Chapter Twenty-Six
“I cannot believe you just asked me that,” Caleb says, bringing the shopping cart to a sudden stop.
“Well, I can’t believe that you dragged me to a place that smells like hamster feed and doesn’t have potato chips. And no,” I add, “carrot chips are not potato chips.” Like, seriously. He’s brought me to some awful grocery store that smells like armpits and everything costs triple the price.
“I haven’t had a hot dog in ages,” I say. “Do they sell kosher ones here?”
“They don’t sell carcinogens here period.”
Worst. Store. Ever.
“Hot dogs are terrible for you,” he adds. “They’re one of the worst foods you can eat.”
“Aren’t there cheat days?”
He stops pushing the cart to glare at me. “You want cheat days for cancer?”
“Yes. Maybe?” But damn it, his glower is intimidating, and I hear myself mutter, “I guess not. Anyway,” I say, as we resume walking, “there’s no shame in admitting that you like younger women.”
“I have nothing to admit. Did you not hear me say that I have no interest in dating either one of them?”
“Your brain says that,” I say, sidestepping a shopping cart, “but your body was clearly saying otherwise.”
“No, that’s your brain telling you otherwise.”
I clear my throat. “Some men are attracted to younger women due to ego, admiration, and evolutionary instincts—”
“Put the phone down, Wernick.”
I glance up from the screen. “You aren’t curious about the AI overview of your syndrome?”
“The only syndrome I have is wanting someone who’s too much of a wimp to risk living life to its fullest.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he says, grabbing my phone and placing it in the back pocket of his jeans—as if I can retrieve it now— “that you’re too scared to get married because you’re afraid of getting hurt.”
My breath stalls. The raw emotion emanating from his eyes touches a place deep within my heart.
It reaches straight into the dark, bottomless pit where memories collide with feelings, and love blends with pain.
It’s where euphoria, despair, and fear are irreversibly bound together.
Love is a greedy beast. It doesn’t settle for halves.
If you want it, you have to surrender yourself to it completely.
I want to be brave. I want to be someone who isn’t scared to fall in love and have a family. I want to be the kind of woman that a man like Caleb deserves.
“I—” I swallow, struggling to get the words out. “I want . . .”
“What?” he says softly. The bustle and noise of the store fades as his eyes scan my face.
It feels like we’re the only two people here, and that life has led me to this one crucial moment in time.
I either step up the plate and be the strong, brave person that I know is inside of me, or I retreat back into my cave. “What it is that you want?”
“I want—” I glance away, unable to look in his eyes. I feel myself withdraw, cocooning in the familiar fear that keeps me safe.
Desperate for a change in subject, my eyes gaze around the store and snag on a magazine rack. It’s about a celebrity sex scandal which brings me right back to my original point.
I clear my throat. “Hey Caleb—how many women have you slept with?”
He blinks. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t need an exact number.” I wave my hand. “A general estimation is fine.”
“Why,” he pauses and shakes his head, “are you asking me this?”
“Because I’m your matchmaker,” I reply, in an obvious tone.
“Is that why?”
I can feel him trying to tug me back to that dangerous place. But I can’t let him. Not yet, at least.
“More than five?” I guess. “But less than ten?”
“We’re not playing this game.” He throws a random bag of avocados in the cart, and my eyebrows lift. Even I know you’re supposed to check the color, and I never eat them.
“Do you want me to go first?” I offer. “That way you won’t feel so vulnerable?”
“It’s not about vulnerability, and you have nothing to say.”
“No?” I wrap my fingers around a zucchini and use my thumb to fan the tip.
I rub the spot back and forth, like a produce pervert, but it’s working.
Caleb is staring at me like I’m a car crash he can’t look away from.
“Are you sure about that?” I add in what I hope is a husky voice, and then pump my hand up and down the length of the vegetable.
Caleb’s mouth drops. I’m just considering kissing the tip, when I hear a child’s voice.
“Mommy, why is dat lady doin’ that?”
I turn and make eye contact with a red-faced woman behind me, a toddler on her hip. “Oh shit,” I whisper, dropping the vegetable.
“Shit, shit, shit,” the kid sing-songs.
“No, sweetie, we don’t say that word,” the mother says, glaring at me.
“Sorry about her,” Caleb says, picking up the zucchini. “She was recently discharged from a rehab facility. I’m her nurse,” he adds after a pause.
I smile and wave, trying to look slightly off, but not too much. I don’t want to give the kid nightmares, after all.
“Byeeee!” the toddler yells as his mother hurries away.
Caleb and I glance at each other, and then burst into laughter.
“You know, Wernick, you’re the one person in my life who always manages to bring out the child in me.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, which earns me another chuckle.
“And where,” he glances up from the pile of mandarin boxes, “did you learn that trick?”
“I’m twenty-eight years old, Caleb. Do you honestly think a woman of my mature age, born and bred in the city, wouldn’t know what to do with a zucchini?”
“Aren’t you full of surprises,” he murmurs, pulling the cart toward the spinach section.
“Wait,” I say before he gets any bad ideas. “I’m not a fan of spinach.”
“You will be,” he says, grabbing two bags and throwing them into the cart. “And you still plan on being single forever?”
“Of course,” I say, as breezily as I can manage.
The last five minutes can go straight to the attic and stay there.
“And you will be too at this rate—wait.” I try to stop him.
“I don’t like carrots—okey dokey, then,” I say as he tosses several baby packs into the cart.
“You have to admit,” I continue, “that I’ve given you amazing choices.
Nayma, for one, is adorable and has a great personality.
Rivka is a total bosswoman. Netanya Li is a friggin’ rocket scientist. And hello?
Did you see her butt?” I say, as if I’m a frat boy talking to another frat boy. “I’d totally tap that.”
“Jesus,” he mutters, glancing at me. “Sometimes I can’t believe the things that come out of your mouth.”
“And she has a really beautiful voice too,” I continue.
“Just imagine how she’d sound moaning your name as she cam—arrmphh.
” Caleb stuffs an orange into my mouth, effectively shutting me up.
“Anyway,” I say, after I spit it out. “That’s all in the past. The good news is that I’ve found you a new woman. ”
Ever since Netanya Li, I’ve been working like a matchmaker possessed trying to find a woman to match Caleb intellectually, physically, spiritually, and emotionally. By the time I found her, I’d broken out in a bad case of hives and developed a nervous eye twitch, but nonetheless, totally worth it.
“Not another one,” he groans.
“Don’t worry, this one is definitely going to work out,” I say.
Tamar is a Bukhar an Jew who speaks three languages and is a graduate of Harvard Law. She’s tall and athletic, with long, glossy hair that some would sell their firstborn for. And the best part is that she’s a total sweetheart.
The only concerning part is that she’s every bit as picky as he is, but it’s a good sign that she readily agreed to the date once I mentioned who it was with. And if these two aren’t soulmates, then I’m starting a to send to G-d.
“I need a break.”
“What?” I say, feeling blindsided. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
I shake my head. “I already told her and she’s super excited.”
“Tell her you’re sorry that you didn’t bother to check with me first.”
“That’ll hurt her feelings. Rejection is traumatic.” Despite his big, bodyguard exterior, Caleb is very sensitive to people’s feelings.
“Fine,” he mutters after a long pause. “I’ll do it.”
“Oh thank G-d,” I breathe, clasping a hand over my chest. “I was so worried—”
“But you’re coming with me.”
I stop short and tilt my head. “What?”
“It’ll be less painful that way. And you’re going to eat these.” He deposits two bags of frozen peas into the cart, and the timing doesn’t escape me. Peas are my nemesis food. They taste gross, the texture is gross, and I shudder just by glancing at them.
He’s exacting a cruel and unusual punishment, and for a moment I’m caught between my desire to argue about the peas and his bizarre request that I third-wheel his date.
“You can’t be serious,” I say, focusing on the latter.
“Oh, but I am.” He looks much too pleased with himself, and I throw myself in front of the cart, like a tree-hugger in front of a crane.
“I can’t. That’s insane.”
“Unlike the last date I went on?” he says, studying the contents inside a freezer display case. “Although I’d skip the mustache this time if I were you.”
“That was completely different.” I scratch my neck, feeling a case of hives coming on. “That was intel gathering, and neither of you were supposed to figure out I was there. Besides what exactly would I tell her? That I’m your babysitter?”
“Sure, that’ll work.” He opens the freezer door and selects some gross-looking liquid, then tosses it into the cart.
I bury my face in my hands. He’s winning me at my own game again. Not only do I have to eat my nemesis food, but now I have to go out on dates too.
“And you need to make a few other lifestyle changes.”
I stare at him like he’s gone mad. “More changes?”
“You have the palate of a first grader—”
“Is this about the hot dogs?” I interject.
“It’s more than just the hot dogs. You don’t get enough sleep—”
“How would you know how much sleep I get?” I interject.
“Because you send me cat videos in the middle of the night.”