Chapter Twenty-Four
If someone had told me years ago that a day would come when I’d be so desperate to fill my database that I’d pimp my friends at the keilim mikveh, I’d never have believed it. And yet . . . here we are.
I glance around and shiver. The small room has minimal heating, probably just enough to keep the pipes from freezing.
There’s a counter along one side of the wall where people put their packages and things, and beside it is a large, heavy lid that covers the mikveh water.
When I once explained to the non-Jewish woman that lives next door to the mikveh what people did inside here, how Orthodox Jews purify any and all non-disposable utensils that come into contact with their food, she looked at me aghast and asked why.
“In case they’ve been in contact with any unkosher food. And to purify it.”
If you have to use your friends as man-bait, Fridays—erev Shabbos—are the best days to do it. Nearly every Jewish woman I’ve ever known has sent their young adult son on an emergency trip to the mikveh on a Friday to toivel last-minute hostess gifts or new serving trays or utensils.
“Stop that! I don’t want to wear lipstick!” Sissel says, batting my hands away. “Especially not red lipstick. Not with these freckles.”
Sissel is a little sensitive about her coloring. She says she has brown hair with red highlights, but her hair is actually the color of orange peels.
“Can you at least take your hair out of its ponytail?” I say. “Maybe have it curl provocatively over one breast like a Regency romance novel?”
Sissel turns to Miri who’s posing like a mannequin. “Did you hear what she just said to me?”
“Shhh,” Miri replies in a husky voice, like a smoker’s. “I’m getting into character.”
I give her a thumbs-up. I know I’ve been asking a lot of my friends lately, but I’ve got four women in my database, thanks to Caleb’s bad behavior.
I desperately need to recruit more men. Since Miri and Sissel are attractive single women themselves, I might as well give them the opportunity to participate in this mitzvah.
And who knows—maybe Miri might meet her bashert this way. How’s that for a great meet-cute?
“And why here of all places?” Sissel continues, gesturing around the small room. “Don’t you think the men’s gym is smarter?”
“I thought about that,” I say, “but just because men work out doesn’t mean they’re kind people, whereas guys who toivel keilim are both strong and nice.”
Sissel stares at me. “You’ve lost your freaking mind.”
“You have to admit, it’s a workout, schlepping all these pots and pans and dishes or whatever. And the guys who do it so their mothers don’t have to—”
“Or their wives,” Sissel mutters.
“Well, yeah, there’ll be some married men, too, but maybe they’ll have a single brother or friend,” I say. “And the point is that these guys are good, kind men with great biceps.”
“Although not everything requires biceps,” Miri says, back in her regular voice. “Like a package of silverware, for example.”
“You. Get back into character,” I tell her.
“What are we even supposed to say to these men?” Sissel asks.
“It’s a fair question,” I say, nodding. “You could ask them what the blessing is and then slip into the conversation that there’s this great matchmaker you work with, and then real casually, hand them my card.”
Sissel gives me a once-over and shakes her head. “Don’t you think it would work better if you weren’t dressed in disguise like a punk rocker? You could just be honest and give them your card yourself.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I need you to rave about me in case they’ve heard the rumors that I’ve gone insane.”
“You have gone insane.”
“I think I hear someone coming,” Miri says.
“Quick! Be sexy!” I whisper, then scooch back to avoid getting hit by the swinging of the door. Two women come inside with shopping bags and towels and they pause, surprised to find three women in the room standing around, doing nothing.
One is in a headkerchief and the other is in a wig that’s obviously a wig, signifying that they’re both married. Otherwise, I’d try to recruit them too.
“Are you in the middle of something or can we go ahead?” the older woman asks us, dumping her bag on the counter beside the lid of the mikvah.
“No, we’re uh, we’re waiting for our stuff,” I say. “Uber,” I add.
She lifts her eyebrows, but turns her attention back to the young woman and takes the towels from her.
“Start unboxing and look everything over to make sure that there are no stickers attached. I’ll get this ready,” she murmurs, laying out the towels on the other side of the lid.
“Where is the mesh bag? We need it so we don’t lose our stuff in the water—”
“Here you go,” Sissel says, holding out the long red bag to her. “I was using the handle like it was a fidget spinner. It’s really calming for my social anxiety.”
I lay my hand over my forehead and close my eyes. Perhaps I should’ve left Sissel at home.
The two women then spend what feel like an eternity dipping dishes, silverware, pots, pans, and anything that would come into contact with food into the small pool that contains rainwater.
The younger woman must be a recent bride because she’s brought enough brand-new stuff to outfit an entire kitchen.
Either that or she’s got a major shopping addiction.
The door opens suddenly and a young, muscular man steps one foot inside holding a huge box. “Oh sorry,” he says with a polite smile. “I’ll come back later.”
“No!” The word rips from my throat at a decibel best described as “desperate.” They’re almost done,” I say, then turn to them. “Right?”
“But you’re after us,” the older woman says. “He might as well come back later.”
“Will do,” Hot Guy says, and disappears out the door. It all happens so fast that when I look out the window, he’s already reversing in his car. And I can’t even memorize the license because half of it is covered in snow.
Miri gazes at me sadly and even Sissel looks disappointed. By the time the two women leave, our spirits are low.
“I’m cold.” Sissel sighs. “And hungry.”
I take off my sweater and give it to her, then search for the bag of pretzels in my purse. I always keep food on me in case I’m out with Golda or Mordy and one of them gets hungry and needs to eat immediately or else they get hangry.
“I don’t like the big pretzels,” Sissel says. “Do you have the small kind?”
“Do I look like Mary Poppins to you?” I say, gesturing to my small purse.
“How’s my hair?” Miri asks, patting it.
“Perfect.” I glance out the window where a car is just pulling up.
Unfortunately, it’s not the car that Hot Guy was driving, and the elderly man that eventually gets out isn’t the type I’d expect to see here.
He’s not only very old and frail-looking, but is bent over and has a severe limp. And it’s icy out here.
“Maybe he has a grandson,” Miri says, trying to be optimistic.
“Or a picnic basket full of deli sandwiches,” Sissel adds.
I laugh. “I’ll be right back,” I say, opening the door. “I’m going to see if he wants help. Hopefully he won’t be too macho to accept.”
“See if he has snacks!” Sissel calls out.
An icy wind brushes against my cheeks, making me wish I hadn’t forgotten to put moisturizer on earlier today. “Hi.” I give a warm, friendly smile to the man as he approaches. “Would you like me to toivel that for you?” I say, pointing to the shopping bag in his hand.
“What?”
I repeat my question, louder this time, and he nods. “What a nice service. Thank you,” he says, handing me the bag.
I don’t bother correcting him because it probably helps his pride to assume that this is some new feature that the mikveh provides. I glance at him over my shoulder to ensure that he got back into his car safely, then heave a sigh of relief once he’s inside.
“I’m thirsty. Did he have any drinks on him?” Sissel says when I return inside.
“Girl, you are something else.” I put down the shopping bag and unzip my purse to get a juice box. “There you go,” I say, tossing it to her. “Would you like a coloring book and crayons with that?”
She nods. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“I was kidding,” I laugh, removing the mikvah lid. “My purse isn’t big enough to hold all of that anyway.”
“What you call kidding, I call teasing,” Sissel says, crunching loudly on the pretzels.
There are only two metal serving spoons in the bag, so it doesn’t take me long to toivel them. When I return the items to the man through the car window, he tells me to wait, and then extracts a few dollars bills and holds them out to me.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, waving my hand. “The mikveh pays me well.”
“Give it to charity,” he says, so I nod and pocket the money.
Back inside, Miri says she has to pee and Sissel says she does too. I’m starting to feel like a severely underpaid babysitter. “There isn’t a bathroom here,” I say.
“I know, but there’s a gas station across the street,” Sissel says.
“Okay, fine. But be quick in case the Hot Guy comes back or someone else turns up.”
“We will,” Miri calls over her shoulder.
“And hold onto each other,” I shout. “Don’t rush, it’s icy!”
I take out my phone and scroll through my emails. I’m still getting invitations to be a guest on podcasts and a few shows, but definitely not as many as I used to. But I’m not worried. Soon enough, I’ll find Caleb his perfect match, and in a year’s time, this will all be like a distant bad dream.
And then, to my great surprise, Hot Guy walks in. “Is now a bad time?” he asks, pausing again at the door.
I shake my head no, scared to speak in case he recognizes me.
I frantically text the group chat to tell Miri and Sissel to come back ASAP and then try to think of a way to stall him without talking.
I lean against the counter and smile at him, reminding myself of Ariel from The Little Mermaid after Ursula had stolen her voice.
Except Ariel hadn’t been wearing a bright blue wig and goth makeup and fake tattoos on her neck.
He hums to himself as he takes off his coat and rolls up his sleeves.
The man clearly works out based on the bunching of his shirt’s fabric when he moves.
“This water is freezing,” he says conversationally, marking himself as an out-of-towner.
Very few born and bred New Yorkers are this chatty with strangers.
“I keep hoping it’ll warm up because my fiancée has me coming in here every other day,” he adds, chuckling to himself.
I deflate like a balloon, but he doesn’t notice.
“The things you do for love though, right?”
“I guess,” I mutter, disappointed.
I startle as Miri races in, panting and out of breath. “Hi there,” she purrs, putting her hand up against the doorpost and sticking her hips out. I appreciate her effort, but instead of sexy, she looks like someone who would greatly benefit from physical therapy.
“This man is the best fiancé, schlepping out here all the time,” I add, hinting to Miri that he’s already taken.
“Oh.” Her shoulders drop and she frowns. “How nice.”
“I’d do anything for her,” he grins, drying his hands on the small towel he brought. “I never knew happiness like this until I met her.”
My heart fills with warmth seeing how in love he is. Despite everything, I find myself grinning back. “That’s beautiful,” I say.
“Yeah. Amazing,” Miri adds glumly, slumping against the wall.
“Thank you, have a great day,” he says on his way out.
Miri and I gaze at each other with silent disappointment. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” I confess after a minute.
“Probably not,” she agrees. “But it was worth a try.”
Sissel bursts through the door, waving a shopping bag with the gas station logo. “Guess what?” she says, all excited. “I bought a coloring book!”