Dating Kosher

by Greene, Michaela

  I stopped dead in my tracks, the inertia of my sudden movement almost knocking me over. I looked at her, dread becoming a knot in my stomach, sloshing around among the vodka, vermouth and the remnants of the wedding meal. “Wait…Jacob who?”

  Bev dropped her eyes to the floor. I almost couldn’t hear when she whispered the name I most feared: “Weinman.”

  “EWW!” I exclaimed, louder than intended. The people at the table beside the bar stared, but I didn’t care. I had martini courage.

  “Shh!” Bev clucked. “I think he looks good, Shosh. Did you even look at him today?”

  “Uh, ya, and he’s still a moron. I can see that much.” I turned to the bartender, squinting to unblur the letters on his name tag. “Fill me up again, please, Tom.”

  “It’s Tim,” the bartender said.

  “Whatever,” I said, shrugging.

  Bev leaned in and hissed at me. “That’s bitchy, Shosh.”

  “What?” I looked at her, willing her face to stop jiggling from side to side.

  “Saying ‘whatever’ like that when you get someone’s name wrong.”

  Having trouble following what Bev was talking about, I just nodded, hoping that would suffice to end the reprimand. In case it didn’t, I changed the subject. “What do you want with Jacob Weinman? You can do better, Bev.”

  She looked at her shoes again. “I’m not you, Shoshanna.”

  “What do you mean?” My brain began to throb; drinking martinis and thinking are strictly mutually exclusive activities.

  “You never have trouble finding guys, you always get good-looking, successful guys tripping all over you.”

  I blinked, trying to take in what she was saying and when I did, I had to laugh. “Bev, you’re delirious. May I remind you about Max, Phil…um, hello?”

  “That’s not what I mean,” she looked like she was going to cry.

  Not wanting to spill my full drink, I gulped it down, my stomach and the tiny shred of judgment I had left protesting. Placing the glass carefully back on the bar, I then turned to Bev and grabbed her arm, leading her out into the foyer.

  “What is wrong?” I asked.

  Bev burst into tears. “I’m never going to find someone.”

  I took her arm and led her toward the bathroom. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why don’t you think you’ll find someone?”

  “You don’t see me here with anyone do you?” She sniffed.

  “Uh, hello?” I stopped and stared at her; walking and talking at the same time was too challenging. “We’re both single,” I said, keeping my voice low in case any of the guests lingering in the foyer were listening.

  “But that’s your choice, Shosh. Nate is falling all over himself to be with you. Guys aren’t into me, don’t you get that?”

  Bev’s voice was rising in both pitch and volume. She was approaching hysterical and it was going to turn into a total sobfest if I didn’t do something fast. If she began the hiccupping, it was all over. Time for some quick damage control. I dragged her into the bathroom and pulled a wad of Kleenex from the box on the counter and shoved it into her hand.

  “Listen, Bev, I don’t really know what to say, but if you’re really into Jacob, it’s okay with me.”

  “You think he’s gross,” she whined, sniffling between her words. At least she wasn’t sobbing anymore.

  “He does look better today,” I said. “He’s really cleaned himself up.” But something was nagging at me, something about Jacob that didn’t fit.

  Then it hit me. “But you know he’s living out in Portland, right? Or are you just looking to hook up for tonight?”

  Bev laughed. “Well, a one-night stand wouldn’t be so horrible, would it? It’s been a loooong time, you know.”

  I shrugged, “You know I’ve never been averse to one-night stands. Good way to relieve stress.”

  “I wonder what Jacob’s like in bed.” She tossed her tissue into the garbage beside the sink.

  “Well you know what they say about geeks, they aim to please…”

  A toilet flushed and Bev and I looked at each other, both of us stifling a giggle. Ending our conversation, we turned to the mirror to check our faces. As Bev dragged a fresh tissue across her lower eyelids, a stall door opened and Susan, the bride, and mother of Jacob Weinman, stepped out, her face whiter than her gown.

  “Oh my God, Mrs. Weinman…er, Rosenblatt!” Bev spluttered.

  “Bev, Shosh.” Susan nodded at us in turn.

  I felt like I was going to puke, unable to remember what I’d said about Jacob, but knowing it wasn’t good. “We’re really sorry, Susan, we didn’t mean what we were saying.”

  Susan looked at me and blinked several times before she spoke. “I think you did mean what you said, but it’s okay. I was your age once. And you know what? It’s my wedding day and I have decided nothing can ruin that.”

  She was beaming.

  Bev let out a huge breath, her face the color of a ripe tomato.

  Susan looked at Bev. “I think Jacob would do well with a girl like you, Bev.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Rosenblatt.”

  Once she was finished washing her hands, Susan checked her own makeup in the mirror. “You know girls,” a slow smirk pulled up the right corner of her mouth. “I’m going to get laid tonight, too.” Even through my booze clouded eyes, I saw a definite twinkle in Susan’s before she turned and left the bathroom, leaving both Bev and I shocked and completely speechless.

  We looked at each other for several seconds before we burst out laughing.

  “I really like her,” Bev finally said after we stopped giggling like lunatics.

  “I do too,” I said. “I just wish I hadn’t learned that my dad was going to get some tonight.”

  “Ew,” Beth scrunched up her face.

  Returning to the table, I was glad there wasn’t a drink there waiting for me; chugging that last martini had been a very bad idea. I sat down heavily next to Nate and the day’s events began to dangerously weigh down my eyelids.

  “Hey, Shoshie, you doing okay?” Simon asked, sounding a million miles away.

  I waved him off, afraid if I spoke I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on mentally settling my churning stomach.

  Never before had a banquet table looked so much like a pillow, calling my name softly. Although I allowed my eyes to close, I fought the urge to lay my head down: I didn’t want to embarrass my dad.

  “So much for my dance,” a distant voice said. I forced my eyes open and saw Nate smiling at me. He sounded so far away; I was surprised that he was right next to me. The band was playing, but the music too sounded far away as it echoed through the hall.

  “I’ll dance with you, just give me a few minutes, my eyes are so heavy…” Every time I blinked, it felt like an eternity.

  He laughed, “It’s okay, I’m hoping for more chances to dance with you.”

  “Just give me five…” my body betrayed me as my neck was no longer able to hold up my head and it crashed onto the table. Thankfully, the banquet staff had cleared the dishes away after dessert and my skull had the thick tablecloth to break its fall.

  “C’mon, Shoshanna, I’ll take you home,” Nate said three seconds later. Couldn’t he just give me a few minutes?

  “No, we have to dance.” I sucked in the saliva that was threatening to trickle out the side of my mouth onto the tablecloth.

  “It’s been over an hour, Shoshanna. You’ve been passed out on the table for over an hour.”

  That did it. I bolted upright in my chair; not a wise move. My stomach and brain kept moving long after my body was still. Ugh. Not good. Martinis always equaled a bad, lingering drunk.

  My eyes blinked open against the harsh lights reminiscent of last call. It was only then that I realized the crowd had thinned to a small spattering of guests and the band was long gone. I looked around.

  “My dad?” I asked Nate.

  “Gone. For a while, now. He wants you to call him tomorrow
before they leave for their cruise.”

  I sighed; I had really wanted to see him and Susan off.

  “And Bev? Simon?” I couldn’t believe how much I missed in what felt like a tiny catnap.

  “Bev left with that guy, the bride’s son, I think. He offered to drive her home.” Nate lifted a knowing eyebrow. “And Simon and his date left shortly after. He said to tell you he’d see you at Rosh Hashanah.”

  “Really? Bev left with Jacob?” I silently hoped Nate had it wrong.

  No such luck: he nodded. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  I looked up at Nate, forcing my eyes to focus on his face. He looked good, really good. It suddenly struck me as unfair that my dad would be getting more action than me. Wordlessly, I got up out of the chair and let Nate take my elbow and lead me out of the ballroom; there was no one left to say goodbye to anyway.

  * * *

  Despite my protests, Nate parked the car and walked me up to my condo. It seemed strange that when I unlocked the door, there was no welcome home greeting from my fuzzy Armani. I had gotten so used to him meeting me and rubbing up against me, depositing his hair on whatever fabric happened to be covering my legs, and he didn’t discriminate between fishnets or wool pants. Never again would I chastise him for covering my clothes with hair, not after this.

  “Poor Armani, I hope he’s okay,” I mused aloud, tossing my purse onto the couch.

  “I’m sure he will be,” Nate said, still standing by the front door.

  Slipping off my shoes, I fell onto the couch. “Grab a seat. I’m gonna see what’s on TV.” Who was I kidding? I could barely keep my eyes open, but for some reason, I just didn’t want him to leave.

  He glanced at his watch. “I should really get going.”

  “Come on, I’m not ready for bed yet, just sit with me for a bit.” I patted the empty space beside me.

  Obediently, Nate kicked off his shoes and sat on the couch.

  Usually, Armani was my warm comfort in the evenings. Maybe it was the stress of the day, the injury, or maybe it was the copious free-flowing martinis, but I was suddenly desperate for some consoling. Exhausted, my head throbbing, especially the recently closed gash over my eye, I leaned toward Nate, pressing my back into his chest. Closing my eyes, I willed my head not to spin and when it wouldn’t comply, I gave in to the gentle whirling, hoping my mid-reception snooze took the edge off enough that I wouldn’t puke. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t, had been down this road before.

  I took a deep breath, breathing in Nate’s smell, faintly musky, with a hint of aftershave; it was nice, very masculine. “Thanks so much for everything today, you were great.”

  A big strong arm encircled my shoulders and I snuggled deeper into his chest.

  “No problem, I had a nice time. Your family is great.”

  I wasn’t sure if he meant it, but it was nice of him to say. There were some definite high points to my family, but it also had its share of nuts. Feeling safe and warm in his arms and more than a little taken with the easy way he fit into my family, I did what any red-blooded woman would have done, were she to find herself in my situation. I passed out cold.

  Chapter 24

  The phone rang, interrupting my sleep. I leaned over the sex-spent and sleeping Brad to pick it up. So help me God, if it was Angelina again…

  Then I woke up really. All alone.

  Reaching for the phone, I forced my eyes open to look at the clock. Nine-forty-seven. Before I had a chance to sort out in my brain what day it was, my dad was talking into my ear.

  “Hiya Honey, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Sorry to dash your hopes, Dad,” I mumbled.

  “Aw, sorry, I just wanted to talk to you before we left for the airport.”

  “S’okay.”

  “I wanted to say thank you; I know yesterday was a tough day for you. How’s your head?”

  My hand involuntarily rose to the bandage over my eye. “It’s okay, it hurts a bit.”

  “Well, Susan wanted to talk to you, just a second. Love you, honey, sorry we can’t go for brunch today.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. Under the circumstances, I think I can forgive you.”

  “Hi, Shoshanna. I just wanted to say thank you for everything yesterday. I thought your friend was very nice. Will you be bringing him to Rosh Hashanah? I’m assuming you’ve asked him, it’s only two weeks away.”

  It took me a minute to catch up on everything she’d said—my brain a little slow thanks to all those martinis. “Thanks, Susan. Uh…I don’t know about Nate, I’ll have to ask him.”

  “You do that. Well, we’d better get to the airport, we’ll call you just as soon as we get back.”

  “Okay, have a great honeymoon.” For some reason, I began to wonder if she did, in fact, get laid the night before. But then, as my stomach lurched, I pushed the inappropriate thought out of my head.

  Once the call was ended, I lay my head back down on the pillow. It was throbbing, whether from the injury or the martinis, it was impossible to tell: probably a combination of the two. Either way, it was time to medicate. I took a deep breath and sat up, realizing for the first time that I was fully dressed under my comforter. Had Nate carried me to bed? Struggling to remember, I didn’t recall slipping under the blanket, and if I had, I certainly wouldn’t have left on my pantyhose.

  Standing up, I pulled the offending nylons off and threw them onto my dresser. I scratched my legs all over until they were blotchy and sore. God, I hate pantyhose.

  Not able to put it off any longer, I grabbed my phone and left my bedroom in search of the bathroom; alcohol dehydrates, but that didn’t change the fact that I really had to pee. On my way to the bathroom, I glanced at the couch, half expecting there to be a man on it, but there wasn’t. A pang of disappointment crossed my chest.

  “Why the hell would you have wanted him to stay?” I asked myself aloud. Shaking my head, I abandoned the living room for the bathroom.

  No sooner had I finished in the bathroom and sat down on my couch, the phone rang again. “Jesus, can a person not have a Sunday morning to herself?” I allowed it to go to voicemail, not really in the mood to talk to anyone yet. Good thing, I thought, as I looked at the phone and saw my mother’s number.

  As soon as it bonged that there was a message, I hit the button to listen to it.

  “Hi honey, just calling to say hello. I hope everything went well yesterday. I went shopping and got the most gorgeous suit for Rosh Hashanah. You are coming to shul with me, aren’t you? Since the first night falls on a Tuesday night, I thought that maybe instead of sushi we should go to somewhere nice to celebrate the New Year.”

  How’s a Chinese buffet sound? I thought with a smile.

  The message went on, “Anyway, honey, hope you’re okay, we can talk about dinner when you call me, which I hope is soon. I’m going out today, but you can call me on my cell phone. In case you forgot the number here it is…”

  And there it was: the big infusion of Jewish mother guilt. I rolled my eyes, making a mental note to call her later. I deleted the message, saving myself the torture of having to listen to it again.

  When I went to put the phone down, I noticed a note on the coffee table. Leaning over, I picked it up.

  Shosh, had a great time with you. Hope Armany is okay, give me a call if you like.

  Nate.

  See, could I be with a guy who didn’t even know how to spell Armani? Would he think the four Cs are some boy band?

  My momentary distaste was replaced by concern for my cat. Grabbing my phone to call the emergency vet clinic, I nearly jumped out of my skin when it rang again.

  The number on the screen was Bev’s so I hit the button to answer as the previous evening’s events began to trickle into my consciousness.

  I didn’t bother saying hello. “Okay, my memory is a bit fuzzy due to a concussion doused by many martinis, but I do think I remember something about you and Jacob. Please tell me it’s not true.”


  “Shosh,” Bev whispered, the deep echo in her voice telling me she was cupping her mouth over the phone.

  Horror washed over me. “Oh my God, he’s there, isn’t he?”

  “Shhhh. Shut up. He’s in the shower, so I only have a few minutes. He’s really, really nice, we talked all night.”

  “About what? Slugs?”

  “Why do you have to ruin this for me? Why can’t I like him?”

  I couldn’t believe I had to state the obvious. “Because he’s a loser, Bev.”

  Bev took a loud, ragged breath. “You know what? You’re a spoiled bitch, Shoshanna,” she spat before she hung up.

  Disbelieving, I stared at the phone. What had just happened? I’m trying to save my friend from a huge mistake (or was it too late?) and she calls me a bitch and hangs up on me. Putting the phone down, I waited for her to call me back to apologize. I flipped my phone’s address book and found the vet clinic’s number, but didn’t want to be on the phone when Bev called back, so I sat and waited.

  And waited.

  So I turned on the TV to fill the few minutes until she called back.

  An hour later, she still hadn’t called. I picked up the phone to check and make sure it wasn’t dead. Yup, full battery and three bars.

  Well, I couldn’t wait any longer; at least I had call waiting. I cleared my throat and swallowed before dialing the vet’s number.

  They told me Armani was doing much better but would still have to stay until Monday when I would have to transport him to my own vet for surgery. Surgery. Ugh.

  I thanked them and hung up the phone after assuring them I would return Monday morning to pick him up.

  I stared at the phone. Why hadn’t Bev called back?

  Chapter 25

  Indian summer my ass: we were under a full out heat wave. I wiped the sweat from my brow as I jogged, in heels no less, down the busy sidewalk. Why were there so many people on the street when I was in a hurry? By the time I hurried into the spa, it was almost noon, but I had a good reason for being late: my poor, sick Armani.

  Forgoing my morning trip to the gym (grr, wish I hadn’t ingested all those high-calorie drinks and foods at the wedding), I picked Armani up at the emergency vet’s promptly at eight as directed. I almost broke into tears when they brought him out in his carrier, tubes coming from him: one to an IV bag for fluids going in and the other to a urine collection bag for fluids coming out. After signing the very hefty Visa slip, (Dad would be getting his rent very late next month, if at all) I put the meowing cat into my car and transported him to my regular vet’s office for surgery.