image of me dancing the hora, arm in arm with Jacob, while everyone watched, knowing I couldn’t find anyone to come to the wedding with me.

  “But,” he began, his grin widening, “I will go on my second date with you to a wedding.”

  “Huh?” In my panic, my brain was not at its sharpest.

  “I’ll go to the wedding with you, but I want you all to myself for an evening first.”

  I exhaled. I would have gone to Antarctica with him, now that I had a date for the wedding. “You’ll really go to the wedding?” A woman had to make sure. Especially a woman who’d kind of been beaten up by her dating past in recent days.

  He shrugged. “Sure, what the hell.”

  Bev came up from the back to collect him for his massage. “We’ll talk more about this later, cancel any plans you have for Saturday,” he said as he followed her to the back.

  Oh yes, we will talk more about this, Nate Cooper, I thought. What a relief. Weeks’ worth of panic and anxiety seemed to melt away. To celebrate, I turned to my computer and opened up a game of Solitaire.

  Things were looking up.

  Chapter 17

  After I gave him directions to my apartment building, Nate told me he would pick me up at six-thirty on Saturday. All I knew about where we were going was that we would be having dinner and that it might be outside (he told me to bring a sweater).

  So by the time six p.m. rolled around, my imagination had run wild with thoughts of where we were going. A sporting event (please God, not a sporting event)? An outdoor bistro? A rooftop bar?

  As I sat on the couch flipping channels, fully dressed and ready to go (my purse was even slung over my shoulder), I wondered what this date was really going to be like. I had to be careful; I was taking him to the wedding so I couldn’t blow it. And I definitely wasn’t sleeping with him no matter what happened. What was I thinking? I wasn’t going to sleep with Nate on this date or any other. He wasn’t the guy for me (see previous chapter, reasons one through four) and this was just a mutually beneficial arrangement.

  My phone rang. I glanced at the clock: six-twenty. “You’d better not be canceling on me, Nate Cooper,” I said aloud before digging my phone out of my purse. Armani stared at me and blinked his support.

  False alarm. It was Bev. Last minute pep talk, most likely.

  “Don’t blow him off,” she said, sounding motherly as usual.

  “Maybe I’ll just blow him, period,” I teased.

  “Shosh…” Bev clucked.

  “Give me a break, I’m not giving the guy a blow job on the first date. I’m going to wait until the wedding. I’m sure the swank hotel will rent us a room by the hour. Or better yet, we’ll just duck into one of the bathroom stalls, how’s that?”

  “You’re horrible. Make sure you call me the second you get home.”

  “Yeah, whatever, blah blah blah.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Shoshanna.” I could almost see Bev wagging her finger at me.

  “I’m not trying to be patronizing. But Bev, no matter how hot and nice this guy is, it’s not going anywhere.” Bev was treating this date like it was real, and not just a means to an end.

  “Just be open,” Bev said. I wasn’t even sure what she meant, but I promised I would and got off the phone. Time for a final mirror check.

  Waiting in the lobby so as to avoid inviting him in, I stood, my sweater over my arm, absently slipping my foot in and out of my right sandal. He finally pulled up, thankfully in a car (I had nightmares about him showing up in his work van), a later model, midnight blue Jetta.

  He got out of the car and began walking toward me in his khakis and blue button-down shirt. I panicked, thinking he wanted to see my place.

  But instead of walking toward the building, he walked around the car and opened the passenger door for me. I don’t know why it shocked me so much, him doing that. It had been expected of Max and Phil and all the others, but Nate was different. In my head, I could hear Bev’s voice, loudly telling me to be ‘open.’ Now it made sense. I smiled and stepped forward to get into the car.

  “You look very nice,” Nate said, his grin ear-to-ear.

  He was right. I did look good. I had spent two hours making sure of it. From the careful plucking and tweezing, make-up and copious amount of hair product, to the careful selection of my outfit; casual but stylish Capri pants, silk sweater set and exquisite sandals with enough of a heel to create a sexy dimple down the side of each calf.

  “Thank you,” I said, sliding into the leather seat. Nice. I placed my purse on the floor and pulled the seatbelt across my chest. By the time I was snugly buckled in, Nate was sitting beside me behind the wheel. “So where are we going?”

  He looked over at me. “I hope you like the water,” was all he said before he turned the key in the ignition.

  “Well I didn’t bring a bathing suit, if that’s what you mean,” I said.

  Nate smiled but changed the subject. “Do you like Italian?” He pulled the car away from the building.

  “Men?” I teased.

  He laughed. “No, food.”

  “Ah then, yes,” I nodded.

  “But not Italian men?”

  “Not generally,” I looked out the window so he couldn’t see my face. I didn’t like where this was going. I didn’t want to offend him if he was Italian (he had one of those nondescript faces that couldn’t be traced to any specific ethnicity) because if I offended him, goodbye wedding date. But neither did I want to lead him on.

  “Good thing I’m Irish,” he laughed. I turned and looked at him and he took his eyes off the road long enough to wink at me. Stopping myself, mid-grin, I looked back out the window. Dangerously clever, this Nate.

  He changed the subject again, thankfully to a topic I could easily handle. “So tell me how you got to work at the spa.”

  I told him the completely boring story of my employment, which although lame, somehow lasted as long as the drive. He was a good listener and asked lots of questions, seeming to be actually interested. That was a first.

  When he finally pulled into the marina, my mind raced at the possibilities. I didn’t ask, knowing if he was going to tell me where we were going, he would have by now.

  “Ready?” he asked, taking the keys out of the ignition.

  I nodded. We simultaneously got out of the car and I followed his lead toward the yacht club—the same one my parents used to belong to. I hadn’t eaten there in a while but savored the treat. Dad used to bring us here sometimes on weekends to have brunch and look at the boats coming and going. That was before the divorce and his subsequent penchant for greasy spoons.

  But instead of turning toward the door of the club, Nate led me around the back of the building toward the boats.

  We approached the docks, a cool breeze coming off the water, blowing my (until now) perfect hair behind me, but I didn’t care; I’d always liked being near the water, though I was very thankful for my sweater, which I draped over my shoulders.

  “Be careful of your heels, there are gaps in the dock,” Nate nodded toward the wooden slats of the dock as he gestured for me to precede him. Very considerate of him, I observed. Not that it mattered in the long run since this relationship wasn’t going anywhere, but nice just the same.

  “Just up here, on the left,” he pointed from slightly behind me to a twenty-five-foot cruiser. Her name was The Branwyn, as indicated by the gold lettering on her stern.

  “Is this yours?” I asked, taking his hand as I stepped into the boat.

  He shook his head as he followed m
e onto the deck. “No, my uncle’s, but she’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

  I nodded, standing in the middle of the deck, not sure what to do.

  “Have a seat. I guess I should have asked if you get seasick, but I didn’t want to give away the surprise.” He reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a packet of pills. “So I brought some Bonine, just in case.”

  Wishing I had worn flip flops for a bit more traction on the rolling deck, I sat on the side bench. “I’ll be fine,” I assured him as I pushed an errant chunk of hair behind my ear.

  “Great. Be right back.” He disappeared into the cabin, reappearing a moment later with a cooler. He put it down on the deck and opened it up. I craned my neck. Was it too much to ask that he have some premixed martinis?

  He must have read my mind and gave me an apologetic look. “I hope you weren’t hoping for booze. I don’t drink on the water, but I did bring some soda and fruit punch.”

  Forcing my face not to communicate my disappointment I shook my head. “That’s fine, I’ll have some punch.”

  He opened the can and poured it into a big plastic glass before handing it to me. “Okay, you’re all set. I’ll get us moving.”

  He moved to the captain’s chair and started up the boat. Well, you could hardly call her a boat. More like a mini yacht. I had been on one like it, albeit a bit larger, a few summers back when one of the partners at my dad’s firm had invited us touring for the day. Mom and Dad had already been discussing divorce at that time but had set their differences aside so we could enjoy the day.

  The boat’s motor was a bit noisy, preventing a lot of conversation while we were moving, but it was okay, it was a beautiful evening and I was enjoying myself just being on the water.

  When we finally came to a stop and Nate turned off the engine, the silence was at first deafening. But then the calming sounds of the water lapping at the side, in time with the gentle rocking of the boat filled my ears. Nate had anchored at a seemingly arbitrary spot off the shore where we could look back and see the city sprawled out on the horizon. It was a beautiful view on a perfect evening. The breeze whipped at my hair, and I struggled to push it behind my ears, to no avail: in seconds, it would be nudged loose again.

  “How’s your drink?” Nate asked.

  “Just fine, thanks,” I smiled at him. I couldn’t help it.

  “Great, I’ll be right back.” He stepped toward the cabin, then stopped and turned back. “Um, there is a head—a bathroom—down here if you need it.”

  Smiling, I nodded. “I’m good for now, thanks.”

  A few moments later Nate emerged carrying a heavily-laden platter. He placed it down on the table beside me and I was astounded to see what looked like breaded veal with a side of fettuccine and garlic bread. Also, on the platter was a grater loaded with parmesan, and strangely, an unopened can of bean salad, and a can opener.

  “Wow,” I said, very impressed. I was pretty sure he hadn’t cooked on the boat, but the food was steaming hot and looked great, so I had to give him top marks for presentation.

  “Thanks,” he smiled, looking relieved.

  I looked up at him. “What’s with the beans?”

  He shrugged, “I was hoping you weren’t vegetarian, but just in case…”

  I laughed out loud. “I’m glad I’m not!”

  He got another fruit punch out of the cooler for me and poured himself a soda before sitting.

  Raising his plastic cup, he looked into my eyes. I fought the urge to turn away and lifted my cup as well.

  “To first dates. And the salty ocean air,” he touched his cup to mine and then closed his eyes as he filled his lungs.

  I breathed in, but mostly I smelled fuel and the city. “Er, it doesn’t smell that great.”

  He opened one eye and gave me a look. “You have to use your imagination.” He closed his eye again but continued talking. “I’m imagining us in the middle of the Mediterranean, bobbing on the sea just off the coast of Malta. Smell that air.”

  I smelled. I’d never been to Malta nor did I even know where it is, but I’d been to Greece and had sunbathed there. It didn’t smell anything like this, but I humored him anyway, beginning to warm up to his quirkiness.

  “Mmm, this sea air is lovely. It smells surprisingly of marinara sauce,” I said, eyeing the veal. It had been an extra busy day at the spa and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  Nate opened his eyes and smiled at me. “Okay, I get it. Dig in.”

  The dinner was delicious and after some prodding on my part, he finally admitted to buying it ready-made. He assured me he could cook, but under the circumstances it would have been difficult to prepare a full meal on the boat and he didn’t want to take the time away from our evening. I had to give him full marks for everything, though reluctantly—I really didn’t want to have such a good time with him, but he was making it very difficult.

  By the time Nate cleared the dishes away, the sun was beginning to set, the sky aglow all orange and pink. I made the mistake of sighing just as he sat beside me.

  “Nice isn’t it?” he looked at the sky.

  “Mmm.”

  “Shoshanna?”

  I looked at him. “Yes?”

  He looked down at his hands. “You seem like the kind of girl who always gets what she wants.”

  I blinked, considering his words. Was he calling me spoiled? Where was he going with this?

  Keeping silent, I allowed him to continue. “I know you agreed to go out with me tonight so I’d be your date at the wedding next weekend, but do you think you’d ever be into a guy like me?”

  Ouch. I hadn’t expected this question. What could I possibly say?

  “I don’t know, Nate. I mean we hardly know each other.” It was true. I hoped my answer would close the issue, at least for now.

  I wasn’t getting off that easy. “Would you have gone out with me if I wasn’t going to the wedding with you?”

  “You probably would have worn me down eventually,” I smiled sweetly to cover up the lie.

  Apparently my evasive tactic worked. He grabbed my hand, squeezing it. Before I had a chance to protest, his hand had been retracted, so I didn’t say anything.

  “We’d better head in.” He got up suddenly and settling himself into the captain’s chair. I pulled my sweater around me, bracing for the cool air that would intensify as soon as we were moving.

  Amid the noise of the engine, I was relieved of having to make conversation. As I looked out over the water toward the disappearing horizon, I contemplated his question. He was the opposite of anything I’d ever looked for in a man, but the date was turning out much better than I could ever have expected.

  I looked at him, undetected because I was out of his peripheral view, and took in his features. He was extraordinarily good looking, there was no denying that. And very sweet, I was coming to learn. But I just couldn’t get past everything else. And even if I could, my parents never would. I had seen my family fragmented enough of late; I wasn’t willing to add kindling to an already roaring bonfire of family dysfunction.

  I turned back toward the water and sighed. It was a beautiful night and, determined to enjoy the rest of it, I pushed the difficult thoughts out of my head. Closing my eyes, I felt the sway of the boat as it motored over the water. Allowing the engine noise to fall to the background, I took a deep breath through my nose and somehow, even though I knew it was impossible, I smelled the faintest bit of the Mediterranean in the summer air.

  * * *

  It was obvious that Nate was angling for an invite in, or at the very least, a goodnight kiss. He had parked the car and walked me through the lobby, into the elevator and right up to my apartment. We stood in the hallway awkwardly under the unflattering fluorescent lights.

  “Thanks very much, I really had a good night.” In spite of my previous reservations about going out with him, I was telling the truth.

  “I’m glad,” he said, looking down at me. He hadn’t seemed so tal
l the few times he’d been at the spa. But it was nice. There was nothing worse than dancing with a short guy. And I was planning on doing a lot of dancing in a week’s time. Providing, of course, that Nate could dance.

  “Well I’d let you in, but my place is a mess and I’m really tired.” My hand was on the doorknob, waiting.

  He looked like he didn’t believe me, but didn’t say as much. “Okay. I had a good time too.”

  To alleviate the pressure of what he should do next, I leaned forward and gave him a very dry kiss on the cheek. “Thanks again.” I said and turned toward the door. My message couldn’t have been clearer.

  “I’ll see you on Thursday,” he said.

  I turned back to face him. “Thursday?”

  “My massage.” He tilted his head, looking at me out of the corners of his eyes. “Unless you wanted to get together again before then.”

  “I can wait,” I said, smiling to ease the sting of my words.

  “Thursday it is.” He leaned in unexpectedly and kissed my cheek, although unlike my deliberately platonic kiss, his lingered just a moment longer than manners dictated. Before I could say anything, he pulled away, winked at me and turned, walking down the hall to the elevator. Not wanting to risk him turning and seeing me watching him, I scurried into my apartment and closed the door.

  Sliding out of my shoes, I stepped over to the coffee table and grabbing the remote, turned on the TV. My phone buzzed in my purse, reminding me that it had gone off a few times on the date, but I’d been polite and had ignored it.

  I pulled it out and hit the button for voicemail. The first message was my mother. If I was counting correctly, it was message number nineteen since I had ditched her on Tuesday night. I wasn’t taking her calls, nor returning her messages, having decided I wasn’t going to talk to her until after the wedding. I was planning on leaving her a message saying so, but I had to pick the best time when I knew I wouldn’t get her live. Until then, it was call-screen city for Shoshanna.

  As I listened to Mom go on and on, practically begging, I wondered about the next message. It had to be Dad. I hadn’t spoken to him all week, but he usually called on Saturday nights to confirm Sunday brunch.