Dating Kosher (12 page)

I laughed. “It’s not that. It’s just…” How on earth did I get into this conversation with my boss?

“Well, okay. But I am going to write this number down for you before I send the slip to the bank. Just in case.”

I could almost hear her winking at me.

“Okay, Rita, see you tomorrow.” I hung up the phone and stared at the ceiling for several minutes, mentally preparing myself to get up.

I had no plans for the day, other than a few errands and visiting Bubby, but it was well past time to get out of bed. Throwing off the covers, I got up and headed toward the bathroom for a shower.

Halfway there, the phone rang again. I expected it to be Rita again, or even Bev, taking up Rita’s cause, but instead it was Susan. She barely held it together for a hello before she dissolved into sobs.

“I need you to help me,” she said, her breath catching halfway through.

“What’s the matter, Susan?” a sudden image appeared in my mind: my dad had cheated on her too, and was leaving her right before their wedding. Or worse, she ran into Mom at Macy’s and they got into a catfight. Poor Susan.

“My car broke down and I have a fitting at eleven then I need to go to the florist and…the caterer and…” she was racked with sobs. I couldn’t believe she was freaking so much about her car breaking down.

“Why don’t you call a car service and have a driver for the day?” She could certainly afford it.

There was a long pause, like the thought had never occurred to her. “Oh. That’s…” she sighed. “I don’t know why I never thought of that. But…would you come with me, I’m just in such a state.”

To be honest, it was about the last thing I wanted to do, but she really was a nice lady and I would hope if the roles were reversed, she would help me out if I was having a pre-wedding meltdown. “Sure Susan, why don’t you call a service and just text me when you’re on your way. I just need a shower and to get dressed.”

“That would be great,” she said. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry I’m all in a tizzy; I’ll explain more when I see you.”

And I was off and running.

* * *

Smiling at the middle-aged driver who was holding the door for me, I got into the back seat of the long black Town Car at ten-forty, arranging myself next to my soon-to-be stepmother. We had plenty of time to get Susan to her fitting for her wedding gown. I was a bit concerned about Susan’s seemingly fragile state of mind, which, while improved from earlier, still seemed a bit delicate.

“Thank you so much, Shoshanna,” she said, wringing her hands, despite the big rock on her finger.

“It’s okay. Good timing though, this being my day off.” I gave her a genuine smile. Now that I was here, I was eager to accompany her to her fitting: I had yet to see the dress.

She smiled weakly back at me. “Seems like this is becoming a regular thing for us. Anyway, I don’t want you to think I’m a complete basket case for no reason, it’s just been a horrific morning.”

The driver pulled the car away from the curb and into traffic. I shook my head at Susan. “It’s okay, really.”

“I did call Jen to come with me this morning. I had hoped we could have a nice day like you and I did last Friday.” Although I kept my eyes on hers, in my peripheral vision I could see her fidgeting her hands in her lap.

“She told me that she would have no part of it and wasn’t likely coming to the wedding either. She called me a homewrecker.” Susan hiccupped.

Seriously? Maybe Jen and
my
mother could go out for drinks on the evening of the wedding. After all, like they say: misery loves company.

“That’s terrible, Susan, I’m really sorry.”

“And she had to wait until now to tell me she’s not coming?” Susan hiccupped again, her voice rising in pitch and volume. “My own daughter?”

I wasn’t sure what to say. A lot of people had been hurt by what she and my Dad had done, and some weren’t so willing to put their support behind the upcoming union.

“I shouldn’t be dumping this on you. But I can’t believe my own daughter...” She looked out the window and shook her head before she turned back to me and smiled, reaching for my hand. “You’ve been so great.”

Apparently Susan and my father had not spoken about the brunch episode of Sunday previous. I was still feeling guilty. “Not really.”

She turned to look at me. “What do you mean?”

“Dad and I sort of had a thing last week at brunch.” I didn’t want to get into the details. It’s hard to admit a conversation that ultimately ends up with you being told to grow up and then walked out on.

Her fingers resumed their fiddling. “He mentioned it. I think he feels badly about what happened, but he’s not angry at you, Shoshanna. He…and I, only want the best for you.”

I thought to Tuesday night, to what I had said and done to my mother. No, I wasn’t mad at her either, just tired of her self-indulgent whining. Of course, I still loved her and all. So it followed that Dad wouldn’t be angry at me either. I needed to call him.

“So what are you going to do about Jen?” I asked, eager to shift the conversation away from myself.

She shrugged. “What can I do? She’s a grown woman, I can’t make her come to my wedding if she doesn’t want to.” She looked out the side window again. “At least Jacob will be there.”

“That will be nice for you,” I said, groaning inwardly at the image of her son that had just flashed into my mind.

“Well, anyway, on to better things. I’m so glad you’re coming with me today, I’m anxious to get your thoughts on my dress. It’s a bit shameless that a forty-seven-year-old divorcee is wearing a wedding gown, but I have to admit, it’s magnificent.”

Fashion, that was more my speed. “What designer?”

“Pronovias.” She was grinning like a schoolgirl, it was sweet.

“They are stunning.” Although I had never been a bride, I’d been a bridesmaid enough times to have spent some considerable time in bridal shops and thus knew which designers I liked (the important information tucked away in my memory banks for future use) and Pronovias was one of them. “I’m sure it’s beautiful,” I said.

The dress
was
beautiful; a stunning silk empire waist with the most delicate lace top. It was not white, but almost almond and the train was a conservative chapel length, much more appropriate for a second wedding, I thought. Susan had chosen really well.

And she looked so elegant in it, with her hair swept up off her neck (albeit in a cheap clip for the time being) that I smiled with pride. It was easy to forget that she wasn’t a first-time bride all aglow with thoughts of her wedding night. Okay, ew, no need to think about
that
.

By the time the dressmaker had added the few pins for a tuck here and a let-out there, Susan was back to her normal easygoing self. We stopped for lunch, this time just taking a few minutes for a quick salad at Wendy’s (I even offered to pay, but Susan would have no part of it) and then continued on to the florist for a final discussion on her bouquet and Dad’s boutonniere.

Then it was off to the caterers for a tweaking of the menu and headcount.

“So, Shoshanna, the wedding is two weeks away. I’m going to have to let the caterer know if you’re bringing someone.” Susan said on the way to the restaurant that would be catering the wedding.

I panicked. “Yes, I’m bringing someone.”

She seemed surprised but quickly smiled at me. “Oh, that’s wonderful, who is he? Assuming it’s a ‘he,'” she twittered, obviously having heard about mine and Bev’s legendary lesbian prank.

“It is definitely a he. But ha ha on your little joke,” I was stalling, trying to think of what to tell her. Before I knew what was happening, a name flew into my head and out my mouth. “His name’s Nate. Nate Cooper.”

I bit my lip. Shit, what am I doing?

“Oh. Any relation to Jeff and Frieda?” she asked.

We pulled into the restaurant parking lot. “Hmm, not sure.” Of course, I was totally bullshitting and I was going to hell where I would sit on Satan’s lap and burn with him for all of eternity, probably wearing Wal-Mart clothes and Velcro running shoes as part of my punishment.

“Is this a new beau?” Susan asked.

“Not sure where it’s going just yet. We’ve been out a few times.” Sure, I thought…if you count telling him where the air conditioner is as a date.

“Well, I’m looking forward to meeting him, although, I will say Jacob will be disappointed.”

Okay, so I made the only reasonable choice. An eternity on Satan’s lap had to be better than an evening stuck next to Jacob. Now I just had to figure out how to show up alone and save face. Maybe there would be some sort of emergency that prevented him from attending?

Unless…

* * *

“Okay, I’ll go out with you,” I blurted out the second Nate came in for his Thursday massage appointment. I was wired and panicked; with the wedding in just ten days, there was a good chance he would turn me down. What kind of crazy girl asks a guy on a first date to a wedding and with such short notice?

Nate looked around, confused. “What? Right now?”

I laughed, trying to look casual. “No. Um, I don’t know how to ask this, but um…” looking around the counter, I made sure we were alone. “I have this wedding to go to next weekend and I really need a date.”

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.