Dating Kosher (31 page)

Bev smiled and looked at my grandmother and then down at the platter. “Mrs. Rosenblatt, hi! Your fish looks delicious. I can’t remember the last time I had some that was any good. My aunt made some a couple of years ago, but she used salmon and it was awful.”

“Salmon?” Bubby was incensed. “You can’t use salmon!” she clucked loudly. For such a small woman she sure had big opinions.

“Just so you know,” Bev turned to me, her face very serious. “I didn’t tell Jake I was going to be there, it’s going to be a surprise. We were supposed to get together later, after dinner. Now he won’t have to bail so early.”

I glanced over at my friend. She looked nervous; fidgeting her hands in her lap. “Susan knows you’re coming—she might have told him.”

“He would have said something if he knew,” she said. “He just texted me an hour ago. Maybe she didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

“What does Susan know about you two?”

Bev shook her head. “I don’t think he’s said anything. It’s not like we’re really dating or anything. You know, just e-mails and texts…”

Bubby piped up from between us, “Are you having internet sex with him, Beverly?”

The cab almost rear-ended the car in front of us. “Sorry,” the driver said, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. I smiled back at him.

Bev was horrified. “Oh my God, Mrs. Rosenblatt! No, we’re not doing anything like that!”

My grandmother shrugged as though she had internet sex all the time. “What? At least then no one gets any diseases.”

Bev looked at me over my grandmother’s head and mouthed, “Oh my God,” her eyes like saucers.

I looked down at Bubby. She winked. I rolled my eyes at her; what a shit disturber.

“So where is this gentleman you’re bringing, Shoshie?”

“He works a bit later than I do so he’ll be meeting us there.” I thought about Ari driving up in the Beemer and making his entrance right in the middle of dinner. (The dining room was at the front of the house; everyone would be able to see him pull up through the huge bay window.) It was going to be good.

“So you’re getting on well with him, then?” Bubby asked.

“Yeah, he’s okay,” I answered automatically. I hadn’t actually seen Ari since the night we spent together, but we’d talked on the phone twice and texted a few times. He seemed really into me. He’d as much as said it, and it was kind of turning me off.

“Well I’m looking forward to meeting him,” Bev said, turning in her seat to talk to my grandmother. “Is he hot?”

Bubby shrugged. “He’s a very nice-looking boy. Very polite.”

Yeah, cool. That’s what I need in a husband: someone polite. Whatever.

* * *

Even before we walked into the house, the combined smells of different foods cooking reached our noses. It had been a long time since I’d had a home-cooked Jewish meal and I was drooling by the time Susan opened the door.

She beamed as she greeted us; totally in her element. “Hi everyone, thanks so much for coming. Please come in.”

She reached out to take the tray of fish from my arms, but I dodged her as we stepped through the door into the foyer. “I’ll take it into the kitchen, Susan, it’s okay.”

“Thanks, Shosh.” She turned to my grandmother, “Mrs. Rosenblatt, please let me take your wrap.”

Bubby slid out of the fawn-colored dead animal wrap (I hoped it wasn’t
made
of fawn, actually) circa 1955 and handed it to Susan, who disappeared down the hall toward the bedrooms. I quickly passed the living room and made my way into the kitchen with the fish, Bev close on my heels. Bubby, empty-handed, took an abrupt right into the living room to join the crowd.

“Do you think he’s here yet?” Bev whispered into my ear from behind.

“Who? Ari? I doubt it, he told me he had to work late,” I said over my shoulder.

“Shut up. You know who I’m talking about,” she hissed at me.

I didn’t have a chance to respond. The kitchen was a whirlwind of activity, the center of which was my dad. He didn’t seem to fit in with the two uniformed hired servers;
they
seemed to know what they were doing. He, on the other hand, was looking frazzled, wearing an apron over his white shirt and tie, hovering over a turkey, holding a carving knife. He looked up. “Hi girls, good
yontiff
to you both.”

“Hi Mr. Rosenblatt,” Bev said. “Same to you.”

“Dad, where can I put this fish?” I looked around, surveying the kitchen counter for some space to put the platter. Susan had really outdone herself: there were two kugels, one noodle and one potato, the turkey my dad was working on, a roast standing in a pan waiting to be sliced, a pot of soup on the stove, a massive bowl of salad and a few nondescript covered casseroles that likely contained vegetables of some sort. Add to that the two apple cakes and a very familiar looking banana cake sitting on top of the fridge and this was definitely a bona fide home-cooked Jewish meal. Wow. My stomach complained loudly at my not having given it anything since breakfast. It had been a good decision, though: I would be consuming a huge amount of calories at this meal. Well worth the wait.

I nodded toward the refrigerator. “Grab the door, Bev, we’ll see if there’s any room in there.”

“There isn’t,” Dad said, shaking his head as he returned to carving his bird. “You’ll just have to find a space.”

One of the servers put down her knife and the apple she was slicing then approached me with a smile. “I’ll take it, don’t worry.”

I smiled my thanks before turning to Bev to herd her out of the kitchen. I leaned toward her and whispered in her ear, “Let’s get out of here before we’re recruited to help.”

“So, um…is Jacob here?” Bev asked of Susan, who was returning to the kitchen.

Susan’s brow furrowed slightly, although her smile didn’t waver. I was sure she had no idea about her son and Bev’s online relationship and probably thought they just had a random hookup at the wedding. “Yeeeeees,” she said, drawing out the word as she was obviously trying to figure out what was going on. “He’s talking to Lauren in the living room.”

“I’ll go say hi,” Bev said, a blush rising to her cheeks before she disappeared.

Leaning in close to Susan so as not to be overheard, I whispered, “Is Lauren behaving?”

Susan smirked. “So far, but who knows what the evening will bring. Your uncle Moishe begged off sick, so I don’t know who will keep her in line. Mitchell’s wife wasn’t feeling well, either. Would you believe she hasn’t had that baby yet? Let’s just hope it doesn’t happen tonight; I’d like a nice evening with no drama…although…” She leaned in close, placing her hand on my shoulder to whisper in my ear. “
Your mother
sent a banana cake.”

What? I backed up and stared at Susan to see if she was joking. My mother baking was completely uncharacteristic; my mother baking
for her ex-husband’s new wife
was borderline inconceivable. I had to admit that getting laid was certainly doing good things to my mom in unexpected ways.

Susan nodded, biting her lip—she didn’t know what to make of it, either.

“I think Mom’s turned a corner. I doubt there are razor blades in it or anything.”

Susan’s hand flew to her pearl necklace to anxiously finger the perfectly uniform spheres. “Oh my God, I
never
thought…”

I smiled, rolling my eyes. “I know, I’m just saying that she was probably being sincere when she sent it. She’s actually been pretty mellow lately.”

Making my way into the living room, I scooped a few carrot sticks on my way by the buffet table, cursing my grumbling stomach. My grandmother was already seated on the most uncomfortable looking chair, speaking with Mitchell. Lauren looked up at me and nodded, her face a little less clenched than usual. I didn’t see her tagalong boyfriend; maybe he was in the bathroom.

Jacob looked up, his face brightening when he saw Bev. He stood up and walked toward her, a twinkle in his eye that made me feel weird, like I was intruding by just standing there. “I didn’t expect to see you until later. Are you here for dinner?”

Bev nodded.

Jacob grinned. They looked like a couple of high school kids discovering the opposite sex for the first time.

Apparently I didn’t exist, as far as he was concerned; I didn’t even rate a nod or his usual grunted ‘hey.’ It bothered me for a second and then suddenly didn’t as I looked at the way Bev was looking at him. The two of them retreated to the couch in the corner, trying to look nonchalant, but obviously totally into each other.

The doorbell rang.

Susan was closest and disappeared into the foyer around the corner. “Oh. Hello. Thank you so much for coming.” I heard her say, her voice strained and animated. It must be Ari, I thought. She had already expressed her displeasure at my inviting him and not Nate. I stepped toward the foyer to intervene.

But before I reached the front hall, Susan escorted the latest guests into the living room.

Neither of them was Ari.

It was Simon and his lover, Ben.

In that silent moment, before Simon spoke, I could almost hear the gears turning in the collective minds of all of those assembled in the Rosenblatt home. Bubby and I knew, as did Bev (I had told her when I first found out). But it was painfully obvious that Simon’s siblings were completely clueless until that very moment. And it wasn’t that Simon said anything, or that he and his lover
looked
the stereotype of a gay couple, that gave it away. It was the supportive and loving way Ben had his right hand on Simon’s upper arm that communicated to the whole room the intimacy shared between them.

“Hi everyone, this is Ben. He’s my…” Simon choked on the words when he finally spoke.

Before he could finish, my clueless father came out of the kitchen in that moment, no sign of his turkey carving apron, although he did have a sizeable grease spot on his pants. “Okay, everyone, the turkey’s carved and we’re just about ready.” He looked around at everyone, maybe wondering at the tense silence. But then he looked at the newest arrivals. “Hi, Simon,” he said, his eyes darting from Simon’s face to that of the man standing next to him. Then he turned and looked at Susan, then to Bubby, who was smiling, and finally back to Simon. Poor guy was obviously confused.

“Uncle Marty, this is Ben. He’s my…” Simon took a deep breath, “boyfriend.”

There was a gasp behind me, one of Simon’s siblings, surely.

I sure didn’t envy Simon in that moment, but I was proud of him. I stepped toward him and Ben, having an overwhelming need to offer my endorsement and at the same time diffuse the situation; I was pretty sure neither Mitch nor Lauren had exhaled in several moments.

“It’s good to see you, Simon.” I hugged my cousin, grunting in protest when he squeezed me too hard. Once I got my breath back, I turned to Ben. “And it’s nice to see you, Ben, we’ve met once before. I’m Shoshanna.”

Ben smiled, showing his perfect teeth, earned through years of braces as a teenager, no doubt. “Good to see you. I brought this,” for the first time I noticed he was holding a cake. An apple cake: the traditional cake for Rosh Hashanah, signifying a sweet year to come. Susan, the hostess, was still frozen on the spot, so on her behalf, I took the cake and thanked Ben for bringing it.

Apparently, I had started a trend in greeting the couple because right behind me, waiting to personally welcome Simon and his lover were my grandmother, Susan, Mitch, and my father. Lauren sulked in the corner. Thankfully, Simon didn’t seem to notice with all the positive responses he was getting. His relief was obvious and I applauded his courage; he had a lot more chutzpah than I had. I didn’t even have the guts to go stag to my dad’s wedding, for Christ’s sakes.

Apple cake still in hand, I turned to commiserate with Bev over the evening’s happenings (and the evening had hardly begun) but she was suspiciously absent from the living room. Before I had a chance to even wonder at her whereabouts, the doorbell rang again. This time, it
had
to be Ari, so I turned back to the door. The introduction of Ari would be an anticlimax after Ben. But I was okay with that, especially since I barely knew Ari.

I opened the door to see the man in question grinning from ear to ear, his arms weighed down by a sizeable apple cake.

Oy,
another
apple cake, brought by my semi-unwanted one-night stand. Add that to the banana cake sent by uncle-
shtupping
Tippy and other apple cake brought by my newly-outed cousin and his lover and it was going to be a dysfunctional Rosenblatt family dinner to remember. Maybe skipping the buffet had been a mistake.

* * *

I had to give Susan credit: the dinner was spectacular in both presentation and flavor. After the hired servers had doled out the soup, we were invited to help ourselves to the buffet. Never being shy when it came to food, I loaded up my plate with not only my grandmother’s reliably delicious fish, but I also speared a slab of beef, a turkey wing and a smattering of sides before settling back at my seat at the dining room table.

“Wow, I’d forgotten how you love to eat,” Ari commented loudly as though we had been friends forever.

Shut up
, I said to him inside my head. “Hmm,” was all I said out loud.

“So what happened to Nate?” Lauren asked from the other end of the table.

Seriously? What a bitch. I ignored her, hoping she would just lose interest.

No such luck. “Shoshanna, I was talking to you.”

I looked down the table to where Lauren was grinning nastily. “I’m sorry, Lauren, did you say something?” I returned the tone; I was in no mood to play.

“Uh yeah, I asked you where Nate is.”

The room was suddenly silent save the squeal of Mitchell slicing his slab of roast across Susan’s good china dishes. Could
no one
at the table help me? Christ. Ari’s eyes were burning into the side of my face, but I refused to turn and face him.

“I don’t see how that is any of your concern.” I couldn’t think fast enough to come up with something clever. I just wanted to shut her up.

“Lauren, don’t be like that,” Simon scolded his sister.

She ignored him. “What? We liked
him
.”