Chapter Twenty-Eight
I turn the corner of my street, nearly finished with my evening run. With the marathon approaching in six weeks, I began doubling down on my workouts. Not that Caleb knows—I doubt he’d approve of me running after the sun sets.
The last few weeks have flown by as I’ve bounced between going to events at new synagogues where Mrs. Schwartz is less known.
I’ve even managed to sign two new clients—although one of whom is so shy that she has trouble talking on dates, but I’ve been role-playing with her, so that’s helped.
It’s been thrilling to sit in on meetings with Zevi and Jack as they meet with potential investors to discuss the documentary series that Jack thought of, The Golden Bashert.
It ended up working out perfectly since Zevi’s other show fell through after a drug scandal on set that landed some cast members in prison, some in rehab, and one unlucky soul in the hospital morgue.
But the best part? Watching Bernice get her sparkle back.
When I first explained my plan to Zevi, he said hell no, that my ethics were becoming shadier than Anna Delvey’s, and that I should take a trip back to Hebrew school, but by the sixth attempt, he reluctantly agreed.
I knew Bernice would want to look her best if she were to “accidentally” bump into Lenny, but it was going to take something big to get her out of the house and glamorize her.
Bernice, as the bachelorette, has fifteen men vying for her hand who I helped select.
The camera crew followed me around as I talked with Bernice and interviewed the bachelors about their life stories and what kind of partner they’re hoping to find to share their golden years.
They also captured my colorful commentary as I watched Bernice’s dates through a hidden camera.
And she’s always dressed to the nines in her leather mini skirts, tiny sequin dresses, and platform wedges.
Luckily, she’s also forgiven me for Lenny’s surprise appearance on the show—which to be honest, was not an easy thing to arrange in the first place.
But as it turns out, a little harassment can go a long way.
I wipe a trail of sweat off my forehead as my house comes into view.
I still have a million things on my mind, one of them being the wedding this Tuesday night that Caleb and I are driving to together.
The bride—Esty—is not only Caleb’s cousin, but my overnight camp bunkmate and longtime friend.
It’s an hour-and-a-half drive to Long Island, so we should have lots of time to discuss his dating life.
I jog up the front steps and let myself in, then turn on the front lights. And promptly let out a blood-curdling scream.
“What happened to knocking?” Bernice yelps, jumping back from Lenny and fumbling with the buttons of her shirt.
“I live here,” I wail, covering my eyes. I can’t believe Lenny and Bernice were making out on my couch. Who knows what else they were going to do? Now I’ll have to get a new couch, even if it means going without food for the next two months.
“I’m sorry, Ashira,” Lenny says, and I wince as I hear the zipping of his pants. “We didn’t mean for this to happen. We only wanted to surprise you.”
“Oh, I was surprised all right.”
Bernice giggles. “You know what he meant. We wanted to show you that we’re together.”
“And you only have yourself to blame,” Lenny adds. “This is what you wanted, after all.”
“Was it?” I grimace at the image in my head.
“She’s always been a bit of a prude,” Bernice says, to which I sigh.
Lenny chuckles. “Kids nowadays.”
“You can look now,” Bernice says.
I lower my hands and smile at their flushed, glowing faces. “I’m really happy for you guys. When did you go from sworn enemies to . . .” I gesture in the direction of my couch.
“Once I kissed him,” Bernice says, with a smug smile.
Lenny nods. “I didn’t know what hit me. One minute I was telling her how much I hate her and in the next, she was kissing me.”
“It was a social experiment,” Bernice says. “I was curious to see what he would do in that moment. When he started kissing me back, I figured I might as well keep going.”
“When did it happen? Was it on camera?” I ask, because I totally missed it if it was.
“A few nights ago. He showed up after the crew left so we could fight in private.” Bernice gazes up at Lenny adoringly. “Isn’t that romantic?”
“Very,” I say, biting on the inside of my cheek so as not to laugh. “Does Zevi know about this new development?”
They glance at each other guiltily. “Not yet,” Lenny admits. “I don’t want them to try to separate us or anything.”
“And either way, I have to make it look like I’m falling in love with two other men,” Bernice says, leaning her head on Lenny’s shoulder.
“Why two other men?”
Bernice shrugs. “Your brother said it creates more of a buzz that way with viewers. Keeps people’s interest.”
I nod. The investors had insisted on making this project into a reality TV series rather than a documentary. They thought it would be more entertaining and bring in a bigger viewership.
“This is pretty,” Bernice says, picking up my new clutch as I walk them to the door.
“Thanks,” I say, taking it back before she gets any ideas. “I bought it for the wedding I’m going to on Tuesday.”
“Who’s getting married?”
“Esty Kahn. She’s an old friend of mine. And Caleb’s cousin.”
“Caleb is the man that Ashira is using to save her business,” Bernice says to Lenny as she puts on her coat.
“I don’t know if using is the right word,” I say weakly. “I mean, he wants to get married—”
“To you.”
My mouth drops open. How did she know?
“That man looks at you the way someone on a diet looks at an all-you-can-eat dessert buffet. Like he wants to lick every part of you and then eat you up.”
I blink. “Okay, then,” I say and open the front door. “Thanks for stopping by.”
Bernice wags her finger at me. “Life is too short to be a virgin.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“Goodnight, Ashira.” Lenny grins. “Don’t be strange.”
I laugh. “You mean don’t be a stranger.”
He chuckles and as they walk away, I hear Bernice say, “Honestly, I think you’re both a little strange.”
* * *
Tuesday arrives, and Caleb picks me up at one o’clock in the afternoon so we’ll have plenty of time to drive to Long Island, and practice having normal dating conversations.
Unfortunately, his new cologne or shampoo or whatever scent it is that he’s wearing is making me want to climb onto his lap and plant my face in the crook of his neck. And in other places too.
Focus.
I can do this. I can be a professional and stay in my own lane. I’m Caleb’s matchmaker. His matchmaker, I remind myself, as my eyes drift to his lips.
It’s just a small, annoying attraction. Nothing more.
“Okay, so here’s what we’ll do,” I say, shaking my head and clearing my thoughts. “I’ll be the man, and you’ll be the woman, and we’re going to pretend we’re on a date.”
“Got it.”
“Ready?” He nods. “Hi,” I say, deepening my voice, “you look lovely.”
“Thank you. You look very handsome yourself.”
I give him a silent thumbs-up to show my approval. “The matchmaker mentioned you were a gardener, is that right?”
“No,” he says in a high girly voice, sounding slightly miffed. “I’m the CEO and president of a medical device company.”
“Ah, sorry. I must’ve confused you with someone else.”
“I see.” He frowns. “Do you often date more than one woman at a time?”
“No. No, no.” I shake my head. “I’m just . . . confused.”
“How often do you get ‘confused’?” he says, arranging his fingers into quotations marks. “Because I don’t want a husband that gets confused about things.”
I try not to laugh, but fail horribly.
“Are you laughing at me?” he says, picking up a British accent.
I shake my head and clutch my stomach, unable to stop giggling. So much for being a professional.
“Okay,” I say, recovering my voice. “Let’s end this round.”
“That went well,” he says, slipping back into his normal voice and adjusting the rearview mirror. “How about this time you pretend to be the man and I’ll be the woman?”
“I think we can handle pretending that.” He gives me a small wink and just like that, my face grows hot. Get a grip, girl. Remember you have a job to do.
The traffic light turns red and he brings the car to a stop. “Hi there,” he says, turning to gaze at me.
“Hi.”
“I love your outfit.”
“This old thing?” I bat my hand. “Thank you. I appreciate the compliment.”
“It really brings out the blue of your eyes.”
I pause. “That’s great, except your date might not have blue—” I start to say, but he cuts me off.
“They’re the same color as blue jays and when I look at you, I think of them.” His gaze penetrates into mine, and I’m suddenly confused on so many levels.
“Blue jays?”
He nods, and presses on the gas as the light turns green. “A lot of people don’t like them because they’re noisy and aggressive and eat a lot. Some people even think they’re evil.”
What started off as promising is quickly going downhill. “Okay, how about we take it from the top—” I start to suggest, but he cuts me off.
“But I see their intelligence, their gumption, their scrappiness,” he continues.
“They’re not selfish for hiding seeds to eat later, and they’re not aggressive just because smaller birds scatter when one approaches.
And though they are noisy, their calls save other birds’ lives by warning them about predators.
” He flicks the wrist that’s resting casually on the steering wheel.
“Sure, they sometimes eat other birds’ babies, but no one is perfect. ”
“I’m sorry,” I say gently, not wanting to hurt his pride, “but this is a really terrible conversation.”
His voice deepens, turns more serious. “You’re the same way.
I see how you stand tall and strong in shul despite the gossip, and the lies and the vilification.
But you don’t cower. You don’t hide or back down.
And rightfully so.” He spares me a quick glance and smiles. “You’re a badass blue jay, Tinsel.”
My breath gets trapped in my throat. I shake my head. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Go from not being able to talk to women on dates to this,” I say, gesturing in the space between us. “Because that was . . .” I trail off and swallow. “It was really nice.”
“Maybe it has nothing to do with them,” he says in a quiet voice, “and everything to do with you.”
I feel a pinch in my heart. And I find myself wondering whether it would really be so bad to fall in love. To share my life with someone who sees me the way Caleb does. Could Caleb be an exception to my rule?
I don’t know. But one thing is for sure. The more I’m around Caleb, the harder it gets to resist this pull toward him. And now more than ever, I’m growing less convinced that I should be.