The Kiddush Ladies

by Susan Sofayov

  As Becky hung up the phone, her heart raced inside her chest. Naomi needed to butt out. This didn’t involve her.

  “I heard you talking to Naomi.” David walked into the kitchen. “It got a little loud.”

  “That’s because Naomi refuses to listen.”

  “I don’t think so, Beck. I heard what you said about Miriam.” He wrapped his arms around his wife. “Are you ready to tell me what’s going on inside your head? Hearing you talk like that about Miriam--harmless Miriam--is scaring the shit out of me.”

  Becky spun out of his arms. “Harmless, my ass.”

  He followed her across the kitchen and into the living room. “Will you stop? Look at me.”

  The last thing she wanted to do was talk or listen. There was nothing to say. Just thinking about it was a nightmare but saying the words out loud would kill her.

  “Please, tell me what is going on. You and Miriam should be working together planning this wedding.”

  An angry fire ignited inside her entire body. “She’s the reason this damn wedding is happening. She put the ayin hara on Noah the day he was born. It’s all her friggin fault--all of it.”

  Before David could respond, Becky slammed her office door in his face. All of them needed to leave her alone--even David.

  Chapter 11

  Naomi

  Aaron called at five forty-five. After a few seconds of small talk, he suggested they go to some place casual for dinner. “Wearing a suit to shul,” he said, “was more than enough dress-up for one day.”

  After Naomi hung up the phone, her heart surprised her by doing a small jig.

  She put on five outfits. Each turned out to be either old-fashioned, worn out, or made her look worn out.

  When Laurie arrived to pick up Sarah, Naomi enlisted her help. Laurie yanked clothes from the closet, rejecting garment after garment. The smile she wore when she walked into the bedroom was replaced by a grimace usually reserved for invasive medical procedures. “I don’t get you, Naomi. Sometimes, I think you’re a fat person stuck inside a skinny person’s body. Everything you own is either black, baggy, or both,” Laurie said. “How am I supposed to deliver sexy from this stuff?”

  “Hey, most of it fit when I bought it. Some of those pants were even tight--form fitting. I lost a few pounds after Jake left. And what’s wrong with black? Isn’t it the sophisticated color?”

  Laurie rolled her eyes. “Here.” She thrust a pair of beige pants at Naomi, in the same manner the nurse at her doctor’s office handed out paper gowns. “I hope you don’t need suspenders to keep these things around your waist. They look huge.”

  Naomi pulled on the pants. Laurie nodded and then handed her a black silk blouse. “Maybe, turn around.”

  Naomi did a three hundred and sixty degree turn as Laurie studied her clothing. “Works,” Laurie said. “Just throw on a chunky silver necklace, and you’ll look great.” She sat down on the bed as Naomi stripped off the outfit. “He’s really handsome and funny, Naomi.”

  “I already know that,” she said, pulling up her blue jeans. “And he’s the ex-husband of a supermodel--Alicia Brenner.”

  “So what? Ex-husband, ex being the operative word.”

  Naomi headed for the stairs and Laurie trailed along behind her. “Well, from what I heard, you two were pretty serious when you were young, maybe this date will reignite something. You’ve been single long enough.”

  “Come on, let’s have coffee. Aaron and I had something when we were children. Things are different now.”

  “Bullshit. If he loved you once, he can love you again. Besides, you always hear stories of long lost loves finding each other on the internet and getting married.”

  “Well, it won’t be me and Aaron. After shul, I gazed into my crystal ball, and his future, tall, blond, trophy-wife waved back at me. So, can we change the subject to more pressing matters?” Naomi said, while pouring fresh coffee into a Happy Anniversary mug.

  Laurie exhaled. “Actually, I can’t think of anything more interesting than a handsome author asking you to dinner.”

  “Becky and Miriam.”

  “That’s not interesting. It’s stupid,” Laurie shot back.

  Naomi shook her head. “I’m not so sure anymore. Becky let loose a tirade on me today, saying she’ll never be Miriam’s friend again. This is definitely not about the meal Miriam sent to Rabbi Morty’s family. She made it clear it’s something more serious.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  Naomi shrugged. “She wouldn’t tell me--hung up on me.”

  Inside, she struggled with the notion she was somehow betraying Becky by speaking with Lauri about this situation. But, the shul brought all of them together, Miriam, Becky, Laurie, and Esther. And truth be told, Naomi felt baffled, frustrated, and helpless and talking to Laurie didn’t count as lashon hara.

  Naomi didn’t gossip. This was a case of two heads being better than one. “Becky’s been hard-headed since we were kids. Whatever the reason is, she either believes I should know about it already, or it’s so bad, she doesn’t want me to know.”

  “Seriously, what could be so awful that she wouldn’t tell you? Not telling me, I can understand, but you--you’re like sisters.”

  Naomi shrugged. “I’ll let her cool down for a few days and try again. Maybe I can convince her to meet for a drink after work. A couple of glasses of Shiraz may soften her or at least illicit some warm fuzzy feelings from our childhood adventures with Miriam.”

  “Well, it’s probably not tied to the Miriam issue, but the only thing Becky wants from me is to convince Maria to convert. Maybe, I’ll forget my rule do-not-intervene-with-wannabe-converts, this one time, and talk to the girl. It may not solve Becky’s issue, but if it makes her happier, she may dig some forgiveness out of that stubborn heart of hers.”

  For a few moments, they silently sipped coffee, both absorbed in their own thoughts.

  “Naomi,” Laurie said. “Promise me you’ll give Aaron a chance. I know you--you slammed the door shut after Jake left and pushed the furniture in front of it to block it from ever opening. Aaron has warm, honest eyes.”

  The sound of Ezra and Sarah trudging up the basement steps eliminated the need for Naomi to respond. Ezra burst through the door first. Sarah trailed behind him, giggling.

  “What’s so funny?” Naomi asked.

  “Nothing, Mom. Just the movie,” he replied.

  Sarah covered her mouth to stop the laughter from erupting again.

  Laurie and Naomi gave each other a look that said, “Do we really want to know what’s going on here?” But, before either woman opened her mouth, the duo bolted toward the front door.

  Laurie stood and pushed in her chair. It was nice to watch someone push it back into its proper spot under the table. After years of trying to teach Josh and Ezra, Naomi gave up.

  Laurie and Sarah stood in the foyer, pulling on their boots and putting on their jackets. Before walking out the door, Laurie squeezed Naomi’s hand. “Have a good time tonight. And I want all the details tomorrow.”

  ***

  The grandfather clock in her foyer chimed 6:30, and the one on the oven read 6:33. An hour and a half to wait. It only took a few moments to put the mugs in the dishwasher, rinse out the coffee pot, and wipe off the table. The refrigerator contained a variety of leftovers--good, now she didn’t have to cave in to Ezra’s pleas for pizza money--“But Mom, there’s nothing to eat in this house.” She swore he couldn’t find something to eat in a supermarket when he set his mind on pizza. Before closing the refrigerator door, she noticed the leftover bottle of wine inside the door rack. A half of glass couldn’t hurt.

  She set the wine glass on the dresser before walking into the bathroom--their disgustingly oversized master bathroom. After they bought the house, Jake insisted on knocking out the wall separating the bathroom from the smallest bedroom. Then, he decided the ceiling was too low. So he busted through to the attic and viola--the room had the intimacy of standing na
ked in a very fancy gymnasium. At least, he was considerate enough to design the room, so she could have her own vanity and chair. She always hated standing while putting on make-up.

  The hot water felt wonderful, running down her back. The expensive lavender soap she saved for special occasions smelled divine. She lingered in the shower until her fingers began to prune. Then she stepped out, grabbed her robe from the hook, and wrapped her hair in a towel. The glass of wine called her name--the first gulp tasted pretty good and the second tasted even better.

  After unfurling the towel, she combed out the knots and cursed herself for not bothering to color her hair. People always complimented her on her deep brown waves, but now the dark color just accentuated the gray. A collection of bottles, containing anti-wrinkle serum, firming moisturizer, a deep wrinkle filler, and SPF 30 hydrating foundation lined her vanity. Jake hated when she left any make-up or cream on the vanity. Since he moved out, she never put them in the drawer. But she didn’t want to think about Jake, so she switched her attention to the image in the mirror. It looked its age, confirming her belief that cosmetic companies lied. But, in case they were telling the truth, she layered her face and neck with a little bit from each bottle, deciding that she would probably look even older without it.

  The entire process of getting ready took forty-five minutes. The numbers shining from clock radio read 7:45. Nothing left to do but sit and stress.

  The doorbell rang at precisely 8:03 p.m. and the butterflies in her stomach took flight.

  ***

  Miriam

  Miriam plopped onto the sofa and shimmied up close to her husband, Joe, who was flipping through the TV channels--as usual. She pulled the remote control from his hand and pushed the pause button. This got his attention.

  “Joe, I’ve decided we should pay for Noah and Maria’s honeymoon. I want to buy them a trip to Israel.”

  He looked at her, but didn’t speak.

  “We both know we have the money,” she said.

  “Sure, we have an extra five thousand dollars,” he said. “But--”

  “Don’t be cheap,” Miriam interrupted. “The price of the plane tickets is over two thousand dollars and a nice hotel in Jerusalem doesn’t come cheap, especially one with a view of the old city. And, of course they’ll need money for meals. We don’t want the poor things to spend ten days eating falafel and shawarma.”

  “We don’t?”

  She patted his hand. “Of course not. I want them to be able to enjoy the better restaurants in Jerusalem.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course, where else, except maybe New York, can you sit down to a lovely kosher meal in a first class dining room?”

  “Squirrel Hill?”

  “Drop the sarcasm. This is important. We’ll give them a Visa gift card with five hundred dollars for food, and I think we should throw in an extra five hundred dollars for fun money.”

  Joe shook his head slowly. “Fun money?”

  “Wait, I just realized something important. They’ll need a rental car, exploring the country by bus is so...I don’t know...uncomfortable and inconvenient.”

  Joe leaned forward elbows to knees and let out a groan.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Forget the car. Israelis drive like crazy people. We can hire a tour guide and personal driver for them. Wouldn’t it be great if the driver and the tour guide were the same person?”

  “Marvelous.” He clapped his hands together once and groaned--again.

  “I calculate a ten-day trip would cost about ten thousand.”

  “Really? Ten thousand dollars,” he said, leaning back into the sofa and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

  “Why not? It’s a good investment.”

  Joe laughed, not a happy laugh but more like a pained oh-great-my-wife-just-lost-her-mind type of laugh.

  “Seriously,” she said. “Maybe if they spend time in Israel, like we did, they’ll fall in love with the place. And, maybe, just maybe, it will make Maria want to convert. Besides, it would be our small way of supporting the Israeli economy. “

  “I’ll write a check to an Israeli Foundation and tell them to deposit it into the Israeli economy, and I’ll get a tax write-off.”

  “Funny,” she replied.

  “Becky didn’t even invite you to the wedding. I know you love Noah, but this is extreme.”

  “No, Joe. It’s not extreme. Extreme would be buying them an apartment in Jerusalem. This is just a little honeymoon, and it’s what I want to do.”

  He shook his head and exhaled. She held her ground and remained silent until he broke the impasse.

  “You two have been tighter than sisters since the day I met you. This hasn’t always been so great for me, feeling like I had to please two wives. Right now, I know this rift is killing you, but she’ll get over it. And I kind of like being married to just you.”

  Miriam pulled back. “No. She’s not going to get over it--I feel it in my bones. I don’t know why she’s mad, but I know it’s something serious,” she said, clasping his hand between hers. “If there’s a chance this will make her happy, it’s worth every dime.”

  Joe shook his head.

  Her eyes moistened. “Do you remember Rosh Hashanah when you and Simon kept everyone at the table laughing? That’s what this is about--childhood and family.”

  He cocked his head, giving her an I-don’t-understand-this-at-all look.

  “Memories, Joe. It’s all about memories. Your brother and sister confirm your history each time they say the words, ‘remember when.’ Brothers and sisters are connectors. They’re the people who connect our past, present, and future.”

  His face softened as he reached for his wife’s hand.

  She sighed. “I could tell you stories about Elvis coming to our house every year to light the first Hanukkah candle, and there’s no one in this world who could confirm if I’m lying or telling the truth.”

  Joe’s face began to register understanding.

  “After my parents died, I lost all connections to my childhood. The closest things I have are the memories I share with Becky and Naomi.” Miriam stared at their clasped hands resting on her lap. “They really are the nearest thing I have to family, losing Becky is the equivalent of losing half of my family.”

  “Fine, I get it and I’m sorry. But does it really require me to spend thousands of dollars to keep you together?”

  Her eyes drilled into his, pleading. “At this point, yes. Besides, Noah’s never been to Israel.”

  Joe released her hand, reached for the remote, and aimed it at the cable box. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Great, I’ll book the trip tomorrow!” She jumped up from the sofa and headed toward the door.

  “Wait, I said I’d think about it!”

  Miriam trotted back to the sofa, leaned over, and kissed his cheek. “Think about it all you want. But while you’re thinking, the flight ticket prices are going up.”

  He gave her a half-hearted sneer. Smiling, she wrapped her arms around him “I love you so much. Their honeymoon will be as amazing as ours. Watch TV now, I need to call Naomi.”

  Chapter 12

  Naomi

  Aaron looked distinguished, standing on her porch with snowflakes falling in the background. The entire scene reminded her of his last book. The descriptions he used in his novels actually turned Pittsburgh into fascinating place--a sign of true talent.

  Naomi inhaled before opening the door. He stomped the snow from his shoes. “Gotta love this shitty Pittsburgh weather,” he said, stepping into the foyer. “I now understand why all good Jews go to Miami. Viva la palm tree.” He tilted his head and grinned--just like an awkward nineteen-year-old kid.

  She smiled. “Come into the kitchen and don’t bother taking off the shoes. I need to grab my bag and say good night to Ezra--not that he would even notice my absence.”

  “Nice house, Naomi,” he said, walking toward the sliding glass door. “A yard, I miss having
one. I’m sick of apartment living.”

  As he gazed through the glass, she yelled, “Good-night” down the basement steps.

  The words “See ya, Mom,” blasted from the man cave.

  “How old is he?”

  “Seventeen.”

  Aaron nodded, and his eyes sparkled in the soft light of the kitchen. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I remember you at seventeen.”

  Her stomach completed a full somersault. Blood rushed to her face. Words--she needed words, but all she could muster was a stupid grin. The awkwardness that began in the synagogue continued. He moved next to her and placed his hand on the small of her back. A zing of electricity shot through a few neglected body parts.

  He navigated her toward the front door, his hand lingering on her lower back. “Let’s go find something to eat.”

  The conversation during the ride to the restaurant took on a neutral tone. He described the Pitt interview process, and like always, his depiction of people, down to the smallest detail, cracked her up.

  He drove straight to a lovely restaurant on Mt. Washington. The weather must have deterred people from venturing out, because the crowd waiting to be seated was thin. The maître D ushered them to a white-linen-covered table with thickly padded chairs nestled into a corner where the two plate-glass windows joined--not the casual place she expected. They sipped Cabernet, enjoying the view of snow floating down onto the city.

  “Naomi,” he said, reaching across the table and grasping her hand. “You haven’t changed.”

  A small lump rose into her throat as his hand lingered on top of hers. “Aaron, are you telling me that I looked middle-aged during college?”

  His eyes lit up, and he leaned back into his chair, laughing. “You’re nervous, and I can’t believe you still crack jokes to hide it. Hey, you’re not alone. I actually sang along with the songs on the car radio during the drive to your house. Now, you know that only happens when I’m really tense, or hungry. Today, it’s definitely a combination.”