Dating Kosher (16 page)

Maybe I should hold out for your best friend, I thought, wondering if it would be rude to ask if he was single and what he was doing Saturday night. “That’s a relief,” I said out loud. “I thought I was going to have to give you the crash course, and it’s getting late.”

“Nah, I’m good. You could quiz me if you like?” it was a challenge, but sadly one I wasn’t up for. I yawned rudely and shook my head.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Looking at him across the table, I smiled, deciding in that moment not to broach the subject of his job. Maybe I was already asking too much of him as it was. Although…

“Oh there’s one more thing,” I bit my lip.

He tilted his head, waiting.

“Remember when I said we’ve been dating for some time, now?”

He said nothing but raised his eyebrows.

“Seven dates.” I looked up at the ceiling, trying to be nonchalant. “You can’t expect me to take just
anyone
to my father’s wedding, can you?” I snorted. This entire scam was bordering on the ridiculous, but I was hell-bent on pulling it off.

“Seven dates? And I suppose you’ve worked out the details of each and every one of these seven dates?”

Sheepishly I nodded.

He raised his hand to get the waitress’ attention. When she trotted over to the table, he ordered us another round of drinks, ignoring my protests. The waitress looked from him to me and back again, not sure who to listen to.

“If I’m going to sit here through seven dates, I need another beer.”

“I’ve got to get a train home. Couldn’t I send you an e-mail or something?”

“Please, go ahead,” he said to the waitress, shooing her away to get our drinks. To me, he said, “Don’t worry about getting the train, it’s too late for that. I’m not letting you take a train home alone.”

Shocked at his audacity, I lashed out. “I’m not sleeping at
your
place, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

He recoiled in his seat. “Wow, you sure are hot under the collar, Shoshanna. Especially for someone who was playing footsie with me not too long ago. Or are you just a bit of a control freak?” He smiled, obviously liking that I was so off-balance.

“Well, I’m not sleeping with you,” I said, unsure what else I
could
say.

“What I meant, before you attacked my character, was that I would drive you home so that you don’t have to take the train so late by yourself.”

“Oh.” Oops. That one deserved an apology. “Sorry, it’s just that no guy I’ve known would ever have offered to drive me all the way home.”

“I’m not like other guys you’ve known, Shoshanna.”

It was true. I looked up at Nate and smiled. It was
very
true.

Leaning back in my seat, I began to tell Nate all about dates two through seven since he already knew all about date number one down at the marina. I hadn’t changed any details of that one; why tinker with perfection?

Chapter 20

Friday morning. Rehearsal day. Lying in bed, waiting for the inevitable blast of the alarm, I counted the hours until dad’s wedding: thirty-eight.

Despite all the drama surrounding the Nate issue and the Mom issue, I was actually very excited. I was going to look stunning in the silver sheath and slingbacks, with a hottie on my arm that was not only great-looking but would pull off an Oscar caliber performance. And of course, I was pleased for Dad, too. Susan made him très happy and I was glad that at least one of my parents could find that kind of happiness.

But before the ceremony and subsequent party, I would have to get through Friday’s work and rehearsal. With a sigh, I rolled over and turned off the alarm only two minutes before it was scheduled to go off. I closed my eyes to visualize myself in the dress again; pulling up the image of me in the personal shopping salon, twirling around as though I was on the dance floor. But closing my eyes was a dangerous gamble, one I lost; within seconds, I was fast asleep.

Getting to work forty-five minutes late set the tone for my day. Bianca was pissed she had to cover for me first thing in the morning, pushing her first appointment back. She retaliated by ensuring my bikini wax was as painful as possible (of course, apologizing the whole time). When she moved up to start on my eyebrows, I quickly told her that I had changed my mind and would just pluck them later in the day; I didn’t need her screwing up my face right before the wedding.

I grabbed the train home and dialed Bev’s number on my cell. I told her all about Bianca’s wrath while she clucked disapprovingly.

“What time is the rehearsal tonight?” she asked.

“Six, with a dinner after at the bistro in the hotel. Should be okay.” I looked down at my nails. At least Bianca had done a decent job. She knew better than to screw up too badly on the person who booked the spa’s appointments. If I wanted to I could stop booking her, sending clients to other estheticians in the spa; disaster for someone working on a per service basis.

“That’s cool. How was last night? Have you primed Nate?” she giggled. She sure was getting a kick out of the whole scenario.

“Yeah, we’re good. He’s agreed to be Jewish, but I wasn’t able to alter his occupation. It’s a long story.”

“You’ll tell me about it tomorrow. I want to hear all about it.”

“Yeah,” I said, looking up as a body glided past, aiming for the seat beside me. Before I had a chance to move my bag into the seat, the woman had planted her ass in it. I glanced over to deliver a dirty look but instead recognized the face as someone I knew. “I gotta go,” I said into the phone before ending the call and dropping it into my purse.

“Well look who it is!” I said to Susan’s daughter Jen. She had apparently plunked herself next to me without even realizing.

She faked a smile and nodded at me, obviously not in the mood for conversation.

“Are you going in for the rehearsal?” I asked.

She nodded again, looking away from me. I knew she didn’t like me, and believe me, it was a mutual thing. But it was fun winding her up; it was almost like winding up my mom without the subsequent guilt and hurt feelings coming back to haunt me.

“I thought you weren’t going to the wedding. That’s what your mom said when we went for her last fitting.” I was all smiles.

“We’ve ironed it out,” Jen spat, utilizing as little energy as possible to respond to my nosy question.

“That’s wonderful,” I lied. But it was okay that she was going to the wedding; I’d still look way better than she would. She looked like she’d even put on a few pounds; how nice for me.

“Yeah, what a joyous occasion.” Jen had yet to make eye contact with me, but her sarcasm couldn’t be overlooked.

What a bitch. “What’s your problem? Why are you so down on this wedding?”

She looked up at me, daggers shooting out of her eyes. “Are you kidding me with this? You think I should be happy?”

“Your mother is happy, why shouldn’t you be?” My phone rang, the tone muffled by the leather of my purse. I grabbed it and glanced at the screen.
My
mother. No thanks. I dropped it back into my purse, unanswered.

“My mother leaves my dad and shacks up with some guy and I should be happy for her?
She’s
the one who’s being totally unreasonable. I can’t believe I’m even going to this wedding. She’s so selfish.”

The train started to slow and thankfully it was my stop. I slung my bag over my shoulder and rose out of my seat. “
She’s
being selfish? Your mother is happy after how many years in a crappy marriage? You know, if I had my way, my parents wouldn’t have split up either, but you’re just being a spoiled brat. You need to get your head out of your ass.”

I shook my head at her and turned to leave. The look on her face was burned in my memory as one of life’s most amusing moments: jaw dropped, eyes wide, nostrils flared. Speechless, just the way I liked her.

Too bad I’d have to see her again in just a few hours. There’d better be an open bar at this rehearsal, I thought as I stepped off the train and onto the platform.

* * *

As it turned out, Jen was the least of my worries.

I stood on the makeshift
bima
at the front of the east ballroom of the swanky Jardin hotel, obediently waiting for the rest of the small wedding party to make their way down the aisle.

Once we were all assembled under the
chuppah (
except for Jacob, who was scheduled to land early Saturday morning) and the rabbi (since it was
shabbos
; he would arrive after sundown on Saturday just in time to officiate) the wedding coordinator went through what would happen during the ceremony. Jen glared at me from where she stood next to Susan the whole time.

Midway through the pretend ceremony, my dad began to recite his fake vows to Susan (the real ones would be composed on the day of the wedding – they had decided to be spontaneous, though Susan had confided in me that she had composed hers weeks before). The wedding coordinator said nothing though her white-knuckled grip of death on her ever-present clipboard and her lips pulled into a thin line bisecting her chin and her nose said volumes about how she felt about it all.

Dad ignored her and took Susan’s hand. “I promise to eat tacos with you in bed while watching
Game of Thrones
and not steal all the covers. I will endure your cold feet on me with fortitude and will always make sure I leave enough milk for your morning tea.”

Awww.
Dad could be so cute. Susan smiled and squeezed his hand before she began. “And I promise to indulge your fetish for peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches (ew) and will take the rubber bands off of the morning paper for you and will try to only put my cold feet on you when absolutely necessary. I will watch
Seinfeld
reruns with you and laugh at the appropriate places and promise to not back seat drive unless I am in danger of being killed or otherwise maimed.”

They smiled at each other, sealing their pretend vows. I glanced over at Jen, marveling at the omnipresent scowl on the girl’s face. How could you not, at least, find
that
endearing? Well, whatever. Her presence was all that counted; Susan could, at least, be able to say her daughter attended her wedding in body if not in spirit and blessing.

Dad and Susan were just about to kiss when a shriek arose from the back of the room. As one, we turned: Dad and Susan, Jen, myself and the wedding planner. What I saw was no less a shock to my dad and Susan than it was to me. Then the shock gave way to anger and embarrassment over what was about to go down.

Because it was my mother.

Not only my mother but my mother in a powder blue sweat suit (how was it possible she even owned such a thing?) weaving unsteadily up the aisle toward us.

So many things wrong with this picture. I turned toward Dad, who was pushing Susan protectively behind him while he began to step forward toward his ex-wife.

“This should be good,” Jen whispered under her breath. I turned toward her and would have decked her were it not for more pressing issues at hand. Instead, I delivered her a glare, silently willing her to shut up. In step with Dad, I moved toward my mother, hoping to diffuse the situation.

Tippy was having no part of it. “You are not marrying that whore, Martin,” Mom hollered up at us. “You are married to me! I will not allow it!”

Although Mom’s words were slurred, (by drugs or alcohol, which I couldn’t be sure) her meaning was still as clear as her beloved Swarovski crystal vase she had fought to win in the divorce.

“Mom, you can’t do this,” I said when I got to her. I slipped my arm around her waist, trying to provide her with some stability and direct her away at the same time. Sliding away, she looked at me and scowled, taking a step back to focus on my face.

“Shoshie? What are you doing here? Why is Marty leaving me?” She began to sob, throwing her arms around me so suddenly that I almost fell backward under her weight.

“Tippy,” Dad put his hand on her, trying to pry her away from me. “Come on, Tippy. This is not a good time…”

Mom spun around and faced him. “Not a good time? Marty, it’s the perfect time!” Wiggling away from us, she pitched toward the stage. “If anyone here knows of any reason why this man and woman shouldn’t…I do, I do!” she lifted her right hand and waved it frantically. “I know of a reason, he’s married to
me
.”

Dad jogged the few steps toward her. He grabbed her, trying to lead her out of the ballroom, but wasn’t having much luck; she kept slapping his hands away, like a belligerent child who didn’t want to be picked up. I looked back to where Susan cowered against the far wall. She was biting her lip as she frowned at the scene in front of her. It wasn’t hard to figure out what she was thinking: that this crazy woman was going to ruin her wedding.

Not if I had anything to do with it.

“Mother, let’s go,” I said as I grabbed Mom’s arm, pinching hard enough for her to squeal in protest. I led her out of the ballroom, ignoring her loud complaints.

I continued right through the foyer, not slowing down at all, my pincer grip still tight on her arm. She was struggling to keep up, but I swear I would have dragged her along the floor if I’d had to, not even caring that every person in the hotel lobby was staring at us.

Once I got her into the bathroom, I let go, blocking the door with my body and facing her. “What the hell is
wrong
with you?”

She inspected her arm where my fingers had been only a moment before. “I should ask you the same question! I’m going to have a bruise.”

“Do you have any idea what you are doing?” I hissed, my heart pounding in my chest, my breathing becoming shallow. I’d never been so angry in my entire life.

Tears erupted from my mother’s eyes, her face contorting in her pain. If it hadn’t been for her insane outbursts, I might just have felt sorry for her.

She leaned back against the counter, looking down at the tiled floor. “You have no idea how hard this is, Shoshanna.”

I opened my mouth to speak, ready to fill her in on how hard she was making it for everyone else, but before any sound came out, she lifted her head and looked at me. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face blotchy from crying. “You can’t possibly know what this feels like. I know you’ve been avoiding my calls. I know you’ve been poisoned against me. There’s not much I can do about that, but I’ll be damned if I will sit back and watch my husband marry that whore!”