Chapter Twenty-Five
Exactly one week later, I’m unpacking my small overnight bag in one of the spare bedrooms in Caleb’s house.
Tonight’s Shabbos meal is in honor of Caleb’s grandmother’s ninety-third birthday, but due to the expected ten to twelve inches of snow coming, his parents, grandmother, Zevi and Jack, Miri, Sissel, and I, are all sleeping over until Shabbos ends on Saturday night.
I finish my makeup and spritz on a little perfume, slip on my heels, and then voila!
I close the door behind me and start to go downstairs when I notice Caleb coming down the hall.
I pause on the step. My heart rate quickens, but that’s only because he startled me and nothing remotely to do with the fact that he looks stunning in a new gray suit.
Or maybe it’s less about the suit and more about the way he wears it?
I feel like this topic requires more analysis than I have time to give it.
He’s fastening his watch when he sees me. His lips curve up into the smallest hint of a smile and I blush at the realization that he caught me staring.
To be fair, it’s been over a week since I’ve seen him.
He only came back from his trip to Washington this morning, and when I got here half an hour ago, Jack had let me in saying Caleb was in the shower.
He definitely smells nice from where I’m standing.
Although I also thought he smelled good when he was sweaty and had me in a headlock, so maybe I’m not the best judge.
Even though we haven’t seen each other, we’ve been texting here and there.
Just little stupid things like funny memes and cat videos, and him holding me accountable to working out and eating better.
I’ve always liked to dance, so I started including that in my daily routine, and if Bernice happens to be over, I make her join me.
That woman can shake her tuchus like nobody’s business.
“Hey.”
“Hello you!” I grin a little too enthusiastically to disguise the fact that I feel intensely awkward.
After all, the last time we’d been in the same room, we were sweaty and had our hands all over each other.
And now we’re supposed to go back to not touching?
Even though I know he gives the best hugs in the world?
What kind of cruel and unusual punishment is that?
“I didn’t know you were here,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pant pockets.
“Jack let me in. You were in the shower.” Don’t you dare picture him in the shower! And stop blushing!!! Aaarrgghh.
“Ah.” He clears his throat.
“It’s a great shower,” I add because the silence is killing me. As is the fact that I’m still not touching him. “I gave myself a tour of it once.” Shut up, shut up, shut up.
“I . . .” He shakes his head and laughs. “I’m not surprised.”
“Yeah.” I swallow and grip the banister as a ridiculous thought crosses my mind.
It’s the kind that should not be shared under any circumstances, not even under threat of death, because it is strange and bizarre and only the weirdest type of person would think it.
So, I will keep it to myself and no one will be the wiser.
“What’s got you so quiet?” Caleb says, moving closer to the top of the stairs.
His close proximity makes me feel slightly off-balance, which given that we’re standing at the top of a long staircase, is not a good thing. And because I’ve never been great at multitasking, the thought slips out. “Do you think being un-shomer is like double jeopardy?”
His eyebrows lift in twin peaks of confusion. “What?”
I should’ve let myself fall and break my neck.
“I’m not following,” he adds, tilting his head at me.
I clear my throat and straighten my shoulders. If I act confident, everything will be okay. “Double jeopardy is when the constitution protects a citizen’s right from being tried for the same crime twice.”
“Right.” He looks at me strangely, so I don’t think he’s falling for the pseudo-confidence. “But what does that have to do with being un-shomer?”
Sissel appears in the hallway, causing my nervousness to ratch up a notch. This is just what I need. “E-excellent question,” I stammer.
“What are you guys talking about?” she says, sidling up to us.
“Nothing,” I reply at the exact same time that Caleb says, “The American judicial system.”
“But I heard the word shomer.” Sissel wiggles her eyebrows and gazes between us, and I close my eyes in despair.
“Who said what about being shomer?” Zevi jogs down the hall from the other direction.
“These two—” Sissel waves her hand between Caleb and me “—were whispering about it.”
OMFG. Shoot me now.
“We were not whispering,” I say quickly. How did this turn on me so fast?
Zevi’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “You and Caleb were whispering about being shomer?”
Sissel nods. “Yes.”
“No!” I scowl at her.
Caleb darts me a look that says, Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you. Even though I have no idea what I’m covering for. “We were talking about double jeopardy.”
“Double Jeopardy?” Dr. Kahn peeks her head out of an open bedroom which I can only assume means that she heard our entire conversation and probably knows that I was imagining her son naked in the shower. So that’s great.
“That was an excellent movie. Did you see it?” She gazes at her son expectantly.
Caleb shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
Sissel scrunches her face. “But what does that have to do with being shomer?”
Everyone turns to me, and I sigh in defeat.
Keeping my eyes on the huge chandelier that runs adjacent to the sweeping staircase, I say, “I was just wondering whether—in theory—if someone had already been un-shomer with someone, if touching the same person again would be considered another sin. Or would you get a pass?”
Sissel breaks the silence that follows with, “I’m going to need a lot more details before I can answer that.”
Zevi glances at me, displeased. “Is there something I should know?”
“No,” I laugh nervously, touching my throat. “It’s just a question I have. In case a client asks me.”
“There’s no concept of double jeopardy in the Torah,” Caleb says, his face giving nothing away. “So should a client ask, the answer would be that it’s still breaking Jewish law, whether or not it’s the same person.”
“Good. Wonderful.” I feel my face turn a bright tomato red. “Knowledge is power.”
“But,” Caleb continues thoughtfully, rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip, “if it was me in that situation, and I really liked a woman—if say, I wanted to marry her . . .” He pauses and shrugs. “I’d probably follow her lead.”
There are somersaults in my stomach. I keep my eyes on the banister and say, “Even though it’s a sin?”
“That’s what Yom Kippur is for,” he replies, and everyone laughs. Personally, that’s my least favorite Jewish holiday, but I bet Caleb and the other health nuts love the idea of a twenty-five hour fast.
I glance up and see that Caleb is studying me. I swallow and turn away. My question was for non-sexual touching, like a platonic hug, but I guess I hadn’t made that clear.
Was that Caleb’s way of sending me a message? Or was he just answering my question without any underlying subtext? And is there a store that sells human muzzles?
“I think it’s time to light candles,” I announce, then hurry down the stairs. But as soon as I reach the bottom, I wish I hadn’t because I make eye contact with Caleb’s grandmother who’s perched on a bench in the front hall.
“Well, well. Look at what the cat dragged in.”
“Hello, Mrs. Kahn.” I paste on a bright smile. “It’s so nice to see you.” The ninety-three-year-old puts my nerves on edge like nothing else. She lives in an assisted living home on Ocean Parkway, but often stays at Caleb’s parents’ for Shabbos. “Happy Birthday! How are you doing?”
“A lot better than you. You look like a Prom Queen reject,” she says, pointing one long leopard-print painted nail at my pink dress. “I heard your business is in the toilet and your life is falling apart.”
“Bubby,” Caleb warns, coming down the stairs. My relief is instant.
“What?” she says, the picture of innocence. “It’s not like she doesn’t know.”
“It’s okay.” I smile and try to shrug it off. “Every business has its ups and downs.”
“Yeah, but what business turns their home into a brothel?”
I blink. “What?”
Mrs. Kahn nods. “I heard you expanded your business into prostitution, and that you give a Friday night discount as long as the customers pay ahead of time, so it’s not breaking Shabbos.
And don’t say ‘what’,” she adds. “It makes you sound stupid. And trust me, child, you don’t need people referring to you as the dumb matchmaker and a whore. ”
My jaw drops, and I find myself unable to form words. Caleb seems equally stunned.
#Schwartzstrikesagain. #Rightonschedule #Getthewomanarealjob
“Code Friday25,” she continues blithely. “Oh, my friend Eugene wants me to ask you if you give group discounts.”
Someone makes a strangling gasping sound and I realize that it’s me.
“You’re running a brothel?” Sissel says, gazing at me with what looks like a new level of respect. I glance up and see not only Sissel on the staircase, but also my brother and both of Caleb’s parents. “No wonder you were asking about being un-shomer.”
Perfect. Just . . . perfect.
“What—” Caleb shakes his head. “Go back to the beginning, Bubby. Who told you this?”
“You know my friend Marna—she’s the one with the gorgeous granddaughter who’s in medical school—remember? The one who said she was interested in meeting you, but you blew her off? That one?”
“Would that be the one that’s still in her twenties and an atheist?” he says in a pleasant voice. “Or did those things change since you last brought her up a month ago?”
“You’ll never get married if you keep this ridiculously high bar of yours—”
“I’m sorry,” I cut in, arranging my hands in a timeout signal. “Could we go back to the part where Marna told you I was running a brothel?”