Chapter 34
34
Rosie had requested the bridal party arrive at three, and the ceremony itself is scheduled for five. It’s noon when we get there. My mother parks her little red Fiat in a small lot between the theater building and the cafetorium. I recall Rosie mentioning that the ceremony would be in the theater, the reception in the cafetorium. There’s only one other car in the lot right now, and it’s my Subaru. The hatchback is open, the flowers almost all unloaded.
After a minute, Ana emerges from the cafetorium, wearing overalls and a bright yellow puffy winter coat, unzipped. Her hair is down for once, maybe because it’s too cold outside to leave her undercut exposed. Or maybe she’s about to get it done by a stylist, for the wedding. She waves a tentative hand in greeting when she sees us.
“Hi, honey!” Mom calls out to Ana, perky as ever.
I look at her, astonished by her skillful transformation. She’s smiling, cheery and bright. There’s no indication whatsoever that less than an hour ago she was pounding her steering wheel and swearing like a sailor and having a total breakdown over a speeding violation. I didn’t know she was capable of that kind of cover-up.
“Hi, Mom,” says Ana. It still weirds me out that Ana calls my mother “Mom,” but I guess she’s officially becoming a daughter-in-law today, so maybe it’s normal. “You guys are early. Like...really early.”
“Just wanted to be here and help out, if there’s anything you need,” says my mother.
I hear a rumbling and realize the golem is still stuck in the back seat of the Fiat. I tip my car’s seat forward, and he awkwardly pulls himself out of the tiny vehicle like the last giant clown emerging from a clown car.
“Oh—Paul!” Ana says, surprised. “Wow, you’re here, too. Okay, well, as long are you’re all here—you want to grab the wine from the Subaru, bring them into the cafetorium? There’s a bar set up toward the back of the room.”
She points, and he nods, lumbering to the open hatchback of my car and grabbing a box easily. When he heads into the cafetorium, Ana looks back at my mother and me. She seems unsure what to do next, which is relatable.
“Is Rosie here?” my mother asks.
“Oh, um, no,” Ana says. “She didn’t want me to see her before the ceremony. She’s getting ready with the girls—” Ana looks guiltily at me when she says this, since apparently today’s get-ready-with-the-girls invitation hadn’t been extended to me “—and, um, they’ll all be here around three.”
“But if you’re here, there must be some setup, or...?”
“I’m just here to unload the car,” Ana says, with another glance at me. Because, of course, the car in question is my car. The one they confiscated last night. My cheeks heat. Maybe I shouldn’t have had so much to drink. But also, maybe it’s no one else’s business. “And I have to check in with the facilities manager and stuff... Anyway, my parents’ house is only a half-hour drive, so I’ll head over there to get ready in a bit. Drive back with them. I can, um, leave the car at their place, whenever you want to get it, Eve—”
“Sure, sure,” says my mother, nodding, smiling, doing her damnedest to radiate joy. “Well, if there’s anything we can do to be helpful, just say the word. Put us to work.”
“I put the flowers on the tables, but maybe you can arrange them a little?” Ana suggests to my mother. Then she eyes me carefully. “And, Eve, why don’t you come with me to find the facilities manager?”
I nod, even though I’m reluctant to leave the golem and my mother alone again. I’m not worried that he’ll hurt her, but I am a little nervous that if a janitor looks at my mother funny, Paul will pound him to a pulp. The scene on the train flashes through my mind; the single-minded, unapologetic fury with which the golem’s fist smashed that man’s nose. When the cop pulled us over on our way here, Paul looked like he wanted to exact the same punishment. But I wasn’t the one feeling threatened by the officer; only my mother had been upset by him. Before that, I’d thought the golem was only protective of me. But his vigilance seems to extend to my mother, at least.
Understandable, I guess, but my stomach is starting to knot with thick, uncomfortable ropes of worry. How far does his protection extend? And if it’s not only on my behalf, what happens when I’m not around to keep him in check?
The golem returns to heft another box of wine, and my mother follows him into the cafetorium. Ana turns toward the main office, which she says is about a quarter mile up the winding dirt road of the campground. It’s cold, but dry and sunny. Not a bad day for a little walk. Ana waits until there’s some significant distance between us and anyone else before she clears her throat and looks over at me.
“So. How have you been?”
I shrug. I haven’t had a great answer to that question in over a year. I don’t know why anyone even asks it anymore.
“You?” I ask instead.
“Well, I’m marrying the love of my life today, so, net positive,” Ana says. “But there are some bumps, too. I mean, there’s all the obvious stuff from the last year, and then, you know. Life keeps throwing you more.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
Ana looks at me, considering.
“Did Rosie tell you about any of the weird stalker stuff we’ve been dealing with on her TikTok account?” she finally asks.
“No,” I say, surprised.
“Yeah, guess not,” Ana says. “It’s probably nothing, and, you know. It’s not like you two talk a lot.”
I wish I could argue with her on this point, but I can’t.
“And then, last night...” Ana says, grimacing. “I mean...that was a tense little conversation.”
I blink, caught off guard once more. I guess I forgot that Ana had briefly interjected when my mother and sister were sniping at me. She zips up her puffy yellow coat, and the metallic whine of the zipper seems to echo through the forest of leafless trees.
My silence in the wake of her direct statement stretches out awkwardly between us. I don’t know how to respond. Even though this woman has been the most important person in my sister’s life for the better part of two decades, I barely know her. She’s been at every family event, including Dad’s funeral and unveiling, but we rarely have any conversations of substance. She’s like a lifelong next-door neighbor, someone who knows our family’s rhythms and habits but whose home I have never entered.
I should know you better , I think. But you don’t know me, either.
“I guess,” I say, hearing the defensiveness in my voice.
“Rosie was upset,” Ana says, not looking at me. “Really upset. She really looks up to you, Eve. You know that, right?”
I find this hard to believe, but say nothing.
“I know this past year has been awful, for all of you,” Ana continues. “For all of us. Rosie and I, we both...we both just really want today to be special. Not just for us. For our families.”
“Of course,” I say automatically.
Ana gives me another sidelong glance.
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes,” I say, testily. “It’s just... I have a lot going on right now, too. Sorry if I’ve been a little, whatever. Distracted. I’m here, and I’ll be here. Okay? Whatever I’m supposed to do, I’ll do it. I ran my errands yesterday. I did everything she asked me to do. I loaned you my car. I got the wine. I got Rosie’s roses.”
It’s hard to keep the bitterness out of my voice, and Ana doesn’t miss it.
“You know,” she says, eyeing me, “I was the one who picked the flowers.”
“You did?” I ask, genuinely surprised.
So it wasn’t Rosie picking roses as the flowers to continually position herself in the spotlight. It was Ana, in a sweet gesture about what she wanted in the center. I feel a bit cowed by this, although I won’t admit that aloud.
“I did,” she says.
“Oh,” I say. “Well. That’s nice.”
“Yeah,” Ana agrees.
And then she waits.
Like she knows I’m going to say something else.
Which I shouldn’t, but I do.
“I’m trying hard, I really am,” I say. “But it’s a two-way street. Rosie and I—it’s complicated. I’m not trying to be a jerk. I’m not. But it’s not like she goes out of the way to be nice to me, either. She doesn’t want me around. My mother told me that you two went over to her place for Shabbat last week. I live nearby. You could have invited me.”
“We did,” Ana says.
“No, you didn’t,” I insist.
“We tried to,” says Ana. “Rosie called you, but you never called her back. Your mother called you, and got your voicemail, which was full. We’re not trying to exclude you, Eve. Do you know how many times—” She stops, takes a breath, and says coolly, “Your family has reached out to you, Eve. We’ve reached out to you a lot. But when someone knocks, you have to open the door. And also, sometimes? You should try being the one who knocks.”
We walk for a moment in silence, Ana’s Timberland boots crunching along the path, my impractical sneakers shuffling soundlessly. I want to snap back at her, but I can’t. Because she’s not actually my sister—and she’s not actually wrong.
My phone is always off. Part of me suddenly wants to tell Ana why, but when I open my mouth, it goes dry and silent. I feel too guilty to speak. Because I probably did miss the invitation to Shabbat dinner. Of course I did. And the sad truth is, if I’d seen a text or listened to a voicemail about it, I probably would have turned them down. Or just ignored them completely. Maybe Ana’s right. Maybe my family’s been knocking more than I’ve given them credit for, and I’ve been the one with the bolt on my door.
“I’ll do better,” I finally mumble.
“Yeah,” Ana says, and I’m not sure if she believes me or if she’s being sarcastic.
“I’m not the only one who’s been difficult,” I can’t help but add, even though I immediately regret this move. “I’m not the only one who makes mistakes.”
Ana stops walking.
She turns and really looks at me.
“True,” she says. “We all make mistakes.”
I think for a half second she’s going to leave it there. But she doesn’t.
“I’m holding on to things too hard,” Ana says. “Can’t let things go. I should probably work on that. Meanwhile your mom’s letting everything go and upgrading it all for shinier models. Rosie’s taking something from here, there, and everywhere to try to make it meaningful. And then there’s you—God, it’s like we’re the somethings old, new, borrowed, and blue at this wedding. Jesus. Yes. You’re right, Eve. We all make mistakes. We’ve all been difficult. This year’s been difficult. I’m not saying any of us have been handling it well. But can you please just step it up for today?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Sure.”
She’s not buying it.
Her eyes narrow.
“Let’s make a deal,” Ana says. She’s wearing her successful lawyer hat now, brokering the best compromise she can manage. She’s always treated me so gently, keeping the peace. But now I’m officially the opposition, and she needs to handle me. “Just for today, let’s put away all the old skeletons, okay? All of them. Lock them in the closet, we’ll deal with them later. I’ll tell Rosie you feel bad about last night and showed up early to help with setup to make up for it. And that you’d never actually skip our wedding, and you feel like an asshole for suggesting you might.”
Oh my God, I forgot that I said that.
I visibly wince. I hadn’t meant it. But I said it, and the memory is like a knife sliding into my side. Which is probably what it felt like to my sister last night when I said such a hateful thing. I’d told myself that Rosie wouldn’t really care if I was there or not, but that seems ridiculous now. Rosie wasn’t the one pushing me away. I was the one being a total bitch. Under Ana’s scrutiny, I feel awful.
“I wouldn’t,” I say quickly.
“I know,” Ana says, and she actually seems to mean it. I’m relieved that she believes me for once. “But I want to make sure that Rosie knows it, too.”
“Okay,” I say. “Yes. For sure. However I can make today special—just tell me. I’ll do it.”
“That’s a good start,” Ana says encouragingly. “And showing up to help with setup, that’s good, too. I think the biggest thing is just...just act like you’re happy to be here, even if it’s hard, okay? And, of course, the toast.”
“The toast,” I repeat slowly.
Shit.
One more thing I haven’t done. And I didn’t even bring my laptop with me. It’s sitting useless in my bedroom, the one half-assed paragraph I’d written inaccessible to me from here. I have literally nothing to read in front of all the guests tonight.
“You’re giving the only official toast of the evening,” Ana says. “It’s really important to Rosie.”
“Oh,” I say, my dread deepening.
I’d assumed that there would be other toasts.
“You know Rosie wants to make sure you mention your Bubbe. And Dad.”
“I will,” I promise, the ropy knots of worry in my stomach tightening so much I want to throw up.
“She misses them, too, you know,” says Ana.
Not that she ever mentions them , I think. She expects me to handle that for her. Just like Mom. I’m the only one who ever brings up anything real.
I nod stiffly.
“Okay,” Ana says, exhaling. Her breath hangs in the air in front of us. I don’t know when we started walking again, but we’re outside the camp’s main office now. Ana nods, dismissing me. “Right, so. Obviously I don’t actually need you to talk with the facilities manager. I just wanted to—get that off my chest. Make sure we’re on the same page about today. So...yeah. You can go check in with Paul or whatever. Maybe try talking with your mom. Or Rosie. See you for the cocktail hour.”
She walks into the camp office.
Feeling helpless, I turn around and look up the desolate dirt road. The grounds of the summer camp look ghostlike in winter, and I feel like a forlorn spirit floating through the scene. I take a deep breath. I’m not a ghost, although it turns out I might be an asshole. An asshole who made a literal monster.
But I made him for protection.
I made him because I don’t have someone to come to my defense, when push comes to shove. Someone who always has my back.
Someone who would do what Ana just did for Rosie.
This realization stops me in my tracks. I stand there for a long moment in the cold, jealousy and admiration and loneliness swirling within me as I contemplate what a true protector—someone who will guard your heart, your reputation, your life—can actually look like.
Then I start trying and failing to compose a speech in my head as I resume my walk up the lonely road, shivering the whole way.