Dating Kosher

by Greene, Michaela

  “If they don’t already,” I said, cracking a smile.

  “I’ve handled this so badly.” She squeezed my hand.

  “We Rosenblatt ladies are known for our drama.”

  She looked at me sideways. “I suppose we are. C’mon, walk me out then you can go back to your dad and Susan. I’m so sorry. I…”

  I put my arms around my mother and tried really hard not to cry, but despite my efforts, tears rolled down my face to be absorbed by the blue fleece across my mother’s back. “It’s okay. Thanks for finally getting it, Mom.” My voice cracked.

  She squeezed me even tighter. “No, Shoshanna, thank you.”

  * * *

  When I got home from the rehearsal at almost ten, I was completely spent, both physically and emotionally. I practically fell into bed, only taking the time to wipe off my makeup and put on some night cream. Remembering that I had to work in the morning was a rude awakening, but nonetheless, I set my alarm, stripped off my clothes and crawled into bed. Armani followed, jumping on the bed and turning around several times in place before settling on the comforter beside me, his warm back against my leg.

  It was only then that I had a moment to think about the evening’s events without any distraction.

  Mom had left as promised with no further incident after I had walked her out of the hotel bathroom and through the lobby. Thankfully, Jen, Dad, and Susan had returned to the ballroom and the only person in the lobby connected to the wedding was the coordinator who stood in a corner, talking frantically into her cell phone, her shaking hand evidence of her frazzled nerves. How can someone so high strung be a wedding coordinator? I wondered as I escorted Mom toward the front doors. We stepped outside into the warm summer night. A breeze had picked up and swirled my skirt around my legs.

  “Have you been drinking?” I asked Mom after she had dispatched the doorman to get her a cab.

  She shook her head.

  I hated to do it but had to ask. “What about pills?”

  She looked up at me, her face drawn, frowning. She had never looked so old.

  “No, Shoshanna, I’m this crazy all on my own.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Mom.”

  Her lips curled into a phony smile. “I know, honey.” She turned away.

  “Mom?”

  She looked back at me, still with the fake smile pasted to her face, her eyebrows raised.

  “What did you do to Susan’s family? I didn’t even know she had a brother.” I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask. She was past the point of freaking out and better to find out now than to wait and ask later, running the risk of creating yet another volatile situation.

  Mom shook her head. I was willing to drop it, but then she took a deep breath and started talking, staring at her feet the entire time.

  “Susan and I grew up together. We were in USY together, you know, the youth group, and would go to the parties and dances. Her older brother would usually drive us and sometimes he’d go with us. Anyway, he and I, his name was Jacob, got friendly and began dating…”

  Wow, this is getting interesting, I thought.

  She fidgeted, transferring her weight from one foot to the other. “Well, I guess we got engaged…”

  Bam. Didn’t see that coming.

  “You were engaged? To Susan’s brother?” I couldn’t believe I’d never heard about this. I assumed that Dad knew about it, but how could no one have told me?

  Mom nodded and continued. “Anyway, Jacob got sick. Really sick. It looked like he wasn’t going to make it.”

  “What was wrong with him?”

  “Leukemia.” Her voice cracked on the word. She was really having trouble with this.

  A cab pulled up, but Mom continued, seeming not to even notice the vehicle at the curb beside her. “When he went into the hospital for the last time, I got on a plane to Europe.” She paused to wipe away a tear. “I ran away, didn’t even tell him or anyone in his family. I just couldn’t handle him dying.”

  “Oh, Mom…” I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  She began to sob. “I left him to die. I ran away like a coward and left him to die. His family never forgave me for that. Susan was always convinced that my leaving shortened his life because he was in such despair. I never believed her, couldn’t think that he cared for me that much. But now I know better. I was a coward. He was such a beautiful person, a real mensch, you know, honey?” She looked up at me, her eyes glassy and wet.

  It was a lot to take in and I couldn’t believe I’d never heard this story before. “You were young, Mom. Everyone makes mistakes.”

  “I abandoned him. I just left him to die.” She sobbed.

  There was nothing to say. I just held my mother as she cried until after several moments, she gently pushed me away. She took a Kleenex from her bag and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Shoshie. I’ve been a real meshuggeneh lately.”

  I shook my head, dismissing her apology. “It’s okay, Mom, you’ve been through a lot.”

  “Every year at Yom Kippur I pray for forgiveness for what I did. I’ve never missed a year.”

  I wondered if Dad knew that she harbored this much guilt. Or if he’d known that when he sat beside her every year at High Holy Days services, she was thinking of another man. How must that feel? Did Mom still have feelings for Susan’s brother when she’d hooked up with Dad? It certainly wasn’t for me to ask.

  “Maybe you need to do more than just pray for forgiveness.” I offered. “I think you need to ask for it.”

  Mom tilted her head and regarded me silently. After what seemed like a long time, she nodded and stepped toward the car, shoving the soggy Kleenex into the pocket of her sweatpants.

  For the first time, she seemed like herself as she cringed and looked around. “I should get out of here before someone sees me in these clothes.”

  “Why on earth do you even have this outfit?” I asked, knowing that she and I would never speak of Susan’s brother again.

  A sheepish grin crept across her face. “Your Uncle Moishe called me one day and asked if I would help him pick out a few things for his apartment.”

  I raised my eyebrows, surprised that my Dad’s brother still kept in contact with my mom. I nodded for her to continue, making a mental note to find out what my confirmed bachelor uncle was up to.

  “Well instead of going to my usual designer haunts, he takes me to Wal-Mart. Do you believe it? Wal-Mart! Anyway, they had this outfit and on a whim, I bought it for throwing on to go upstairs to the pool. I would never normally wear this outside,” she assured me, with a wag of her finger, communicating that I’d better not tell anyone about her huge fashion faux pas. No worries there since, as horrified as I was, I wasn’t telling anyone. Well, maybe Bev, but no one else.

  With a grin, I nodded my understanding.

  She opened the door of the cab and then, as an afterthought, stepped back toward me and kissed my cheek. “You’re a good girl, Shoshie. I love you, sweetheart.”

  “I love you too, Mom. Now get yourself and that chalushes outfit out of here!”

  I watched Mom’s cab drive away and then returned to the ballroom and joined my dad and his soon-to-be wife.

  By then, the coordinator had returned and seemed much calmer, making me wonder if she’d visited the hotel bar first.

  No one mentioned anything about my mom’s outburst for the rest of the evening, but it seemed like a fog had lifted. It was obvious that Dad and Susan knew that Mom no longer posed a threat to the wedding and were no doubt relieved that she had decided to pull her stunt at the rehearsal instead of at the real event.

  I looked at Susan with a new respect; all this time she had kept her cool even though Mom was really making her life a living hell. And with all the history they’d shared. I’d had no idea.

  And what about Dad? I didn’t envy him being right in the middle, but at least it seemed like it was beginning to work out.

  We practiced walking down the aisle and even start
ed to have a good time joking around and pretending to trip until Jen complained that she was hungry. We wrapped up and moved into the restaurant for dinner. And as the four of us made our way through the lobby, I was sure I saw the wedding coordinator, clipboard still clutched tightly in her arms, walk purposefully through the lobby toward the hotel bar.

  Chapter 21

  The alarm went off and I was up and running because it was wedding day. Well, not my wedding day, of course, but close enough to get me wound up. As I threw off the covers and got out of bed, I glanced over to the silver sheath hanging on my bedroom door and couldn’t help but smile.

  Stepping over to it, avoiding tripping on Armani, who seemed to cling to my legs, I was unable to resist fingering the shiny fabric, savoring the way it slid and fell through my fingers; slippery, iridescent. The superb cut would ensure the slinky garment would fall just right over my frame, highlighting all my best features. Yes, I was going to look fantastic.

  With the fear of disaster à la Tippy out of the way, I knew the wedding would be great. Good food, dancing, and a hot guy on my arm. My heart fluttered in anticipation. I couldn’t wait to get to work to talk to Bev. As I let the dress fall away from my fingers, I realized that I didn’t even know what Bev had planned to wear to the wedding.

  I felt suddenly guilty, realizing I’d been totally neglecting her, being sort of wrapped up with my own life. But no worries, I’d make it up to her somehow.

  * * *

  In the few spare minutes before Susan was scheduled to arrive for her treatments, Bev stood at my counter, moaning about her seating assignment for the wedding. We’d already exhausted discussion of our respective wardrobes; I had stamped my seal of approval on her choice of a black gown she had bought last year for her cousin’s wedding. It wasn’t something I would wear, but it did look good on her. She was hardly a fashionista and one or two formal gowns per decade was pretty much her max. I’d told her what I would be wearing, although I knew my description wouldn’t do the sheath justice; it would just have to be seen.

  “I’m sure I’ll be shoved in the back at the ‘odds and ends’ table. It happens at every wedding I go to,” she lamented. “I’m sure it has something to do with my being single.” A big sigh erupted from her as I rolled my eyes.

  “I’d rather have the odds and ends table than where I’m stuck – right beside Jacob, the king of mouth goo.”

  Bev inspected her cuticles. “Oh, Shosh, come on. He’s not that bad…”

  “Yeah whatever.”

  Bev clucked at me. “Give me a break, you’re such a princess.”

  “At least I’m not Princess Mouth Goo.”

  Only a few minutes later, Susan came into the spa, making me feel guilty for badmouthing her son. But my guilt was soon forgotten when I got a good look at her: she was absolutely glowing. She had a perma-smile on her face that had everything to do with her upcoming wedding, and I couldn’t help but smile back at her as she walked up to my counter.

  “Hi Shosh,” she said, unapologetically grinning like a Cheshire cat. I was waiting for the rest of her to disappear.

  “Hi, Susan, all ready for today?”

  If it wasn’t for the slight crow’s feet that crinkled at her eyes as she smiled, I would have sworn she was a first-time bride in her twenties. A lot of brides come to the spa on their wedding days, but few ever look as radiant as the woman standing in front of me on this sunny day in September.

  She nodded. “I think so. Jacob landed this morning and your Uncle Moishe’s gone to get him. Everything else seems to be on track. I’m not expecting any more surprises, God-willing.” She winked.

  I knew exactly what she meant. And she knew that I knew: no need for either of us to put our relief into words.

  After Bev came out and led her into the back treatment room, I glanced at the clock on my computer. In less than twelve short hours, Dad and Susan would be married and she would officially be my stepmom. I thought about that; Stepmom. ‘Me and my stepmom are going to the mall.’ ‘Oh yes, of course, I’m planning on attending that Hadassah luncheon, I’m going with my stepmom.’ ‘I am familiar with that fragrance, my stepmom wears it.’

  I liked it. Now stepsister and stepbrother were another story.

  There was a lull in clients, so I got up to refresh the pitcher of iced tea and check on the supply of clean glasses when the front door opened. As I turned to greet what I assumed would be a client, a huge bouquet of flowers preceded a delivery man into the spa.

  My heart jumped; flowers! Who could they be for? I did a quick mental run through of all the staff in the spa, racking my brain to remember if there were any birthdays this month. I came up empty and involuntarily my stomach began to quiver as I hoped secretly that someone had sent them to me. But who? Max: apologizing for missing the wedding and being an overall putz? Phil: apologizing for being so cold and mean? Maybe they were from Nate, telling me how much he was looking forward to going to the wedding with me. The anticipation was just about killing me. I put the pitcher back down and crossed the waiting room to meet the flower delivery guy (who I noticed was nowhere near as attractive as the air conditioner guy).

  He struggled to look at the slip stapled to the cellophane, leaning back the way my dad used to before he broke down and bought reading glasses.

  “Uh, these are for Mrs. Susan Rosenblatt-to-be?” he looked up at me, confused as he placed the bouquet on the counter.

  Even though the flowers weren’t for me, my heart felt like it was growing in my chest when I thought about just how cute my dad was. My selfish thoughts of being the recipient of the flowers were quickly forgotten and replaced with selfish thoughts of hoping that someday my fiancé would do something just as cute.

  Flower delivery guy must have thought I was some kind of moron the way I was grinning about the flowers.

  “She’s in the back having a treatment done, I’ll make sure she gets them.” I turned the bouquet around and leaned forward so I could stick my nose into a hole in the cellophane and breathe in the heady perfume of the flowers.

  He just stood and stared at me. It only took me a millisecond to realize he was waiting for a tip. I was about to tell him to shove off when I thought better of it and grabbed a few dollars from my personal latté fund and handed it to him. No need to create any bad karma on such an important day.

  He nodded his thanks and turned to leave. I smiled, feeling very smug: his butt had nothing on Nate’s.

  * * *

  By the time Nate arrived to pick me up, I was in full-out panic mode. I was running late, probably due to my having become engrossed in an episode of Million Dollar Listing when I should have been in the bathtub, shaving my legs. But it’s hard not to get hooked, drooling over the kind of properties I would love to have someday.

  Finally, I emerged from the bathroom, bathed, shaved, powdered and very behind schedule. I was supposed to be at the hotel by six-thirty to go over the final details and attend the pre-ceremony signing of the marriage contract and symbolic badeken ritual, where the groom puts the veil over the bride’s face. Then the ceremony was to start promptly at eight. It was already five to six and I was nowhere near ready. Time to really hustle.

  With one towel wrapped around my body, another around my head, poised to shove a foot into my bunched-up stocking, I froze when I heard the door buzzer. I glanced at the big red numbers of the clock-radio to see if perhaps, God willing, he was early.

  “Fuck,” I said out loud when I realized that not only was he not early but about five minutes late. I tossed the balled up pantyhose onto the bed and trotted out into the living room to buzz him in.

  “Hi, c’mon up,” I said into the box before pressing the button to let him in.

  It wouldn’t do to have him see me in a towel. That pleasure was reserved for at least date number four, and of course, someone else. Figuring I only had a couple of minutes until he’d be at my door, I jogged back to the bedroom to retrieve my robe. On the way back, as I tie
d the belt tightly so as not to give Nate a preview of the goods, I heard his knock. I hopped into a jog toward the door. Halfway there I tripped on a foreign object, my toes registering it as something soft. Regardless of what it was, I was unable to regain my balance before hitting the coffee table with both my knee and my forehead, cursing the cat on the way down.

  “Fuck, Armani!” I shrieked as the cat bolted toward the bedroom. I landed on the floor in a crumpled heap of satin robe and throbbing flesh. Lifting my hand to where my eyebrow burned like no wax I had ever experienced, I prayed for no blood. Goose egg was now my best-case scenario. Never being a religious girl whatsoever, I already knew that no matter how hard I prayed, there would be blood. But I was shocked at just how much. As I pulled my fingers away from the wound, a rivulet of blood trickled down my arm, disappearing into the folds of my robe. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I looked down at my skinned knee. It was raw and hurt like hell, having lost several layers of skin. At least it wasn’t bleeding and could be repaired. My face was another issue.

  “Shoshanna? You okay in there?” Nate knocked and spoke simultaneously.

  I reached for the Kleenex and pulled four tissues from the box, stuffing the wad against my eyebrow to try to stop the bleeding. I slapped my other hand on the table, pulled myself up and headed for the door. This is just fucking priceless, was the only thought that ran through my mind like the constant news ticker on CNN. Newsflash: Shoshanna Rosenblatt is a clumsy moron.

  “Hi, Shosha…” Nate’s jaw dropped. “My God, what happened? Are you okay?”

  Still holding the Kleenex against my head and avoiding his eyes, I stepped back so he could come in. I couldn’t speak; I was fighting the tight knot which had materialized in my throat.

  “Shoshanna?” His voice was laced with concern.

  I looked up at him.

  “You okay? What happened?”

  There was nothing I could do. I burst into tears, sobbing like a child until I could spit the words out. “I tripped…over the cat…on the way to the door.” I jerked my thumb back toward the living room, indicating the scene of the crime. “…I hit the table.” My words were punctuated by sobs. I felt like an idiot; for tripping, for hurting myself, for crying. It was a triangle of humiliation.