Chapter Thirty-One
“This way,” Caleb says, gesturing for me to follow him.
“Where are we going?” I say, trying to keep up with his long strides. My heels echo along the tile floor as I rush after him.
“Here.” He opens a restroom door labeled for family usage and ushers me inside. The light clicks on and the first thing I see are dried droplets of urine on the floor surrounding the toilet.
“Here?” I say, gazing at a tampon wrapper lying beside the garbage. “Really?”
“Tell me why you’re single.” He crosses his arms and gazes at me. “Tell me what you’re so scared of.”
I instantly think of my mother. How she woke up one day to realize that her husband checked out without so much as a goodbye or an explanation.
How she didn’t even have time to grieve because she had three young children relying on her to put food on the table.
How she went from being a stay-at-home mom in a happy relationship, to losing the love of her life and becoming impoverished in the blink of an eye.
How she relied on the older kids to raise the younger ones so she could go back to school, while working as many jobs as possible in between.
“Caleb,” I sigh. “My mother died of a broken heart.”
He looks confused. “What?”
“You think she died because of her lifestyle, but it’s not true.”
“What?” He blinks, looking confused by my response. “No, I never said that.”
“You implied it.”
“Well then, this is me un-implying it,” he says, shaking his head. “All I meant is that it couldn’t hurt for you to adapt healthier habits.”
“They call it Broken Heart Syndrome,” I continue as if he hadn’t spoken.
I fold my arms against my chest, suddenly cold.
“Genetically, there was nothing wrong with her. And yeah, she ate chemicals and didn’t exercise as much as she should’ve, but she was far from being overweight or unhealthy.
The truth is,” I say, speaking the words out loud for the first time, “my mother started dying years before her death. She started dying the day my father walked out on us. And I think what eventually killed her is the fact that he never came back. I think she held out hope for the longest time, but every day that passed without him walking through that door was another stab to her heart. Ironic, isn’t it?
” I glance up and see Caleb’s stricken face.
“She was the ultimate romantic and believer of happily-ever-afters. Yet it was her own unrequited love that killed her.”
“Tinsel—” He breaks off. Shakes his head. “There’s no way to know what caused it.”
“One of the doctors agreed with me,” I say defensively.
“Doctors don’t know everything.”
“It was your dad.”
Caleb pauses, then shrugs. “He also told me that babies come from storks.”
“You were probably like, five when he said it.”
“I was fifteen.”
“Well . . .” I lift my palms. “Reproduction is an uncomfortable topic.” His lips twist with a small smirk and I find myself entranced by them. They’re the most perfect lips I’ve ever seen. I glance down and add, “It’s safer to be single. I know that makes me a coward, but . . .” I shrug.
“Do you remember when you showed up at Johnnie’s and asked me about the frog tattoo?”
It takes me a moment to recall our conversation, but then I nod. “I didn’t think you heard me.”
“I pretended not to. It’s not an easy thing for me to talk about.” He pauses for a long moment, and I don’t try to rush him. “It’s called a Bone Frog. It commemorates all the fallen soldiers.” He glances down. “I got it after a friend was killed.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. He nods in acknowledgement.
“The truth is that I’ve had more than one friend return to their family in a casket.”
My stomach drops. I’m so na?ve—of course, he’s had his share of grief. Zevi used to say that twenty-five percent of SEALs won’t see their thirtieth birthday which was why he never stopped trying to convince Caleb to leave.
“Garcia’s death, though—” He breaks off and stares into space. “That’s the one that keeps me up at night. The one I relive when I close my eyes.” His voice is controlled and casual, but the tic in his jaw gives away how tense he is.
“I’m so sorry,” I say uselessly. I wish I had words to bring him comfort, but I know such words don’t exist. “I had no idea. You always seem so . . . so . . .” I make circling motions with my hands as I search for the right word. “Strong. Like you’ve got everything under control.”
“I’m not. I don’t.” He swallows. “I’m a lot better now thanks to the support group. And my therapist.”
My jaw drops to the floor and I might have let out a gasp. For some reason, Caleb in a shrink’s office seems as likely as my rabbi at a biker convention. “You went to therapy?”
He nods. “I did a twelve-week CPT. My therapist was also a veteran so she got what’s it’s like—the combat related-PTSD.”
Mind. Blown.
“Wow,” is the only word that comes to mind.
“It started about nine years ago, but it got really bad the year after that. The nightmares and flashbacks. If a car so much as backfired, I’d hit the ground without thinking twice. Certain smells still take me back. Cigarettes or burning plastic. Gasoline. Wet soil.”
“I never knew,” I say quietly.
He nods. “My therapist is the only one I’ve talked to about it. And the people in support groups. But no one in my regular life.” He turns his head and adds, “Until you.”
My heart skips a beat and I swallow. “You’re telling me that your parents don’t know? Or Zevi?”
“I never said anything.” He gazes back up at the ceiling. “I felt as if admitting it aloud made me less of a man. The only reason I went to therapy at all was because the military forced me to.”
“Why?”
“I started making mistakes. Small ones, but even the smallest mistakes can endanger your teammates’ lives. And I had gotten paranoid.” He swallows. “So, I took time off, got the help I needed, and then went back for a couple more years.”
“And you’re okay now?”
“I’m better,” he allows. “But everything I’ve experienced is still, and always will be here,” he says, tapping the side of his head. “We all carry our experiences. It explains the why of who we are.”
“Thank you for sharing that. I know that isn’t easy.” He nods in silent acknowledgement. “Can I ask you something else?” I say, since we seem to be laying it all out there.
“As if I could stop you,” he murmurs fondly.
“Good point.” I smile, then take a deep breath and go for it. “Why did you decide to return to Orthodoxy?”
“A few reasons.” He smiles, a bit ruefully.
“I missed a lot of it—the community, the connection, following the traditions of my people. Being in shul and keeping Shabbos and the holidays reminds me that there’s a bigger purpose in this world than whatever is going on in my life.
And even if I don’t fit the mold of the average Jew, looks or otherwise, I’m not going to let that stop me from being the best Jew I can be.
Which is,” he adds, after a beat, his eyes glinting with humor, “in and of itself, very Jewish.”
“Yeah?” I find myself grinning. “How so?”
“After 3,350 years of slavery, forced conversions, persecutions, exiles, pogroms, and genocide, we’re still here. Still keeping our traditions alive, still proud of our heritage. It’s the chutzpah in us.”
I laugh. “Definitely.”
“And then there was you.”
“Me?” I glance up at him, startled.
He nods. “Seeing you at that restaurant and then my parents’ anniversary party after all those years was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
I felt this pull toward you unlike anything I’d experienced before.
But at the same time,” he sighs, “I could tell it wasn’t right.
I didn’t think you were interested, and besides, I wasn’t in the right place mentally with everything that was going on.
In a weird way,” he adds, “part of me hoped you’d get married so I wouldn’t be tempted to pursue you.
I didn’t think I could ever be the type of husband you deserved. ”
“But you didn’t even know me,” I protest. “At least not the adult version of me. I could’ve been a terrible person.”
He shakes his head. “You’ve always worn your heart and your soul on your sleeve. That’s another reason why you’d make a terrible spy.” He smiles. “You’re too easy to read.”
I huff a laugh.
“About three years after retiring from the teams, I started thinking more and more about returning to the fold. I found myself wanting a wife and starting a family. And,” he adds, holding my gaze, “I kept wondering why you hadn’t gotten married.”
“Because I’m messed up,” I say, providing the answer for him.
“Nah.” He shakes his head and chuckles. “You’re just scared.”
Why could Caleb overcome his challenges while I’m still stuck in the past? I’m still allowing the pain of being rejected by my father and the grief of losing my mother to stop me from living the kind of future I deserve. Caleb has come full circle, whereas I’m on permanent pause.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I shrug. “Just comparing us.”
“How so?”
“You’ve fought your demons and won, whereas I’m .
. .” I frown, staring into the distance.
As much as I tell myself that I’m happy being single, deep inside, I know I want more.
I want to fall in love and have children.
I want to have passionate nights with my husband, legs entangled and our skin slick with sweat.
I want to feel a human life grow inside of me, knowing it was the product of two basherts coming together as one.
And I also want the hard stuff too—the sleepless nights, the occasional fighting followed by hot make-up sex, the baby vomit and diaper leakage—
I blink, surprised to realize that my cheeks are wet.
“Hey,” Caleb says softly, and hesitantly wraps me in a gentle hug. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Hey.” He releases my hand to wipe the tears off my cheeks. “Don’t apologize.”
“It’s just that . . . A part of me wants the diaper leakage,” I whisper, lifting my eyes to meet Caleb’s. “You know?”
Caleb nods, then seems to register my words and shakes his head. “Sorry— What?”
“You’re right about what you said, how our past shapes our present, and how my dad leaving is why I am the way I am—” I break off. “And the fear of getting hurt again—it’s paralyzing, Caleb.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “I know.”
“And I’m so j-jealous of you,” I sniff.
“Me?” he laughs. “Why?”
“Because of your strength. You’re not letting your past d-dictate your future. And I ammmm,” I sob. I lay my head against his suit.
“Tinsel, baby,” he whispers, rubbing my back in soothing circular motions, “life isn’t a race.”
“Th-that’s r-rich coming f-from you,” I cry. “You’re the m-most compet-t-ive person I know.”
His laughter vibrates through his body. “Okay, point taken. But it’s not like the demons went away. It wasn’t some epic battle that I won and took them all down. I think our experiences always stay with us, but they don’t need to control us.”
“You’re actually . . . really,” I sniff, “amazing.”
“Me?” His earnest eyes are hypnotizing. “Do you have any idea how fucking incredible you are? How intelligent and insightful and strong you are? And so resilient. You kept your mom’s legacy alive even though it came at a huge cost. You’ve been through so much, and you’ve done it with humor and grace, and you haven’t given up, you haven’t lost hope.
And when you walk into a room,” he adds, “everything becomes somehow brighter and warmer, simply because you’re there.
You have so much love to give, if you’d only let yourself. ”
My chest heaves with emotion. I see it all so clearly—the husband, the kids, the white picket fence. Except when I envision it, it isn’t with someone like Alex. It’s not with someone who might be an okay father and an average husband.
It’s with Caleb. Only Caleb.
“And you’re so incredibly sexy that I feel like exploding just by looking at you,” he whispers, threading his fingers through my hair.
My eyes widen. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” He gazes at my lips hungrily, and I, in turn, gaze at his.
“I’m thinking about kissing you, to be honest.”
His Adam’s apple visibly jumps as he swallows. “Oh?”
“Yeah.”
“Anything I can do to help you decide?” he says huskily.
“Well,” I say, “I was just going through your list.”
His eyes scan my face. “My list?”
“Of all the things you said you wanted in a woman. And I realized that I’m the exact opposite.”
“No.” He brings his hand to my jaw and cradles it gently. “That was me acting out like a child.”
“But why . . .” I shiver as his thumb brushes over my bottom lip.
“Because,” he says, pulling back, his eyes stormy, “it felt like a cruel joke. To be in love with a woman whose biggest goal in life was to marry me to someone else. When all I’ve ever wanted, the only person I’ve ever wanted, was right in front of me all along.”
And then he kisses me. Softly, reverently, and when I open my mouth and welcome his tongue, he releases a sigh as if to say, finally, I’ve come home.