Chapter 26
twenty-six
Nessa
A few days later, I pull up to the curb in front of my parents’ house. As I approach, I take in the structure, noting the ways in which it has aged alongside us. The white exterior could use a fresh coat of paint, and some of the shutters are more faded than others due to their sun exposure.
We really should collect estimates and schedule painters to give it a fresh coat. I pull out my phone and add this to my ongoing to-do list called “bio family,” then slip the device back into my pocket.
I step inside just as Tal pads down the stairs dressed in jeans and a short sleeve button-down.
They look fantastic and perfectly androgynous.
Knowing that the conversation tonight could turn to grammar or their sudden lack of femininity, I take a moment to pump them up before things can get moving.
“Sib, that is majorly passing the vibe check. You ate this glow-up,” I say giving them a gigantic goofy smile.
“Too extra. Dial it back, sis.” They roll their eyes hard.
“It’s my job as your sister and a millennial to be cringe,” I shout to Tal’s retreating form.
My skin prickles with irritation, but I swallow it down and take deep breaths, then continue to the dining room.
I drop the apple cake with the desserts on the sideboard and head to the kitchen where I find Shae.
She’s still in an oversized T-shirt and basketball shorts, with her hair a mess, as though she’s forgotten about tonight.
“Glad to see everyone is ready for dinner.” My words are a hair too sharp, causing Shae to drop the knife on the cutting board with a huff.
“Great, reinforcements are here to continue the prep. I’m going to finally shower and change.” She storms upstairs. Halfway up, she turns and shouts, “And you’re welcome for getting things started.” Then she gives me the finger.
Returning the gesture I reply, “Love you!”
The bathroom door closes with a thud, then opens again for Shae to scream, “Love you more, you pain in the?—”
“Shae Eliana Rabin!” Dad booms.
The door shuts again, louder this time, then the rush of water through the pipes sounds above me.
While Shae showers, Tal and I finish organizing the tray of veggies to roast. Dad enters the kitchen, his tall, broad frame and olive complexion as handsome as ever. And I swear there’s a bit more salt in his salt-and-pepper hair than there was the last time I saw him.
Mom enters, reading as she moves.
“Don’t you love the new series?” I ask her with a huge grin. “I just had to recommend it when I saw there was a Jewish historical romance that was set right here in Philly.”
“Kiss-ass,” Tal says under their breath as they pull down a cutting board.
Whatever, needy middle child , I scoff internally, then bask in the glowing review my mom has for the first in the duology.
As I gaze off just above her head at the variety of plants in the window, our smiles are mirrors—me because helping someone else makes me happy, hers because she’s back to reading. Watching this fills my lungs deeper than usual, and I relax into my role at home.
A short while later, as we’re readying to eat together, I stand back and watch, overcome by the mood tonight. Our house feels exactly like home should. It’s noisy, chaotic, a little disorganized. There’s gentle ribbing and frustrated outbursts; but there’s so much love.
Moving through the holiday meal preparation feels like a well-choreographed ballet—we ebb and flow between the kitchen to the dining room taking turns bringing dishes, silverware, and cups to seats.
Across the way, Shae lifts a few bottles of wine from the fridge and I attempt to watch without staring.
“We have company tonight, stop looking at me like that.” She scoffs as she moves out of my line of sight.
A few feet away, Dad wraps an arm around Mom’s shoulders and kisses her on the temple. The easy look that they share causes my palms to sweat and my lips to loosen.
“You’re both so easy-going. You make your relationship look seamless, how are we supposed to find partners who’ll help us create a family that lives up to your standard when you make it look so…so…” I wave a hand wildly, my cheeks heating.
Mom’s brow furrows, and Dad leans in to whisper something for her only. He shimmies out from around her and enters the dining room. I hear him herd my siblings away. Fuck, my throat has gone dry, and I reach to get a glass of water.
“All right, my little miracle, what’s eating you?” Mom asks.
I shake my head, not sure what to say exactly.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she gives me a pointed stare. “Not nothing. Not you’re ‘fine.’ What’s going on with Mateo?”
I groan. “Mateo? Have you been reading The Springer? You should know better than to trust a gossip chain…”
Mom pokes her tongue into her cheek, inhaling, then shows me where I inherited my strong will from. “I have other sources.”
Voice dipping fully into an adolescent cadence, I grumble, “Shae Eliana, I’m going to strangle you in your sleep, I swear to…”
“Not during the holiest days of the year,” Mom says. “I know I can’t say a whole lot about the religion since I left the orthodox world and we chose to teach you that this is our cultural identity, but please. Be respectful, a little kavod. No need to sign yourself up for a bad year to come.”
She goes on to say something to ward off the evil eye, because you can take the girl out of Lakewood, but you can’t always take the Lakewood out of the girl it seems.
“Sorry, Ema,” I say, hoping to placate her by saying the words meant to prevent the evil eye.
“From your lips to Hashem’s ears, now, what is wrong with things with the young man? Betty said you were with him at the Kelly Orchards and that Gran taught you to make her famous cake.”
“Yes, it’s in the dining room with the desserts?—”
“He took you to the farm to bake. He’s given you that gorgeous car to drive while you are getting yours fixed, although, mamale, it is okay to say goodbye to the old clunker.
You held on to her for a long time. He’s defended your education when folks try to call you Miss instead of Doctor, you worked hard for that honor.
You work hard all the time. You are allowed to rest.”
“I rest,” I protest.
She waves a hand. “No, sweetheart, you do not rest. You take short breaks to switch gears, but you aren’t taking time for yourself.
Or you weren’t. It seems like he’s helped you to get out of your own head, and to do the things you enjoy.
How often do you add to that never-ending to-do list in your phone?
How often are you letting your brain take a break from thinking about everything and everyone around you in an effort to just be in the moment? ”
Eyes averted, I pick at my nails, a habit I’ve never been able to break.
“You don’t like that I’m correct, I can tell,” she gently places her hand over mine and softens her tone. “Mamale, you do not have to do everything for everyone. It’s okay to be selfish every so often. It’s all about balance.”
She pulls down the challah bread board, the honey and salt. She grabs a kiddush cup—a ritual wine goblet—with a beautiful stem full of shards of colorful glass and turns it, looking at the colored bits. Those are from the broken glass at their wedding.
“I wish your Zaydie could hear this. He’d never believe it, but let me put this the way my dad would.
Take a look at this here: the challah is round because things continue to move: seasons, life.
Time passes with or without our consent, so it’s best to keep that impermanence in mind.
It’s dipped in both sweet honey and tart salt, we think of these in a number of ways because?—”
“Two Jews, three opinions?” I smirk, and she nods affirming the old adage.
“The table is a replica of the altar in the mishkan, the wandering tabernacle, and the temple in Jerusalem. Salt is for perseverance and honey to appreciate the goodness before us. To remind us that, as the fields are picked clean and the cold sets in this time of year, goodness is to come in its own time.”
Piling the items onto the wooden tray for me to carry, she pauses and takes my hand. “Good things take time, and you’ve put a lot of time toward goodness. You are allowed to receive goodness too. Even when it comes from the last place you’d expect,” she says, her gaze drifting.
I was so lost in her speech I didn’t see my dad join us back in the room. The look they share is intimate.
“Sometimes, your bashert, your soul’s destiny, isn’t packaged the way you think it will be. That doesn’t mean it isn’t a gift.” She cups my cheek and looks at me sincerely. “Do not fight falling in love, my beautiful daughter. You deserve as much good as you put into the world.”
The pressure building behind my eyes is unbearable. I drag in a long breath, swallow hard, and hug her. “I love you, Ema,” I croak. “You really would have made your dad proud with that one.”
She drops a kiss on the crown of my head. As she pulls away, a commotion pulls our attention.
“Why didn’t we know you were coming home! Mrs. Carter! Mr. Carter!” Shua says from the entryway.
My heart thumps against my breastbone. “Ema, you didn’t.”
With a shrug, she strolls out of the room and an instant later, she greets the full Santos-Manolo/Carter family: Susan, Eddie, Stef, Lee, and Mateo.
Sighing, I straighten my sweater. Then I set the bread, salt, honey, and wine goblet on the table and greet our guests.
After dinner, Lee insists we light the firepit, so the four of us make our way to the back patio. Stef and I carry twin glasses of white wine and large slices of apple cake topped with vanilla ice cream to seats close together.
As I look around at the group, Stef’s inebriated text comes to mind. The we could be sisters .
I drift closer and whisper so the men can’t hear. “You know you drunk texted me about being sisters?”
Her eyes dance in the firelight.
“No, silly, this is about us —you are my sister already. No matter what happens with him,” I say and glance toward Matty.
Stef leans closer and we give an awkward side hug, and affectionate exchanges of praise snowball.
“Oh no. Emotional wives at twelve o’clock,” Lee teases.
“Ignore my husband. He just likes to say my wife because he read that book you recommended to me,” Stef says, causing us to giggle.
“Lee, tell me about the tattooing you’re doing.” Mateo breaks into a wide smile. His request catches my attention, and we watch their interaction.
“Not much tattooing yet, honestly. They’ve got me working the front desk, cleaning, setting up workstations, prep work.
Nothing exciting. My mentor gives me artwork assignments, and we go over them together.
I do a lot of flash tattoo sheets based on things happening in the city for the shop to use for marketing.
Creating those has been fun. Promise me that when you outbid them for the north side of town, I get dibs on a shop of my own. ”
“Are you coming back?” I ask, my words more slurred than I expected.
Damn. Have I been comfortable enough to have a few more glasses of wine than usual? Maybe I have.
“I miss you, but also… this is the opportunity of a lifetime—I want to see Stef achieve everything she’s setting out to.” I have fully crossed into emotional-wine-drunk territory.
Before Stef can answer, the gate creaks open and Delia, Seth, River, and Lily appear.
“I hope you don’t mind that we opened the gathering up to others,” Lee says.
Mateo scans the group, and I swear disappointment flashes across his face.
Loud and proud, Shae steps into the yard. “Look who I found at the market when I was picking up supplies.” She holds up a twenty-four pack of alcoholic seltzers and a twelve pack of non-alcoholic ones.
As I’m considering telling Mateo to text Liam and invite him, he appears behind my sister.
“I figured there’s never enough ice at these sorts of things,” Liam says, looking charmingly rustic in his flannel and ball cap.
With one hand he holds up a large plastic bag of ice, the other is clasped with Christian Cleary’s. He is so similar to his Aunt Pru, with their rich brown skin and catlike eyes. It’s why he can pull off the lime green athletic set and white sneakers in complementary neon accents.
“I heard there was a fire code violation that needed attention,” Christian teases, looking Lily’s way.
“Sorry, Chief. I had nothing to do with it,” Lily quips with a grin.
My heart squeezes. I swear if it were any fuller, it would burst.
There’s a loud metallic pop and fizz, drawing my eyes across the circle to Shae. I try to focus on the can. Shae notices and waves a non-alcoholic cranberry lime seltzer for me to see, giving me a sour face. “Bitch, I told you that is all work stuff online. Stop being judgy.”
I ignore her and pour the final drops of the wine from the bottle I brought out into my glass and eye Lily. “Oh. My. God. Lil,” I mouth. “You will not believe what we learned from Gran Kelly.” Though my words are quiet, the hiccup that follows them is anything but.
The whole circle looks at me, and Mateo and Liam exchange a knowing look.
Ignoring them, I straighten and clear my throat.
“That motherfucker has been parading around like a peacock, all proud of his supposed wealth and respectability in the community.” Eyes narrowed, I look at my friends one by one to make sure they’re listening.
“He isn’t the deed-holder or even a voting party.
So he tormented you and brought Satan back into my life because he’s a raging asshat who thinks his shit doesn’t stink. But his farts give him away.”
By using our grandma’s favorite insult, I break the tension with Shae, and our laughter is so vigorous she snorts. Her cheeks flush red, and she slaps a hand over her mouth. “Well, cheers to Grandma for that phrase,” she says, holding her can in the air in a mock toast.
Everyone dissolves into laughter. The conversation moves easily through our grandparents’ funny sayings and drifts in and out of new topics.
Just as we question the contagiousness of yawns, one seems to pass its way around the circle. That starts the trickle home. As the circle thins, Mateo moves closer, until we are left alone with the dying fire.