Epilogue
epilogue
. . .
Jake
The doorbell rings, and Rachel wrings her hands.
“Breathe,” I tell her, squeezing her shoulder, as I scoot past her to the door.
On the front stoop are my parents. Behind them is my brother Jeremy, a mile-wide grin on his face.
“Jakey!” My mom pulls me into a hug.
“Hi, Ma. How was the drive?” I pat her back gently.
Dad prods her inside the apartment, giving me a firm handshake. Jer pauses to clap me on the back.
As I close the door, I’m surprised when my brother crosses the room to Rachel and lifts her clear off her feet in a hug.
She giggles, hugging him back. “Hey, Jer.”
“I’m so glad this happened,” Jeremy says. He winks outrageously. “You know the third time’s the charm, right? I’m the third brother.”
Rachel laughs. “I think I’m good with Jake, thanks.”
Ma raises her brows. “So you’re together?”
When I nod, my mom lets out a squeal.
“Oh, I knew it!” She kisses me loudly on the cheek and squeezes me about the middle. Towering over her like I have since the week before my bar mitzvah, she only comes halfway up my torso. “I’m so happy for you two!”
“Thanks, Ma.” I pat her on the back again until she releases me.
We move farther into the apartment, which Rachel has decorated perfectly. The black, white, and chrome has been softened by the blue and white garland above the mantle and matching tablecloth over the dining room table she had brought in. The little gnomes sit on the coffee table, staring serenely out at us.
“I haven’t been here in forever,” Dad says as he looks around the living room. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
“Oh, it’s all Rachel,” I deflect.
I didn’t exactly decorate after I bought the place. Jeremy didn’t care what was on the walls or if there were knickknacks on the console table. In the last few weeks, Rachel’s made the place her own—or rather, ours . She’s asked me before acquiring each new thing, even though I’ve told her she has free rein. Her favorite thing to do when we’re unwinding on the couch is to look through interior decorating websites and point things out to me.
And whatever makes her smile and brings her joy, I buy. Because I want her to be happy. I like when she smiles. I like bringing her joy.
The doorbell rings again, and I excuse myself to open the door.
Mrs. Levine stands on the doorstep, holding a casserole dish.
“Hello, Mrs. Levine,” I greet, ushering her in. “Let me get that for you.”
“Oh, you sweet boy,” she says, pushing it into my hands. “I made a kugel.”
My stomach rumbles. “Potato or noodle?”
“Noodle. With enough cheese to clog your arteries,” she says cheerfully.
“I can’t wait.” My smile is genuine as I deposit it in the kitchen and peer under the foil. It smells delicious. The scent of sweet cheese and noodles makes my mouth water. It is definitely not part of the diet plan. Luckily, it’s a holiday, and I don’t play until tomorrow night.
Ma catches me peeking under the foil and shakes her head. “You’re hungry?”
“I’m always hungry,” I defend.
Rachel has been cooking for the last two days while I’ve been on a road trip to Pittsburgh. She made a delicious sweet and sour brisket plus a vat of matzo ball soup, stuffed cabbage, and roasted sweet potatoes to go with the potato latkes I fried this morning and have warming in the oven. To cut some of the heaviness of the holiday food, I also made a green salad and roasted asparagus.
My parents brought a challah, my favorite chocolate and cherry rugelach, and sufganiyot, the traditional jelly donuts we eat on Chanukah.
“Is it time yet?” Jer asks, peeking into the kitchen.
“Just waiting on one more,” Rachel says, giving me a happy smile from across the room.
And sure enough, when the bell rings a few minutes later, she looks calm and relaxed. She joins me at the door.
Josh looks good. He’s trimmed his beard, though his hair is as long as ever, and he’s wearing a clean button-up shirt and nice jeans. He blinks at the sight of us and then breaks into a huge grin.
“Hey, Josh,” Rachel says with a smile. “It’s good to see you.”
“You, too,” he says, and I believe him to be genuine.
Stepping back, I let him enter the house, and he gives her a tight hug, whispering something into her ear. She smiles and giggles, then releases him.
My oldest brother claps me on the back. “You did good with this one, kid.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, because even though I don’t want his approval, it does feel nice to receive it.
“Don’t fuck it up,” he mutters under his breath before he pushes past me. “Hey, Ma.”
Josh ducks to let our mother dote on him a bit. She smooths his messy curls. He lives in New Hampshire, same as they do, but on the opposite side of the city. I don’t think he goes home much.
I can’t blame him. I love my parents. I love them more from a distance.
“Let’s light the candles,” Rachel says.
The menorah is already set up on the kitchen island, with five candles placed for the fifth night of Chanukah. Each night so far, we’ve lit the candles together, and when I was on the road for our two-night trip, we did it together over video chat.
I hand Rachel the matches and she lights the candles, and then together, we say the blessings as a group. After, we sit for dinner, my dad at one end of the table and myself at the other. Rachel sits beside me, passing me the challah and then the wine to say the blessings. The familiar Hebrew words are comforting. I’ve known these prayers since I was in preschool. They’re an intrinsic part of me, of where I’ve been and where I’m going.
Conversation flows easily as we eat. My mom and Mrs. Levine get along like a house on fire, and before the end of the meal, my mom’s invited her to her weekly mahjong game and Mrs. Lewis has promised to share her noodle kugel recipe.
As I expected, it’s delicious. She uses crushed pineapple, apricot jelly, and dried cranberries in the sweet, cheesy noodle dish. It shouldn’t work together, but it’s delicious. It’s like a warm hug in casserole form.
Rachel is chatting with Jeremy and my dad, holding her own. Watching her settle in with my family brings a smile to my face.
And, to my surprise, to Josh’s, too.
“You’re good?” I mutter to my brother.
He nods. “I’m good. I’m happy for her. For you.” He coughs. “It was a little weird at first, but I got used to it. I think you’re good for her. And she’s definitely good for you.”
“She is,” I agree, watching as she gesticulates wildly to make her point.
I thought I was happy before, but now I know I was living a half-life. There was never a chance to let myself relax and just be myself. I was too caught up in my career to let anyone in.
And now that I have?
Coming home to Rachel is the highlight of my day. I don’t care if she’s already asleep. Curling up beside her makes me happy. Cuddled on the couch, grabbing lunch on campus, or going to the bar after my game, all I want is to spend time with her.
I thought I was happy. I thought I was okay. I had no idea what I was missing out on.
Now that I’ve found her, I’m not going to let her go. With her, wherever she is, I’m home.