Chapter Four #2
“Is anyone else following this?” I ask, glancing around the table.
“What I’m saying is that you need to make the biggest match of the year, if not decade,” Jack says, his face growing more and more animated and he waves his hands. “You need a big celebrity. If you were able to make the match of the century—something big like Prince Harry’s second wife—”
I bring my hands down on the table with such violent force that the candlesticks wobble. “He broke up with Meghan?” I gasp.
“No, no,” he says, with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“It’s just an example. Although,” he adds, like he can’t help himself, “it would be nice to see Harry reunited with his family, wouldn’t it?
Imagine the sheer joy and simcha.” He pronounces the last word as ‘sim-kah’ instead of the phlegm-in-the-back-of-your-throat sound.
“You’re so cute.” Zevi kisses his cheek.
“No PDA,” Leah barks. My sister is such a prude that sometimes I wonder how she ever managed to get pregnant.
But would Jack’s idea actually work? My mind flashes back to my childhood when my father used to tuck me into bed and tell me fairytale stories, usually some variant of a young, beautiful woman cursed by a jealous, postmenopausal woman.
But the ending was always the same—the young couple fell in love and lived happily ever after.
Because no matter what the problem was, whether it be dragons or overbearing stepmothers or jealous witches that weren’t invited to a party celebrating the birth of a royal baby, love was the answer.
Every. Single. Time.
Could this really be the answer this time, too? Could finding a celebrity their happily ever after be the solution?
“That’s brilliant, Jack,” Miri says, eyes round with excitement. “We need to find someone that everyone admires, rich and famous, and good-looking, of course. Somebody that has that elusive something, but that no one has been able to find a spouse for yet.”
A light bulb goes off in my head, and by the looks of it, in the others’ as well. One by one, everyone at the table turns to stare at Caleb. And when he realizes what’s happening, he shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not.”
I’m quiet, unsure how to feel. On one hand, he could be the answer to my prayers, but on the other . . . it’s Caleb. The man that I’m determined to keep my distance from.
“Don’t be a dick,” Sissel says to him.
“Language,” Leah sighs, rubbing her temples.
“Please, Caleb,” Miri pleads, holding her hands together, prayer-style. “You tick all the boxes. Everyone in the community respects you, you sit on the boards of all the major institutions—”
“Not all of them,” he interrupts, looking unsettled.
“But the most important ones,” she says, and he looks away, unable to argue with that. “And ever since that article came out, you’ve been famous,” Miri adds, referring to the feature in New York City’s Culture magazine, “25 Most Eligible Bachelors in NYC”.
“C-level famous, but still,” Sissel adds. “And even I, as an asexual, realize that you’ve got that elusive . . .” She pauses and makes a sound from the back of her throat and claws her hand at the air, like a Bengal tiger that took a few swigs of vodka before going onstage.
Caleb opens his mouth and then shuts it.
“That’s it,” Leah declares, standing up. “Mordy, Golda. Time for bed.”
My mind continues to churn. Could this really be enough to repair my damaged reputation? It’s possible. Especially if the magazine does a follow-up feature on his engagement and Caleb is quoted as saying what a phenomenal matchmaker I am.
Caleb opens his mouth a second time, and we all lean forward as if to hear his answer better, only to watch him close it again.
He looks pained and uncomfortable, and I realize with sinking clarity that this isn’t fair to him.
He’s not my favorite person by a long shot, but this is my debt to pay, not his.
And while he did start the avalanche of my demise, I was the one who spoke badly about Mrs. Schwartz and her daughter in the first place.
I was wrong to do it, and I alone should be the one to fix it.
Besides, I’m used to taking care of myself.
I got a head start on adulthood at fifteen while everyone around else carried on with life as normal.
I’m more than familiar with being thrown into bad situations and figuring things out on my own.
This isn’t new ground to me; I’ve done this before and I can do it again.
I’ll be fine.
If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that one way or another, people always leave. First it was my dad, then Caleb, then my mother. The only person it has ever been safe to rely on is me.
“Fine.” Caleb gazes at me. “I’ll do it.”
I’m momentarily caught off guard and I shake my head. “No, don’t worry about it. I’ve got this.”
His gaze flickers for a moment, then he reaches for the bottle of Scotch. I chew on my bottom lip. I don’t love how it feels to be someone’s reason to drink, especially when that person usually sticks to one glass of wine, at the most. So when he takes a third shot, I decide to intervene.
“Really, Caleb,” I say, alarmed. “Forget it. I don’t need you or anyone else to be some kind of sacrificial lamb. I’m a strong, independent woman, perfectly capable of figuring this out—”
“It’s not a big deal,” he interrupts. Determination sets in his eyes, as though he knows he’s about to enter the battlefield and may never return.
“I don’t need you to play the hero,” I say, shaking my head. “I can save myself.”
“I know you can.” Something flickers in his eyes. An emotion I couldn’t even begin to name. “But why should you have to?”
We stare at each other for a long moment until I grow uncomfortable and look away. I realize that everyone at the table has been watching our exchange like we’re a Superbowl game with only seconds left on the clock.
“Do you—” I start. I rub my neck, wondering why this is so hard. “I mean, do you even want to get married anytime soon?”
From what I know, he hasn’t dated since moving into the eruv, and it’s definitely not from a lack of offers. What I do know, thanks to Zevi, is that Caleb isn’t a virgin. He’s had his share of girlfriends over the years, although they never seem to stick around for any significant length of time.
He hesitates. “Sure.”
“Did you see that? He hesitated,” Sissel whispers.
Caleb frowns. “No, I didn’t.”
“You did,” Isser says, and Miri nods. Zevi is, of course, too immersed in bentching to comment.
“Look, I hate to break it to you, sweetheart,” Sissel says to Caleb. “But you’re not getting any younger. Nobody wants their dad to shuffle in with a walker and an oxygen tank to watch them perform at their Chanukah play.”
“I think I have a few more years before that happens,” he says dryly.
“You’re thirty-three,” Sissel says in a dauting tone. “Almost thirty-four.”
“Which is young.” He gives her his most intimidating scowl. It’s the one that usually puts the fear of G-d in everyone—except of course, for the people who know him best.
Sissel leans forward. “What other lies do you tell yourself?”
“Really, it’s fine,” I cut in before anyone gets murdered. “I’ve got plenty of options.”
“Yeah, yeah, we know.” Sissel nods, waving a dismissive hand. “Movie tickets and dead people.”
“No.” I narrow my eyes at her. “I can find a Caleb-equivalent. I’m sure he isn’t the only sought-after bachelor in this town.”
Silence.
“I can’t think of anyone else,” Miri says.
Zevi furrows his brows. “There was the hot, rich Persian guy but he got engaged recently.”
“We could try to break them up,” Sissel suggests.
“Caleb was literally featured as a top bachelor in a popular mainstream magazine,” Miri adds.
“He was also in the top five,” Jack points out, then turns to Caleb. “Right?”
Caleb shrugs. “I don’t remember. The whole thing was dumb.”
“Then why did you do it?” Isser asks.
“It was good publicity for my company.” The fabric of his white button-down shirt bunches as he crosses his arms and I find myself momentarily transfixed by his biceps. It’s the wine, I tell myself. “If I had to do it all over again,” he continues, “I wouldn’t. It wasn’t worth what came with it.”
“You mean the women, don’t you?” I try not to laugh, but it’s hard. Zevi once mentioned in passing that Caleb had gotten more than one stalker following the magazine issue’s release.
“I’m glad you find me being in danger amusing,” Caleb murmurs, standing up to help clear the table.
“It’s just—” I laugh. “You’re a big guy. And a SEAL—”
“Nothing in the military prepares you for being chased by a group of thirty women, trying to tear your clothes off,” he says primly, carrying a tray of potato kugel into the kitchen. I bend over in laughter and clutch my stomach as I visualize the scene.
Ten minutes later, the table is cleared, the after-meal prayers said, and everyone has started piling out.
“Read to me, Auntie Ashira!” Mordy shouts, running out of his bedroom and dragging me by my hand.
“Okay, okay.” I laugh and kiss his cheek. “You guys go ahead,” I say, with a wave to Zevi and the others. “This could take a while.”
“We’ll wait,” Zevi says. Since driving is forbidden on Shabbos—all twenty-five hours of it—walking is the only option.
“Zevi, please. I walk around at night all the time by myself.”
His eyebrows slam together. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”
I laugh again, and Mordy tugs on my hand. “Goodnight!” I call, and hurry into the hall before anyone can protest.
I cuddle with Mordy in bed and after twenty minutes of reading him every construction truck book imaginable, his eyelids finally close and his breathing turns slow and even.
My smile briefly falters as I think of how much my mother would have loved seeing Mordy and Golda grow up.
I shove the thought into the dusty attic of my brain along with the rest of my messy emotions.
I head towards the kitchen to say goodbye to Leah and Isser. But then I see a shadow of a man standing near the hearth, and I shriek in surprise.
“Caleb,” I say, putting a hand over my heart. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
“For me?” My heart skips a beat and I swallow. “Why?”
“Because,” he says, handing me my coat, “you and I are overdue for a talk.”