Chapter Twenty-Nine
An hour and a half later, we’ve arrived at the venue which resembles a European castle. It’s made entirely of brick and has everything from gate houses, to corner towers to parapets. It even has a drawbridge.
I’m willing to bet that this place doesn’t host too many Orthodox Jewish weddings.
“This is so Esty,” I say, laughing as we cross over the drawbridge.
“It is, isn’t it?” He chuckles. “She’s always been a character.”
“Where does she get it from?”
“Not my side,” he says, with a sly grin.
Two men in medieval costumes greet us and open the heavy wooden door. I stand in stupefied awe, gazing at the impossibly high curved ceilings and large mullioned windows, and wrought-iron chandeliers with pillar candles on top.
Even the servers are dressed in medieval costumes, and I’m not going to lie—it’s a strange sight to see someone dressed as a knight offer champagne to a guest wearing head-to-toe Hasidic garb.
“Do you think Esty’s wedding dress will be from a Renaissance shop?” I say to Caleb, unbuttoning my coat.
His eyes follow the movement of my fingers and he replies, “I wouldn’t be surprised if it is, knowing . . .” He trails off as I hand him my coat.
“Knowing what?” I say, fluffing my hair out.
But he doesn’t respond. His eyes do a slow appraisal and I feel myself blushing under his watchfulness. “You look . . . Wow.”
“You don’t think it’s too . . .” I trail off, not wanting to call attention to my body while at the same time trying to determine if he thinks it’s too form-fitting.
There’s a slit that shows off the bottom part of my left leg, but look—my body happens to be having a good day and I can only wear this particular dress on good-body days.
Therefore, this was the obvious choice to get my money’s worth, you understand, and had nothing to do with hoping Caleb would notice my body. Because why would I want that?
“Too sexy?” he says, arching an eyebrow. “Definitely.”
My heart skips a beat. “Oops,” I say weakly.
“Don’t worry.” He throws me a sly grin. “I’m sure no one will mind.”
There aren’t too many people here yet, since Caleb was told to come early for the family pictures.
He motions for me to follow him and I stand in the back of the room, not wanting to get in the way.
At one point, Esty rushes over to me and gives me a big hug, looking stunning herself in a shimmering gown with organza and lace.
She’s also wearing a huge crown and carrying a scepter instead of a bouquet, which is so perfectly her.
Also in typical Esty fashion, she orders me to stand beside Caleb, and I turn bright pink because everyone is standing next to their spouses. And to make things worse, the photographer keeps singling me out by shouting at me and telling me to move closer to Caleb.
“Move toward your husband. He won’t bite,” the photographer calls out and the family laughs, either at the joke or more likely because they know Caleb isn’t married and so I’m definitely not his wife.
“Mmm, I might,” Caleb whispers to me under his breath.
“Get me out of here,” I say through my cheery smile.
“More! Give me more!” The photographer gestures at me wildly, clearly growing impatient with me.
“I think he wants you directly on top of me,” Caleb murmurs, and I try as I might, I can’t control the burst of laughter that erupts from me. Caleb makes a snorting, choking sound, failing to hold back his own laughter.
“Save your lovey-dovey eyes for the camera, you two,” the photographer shouts at us, eliciting another wave of laughter from the thirty or so family members watching us.
“More!” the photographer shouts.
“This is the most mortifying moment of my life,” I murmur, moving my right hip and breast until it presses against the left side of Caleb’s body. Although crushing might be a more apt description at this point.
“Really?” he murmurs back. “I’m quite enjoying it.”
I snort.
“More, sweetheart, more!” The photographer waves frantically to the right and his assistant copies the motion.
“Did you pay him to do this?” I mutter, and Caleb throws his head back and laughs.
“Yes, love that! Everyone laugh like that,” he commands, and the assistant mimes laughing.
The moment the photographer is done, Caleb’s extended family swarm around him, like bees clustering around their queen.
I stand and observe it all with a smile.
I’m so proud of the man that Caleb’s become.
Somehow, he went from being a shy immigrant boy, who constantly felt other, to this strong, confident man with an intangible quality that’s hard to define, but draws people in, like a moth to a flame.
I watch him lean forward to better hear them.
That’s another special thing about Caleb.
Most people love to talk and be heard, but very few listen.
Especially the way Caleb does. When he listens, his eyes never leave your face, and every muscle of his body is poised on the words coming out of your mouth.
You never doubt that his attention is focused elsewhere.
“Ashira. Look at you.” Dr. Sheva Kahn smiles and pulls me into a hug. “You’re glowing.”
“Glowing?” My cheeks stain pink. Does she believe what her mother-in-law said about me, that I’m pregnant with her grandchild? Or am I just being paranoid?
Please, let it just be my paranoia.
“You had a sparkle in your eye,” she says. “Like you were thinking about someone special.” Her gaze drifts to Caleb and lingers for a beat. “But,” she adds, turning back to me, “it’s gone now.”
“Ah.” I nod, unsure how to respond. Every now and then I’ve gotten the feeling that Dr. Kahn wouldn’t mind having me as a daughter-in-law, although she’s never come out and said as much.
A woman in a long floral gown steals Dr. Kahn’s attention. I head to the drinks table when something tumbles over my feet.
“Oh—hi there,” I coo when a small toddler trips over my feet. “Are you okay?”
The little boy is in an adorable baby tuxedo, made all the more adorable by the pigtails on his head. He stares at me as if trying to figure out if he should laugh or cry, so I do a quick round of peek-a-boo before he has time to think it over.
“Can I ask you a question about your son?” an older woman says to me sotto voce, as if afraid of being overheard. She’s in a pale blue suit, matching the rest of the bride’s family’s color palette.
“My son?” I say confused, standing up. She gestures to the boy at my feet and I realize the mistake. “Oh, he isn’t mine.”
“Sorry, I just assumed—could I ask you the question anyway?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t understand why Orthodox Jewish boys don’t get their hair cut until they’re, what, four?”
“Three,” I say. “It’s called an upsherin for Ashkenazi Jews and chalaka for Sephardi Jews, but not all Orthodox people do it. It’s a custom,” I add. “Not a Jewish law.”
“But what’s the point of it?”
“I think there’s more than one reason behind it, but one of them is education. At three, children begin to understand the reasons behind why we do things, and males are not allowed to cut off their sideburns. Trim them, but not cut them off completely.”
She frowns. “Why not? And what about girls? Why are they treated differently?”
“Great questions.” Where the hell is Caleb when you need him? Or anybody else. “I think the prohibition of cutting sideburns is related to the whole idol worshipping thing, like the idol worshippers used to cut off their sideburns, so this was a way to distinguish themselves from them.”
“But what about girls?”
“The girls?” I repeat, distracted by the sight of Caleb across the room, surrounded by a gaggle of young women. His eyes find mine as if he somehow knew I was looking at him and his bottom lip quirks into a secret smile.
“Why are girls treated differently? Why aren’t they given the same commandments? Sorry, is it okay that I’m asking you this?” she adds with an apologetic smile. “I’ve just always been curious.”
“Yeah, of course. I can tell you what I was taught, although ask two Jews a question and you’ll get ten different answers,” I laugh.
“But girls light Shabbat candles starting at the age of three because that’s also the age of understanding.
As to why girls aren’t given the same commandments, well,” I pause.
“As a disclaimer, this isn’t to bash men, but as a whole, they tend to be less spiritual than women.
They’re more removed from G-d, you know?
Women are compared to angels, and men are compared to animals.
” The woman’s eyes widen and I rush to add, “I love men, though. And I love animals. They’re both great, really.
It’s just that women are naturally more spiritual, so we don’t need to do all these commandments to remind us of G-d because we’re already on that level.
” I chew my bottom lip and add, “See, men’s commandments are all external and done in public, whereas a woman’s are done internally and in private, because she can be trusted. ”
A long silence follows and then she murmurs, “Interesting.”
“But we all have male and female characteristics,” I say, “and that’s why certain words in Hebrew are either female or male—”
The little boy tumbles over me again, except this time he lands on his face.
I bend down and pick him up as he starts to cry and I croon in his ear, “Shhh, I’ve got you.
Should we find Mommy? Or Tatty?” I glance around trying to figure out who the mom or dad could be and when I spot a table with desserts.
“Cookies!” I say enthusiastically to the boy and point.
“Ooo-kies!” He kicks his legs excitedly against my dress.
“Do you want the pink cookie or the white cookie or the—” I catch him with my other arm as he dives towards the table, swiping at as many cookies as he can hold in his small hands. “All of the above, huh?” I laugh.
“Ooo-kies!” He grins and drools on my shoulder.
“Don’t you worry about the dress, slugger. It’s non-refundable and dry-clean only, and—” The boy lets out a huge sneeze. I reach for a napkin and gently wipe his face. “Ah, well. What’s a little snot between friends, right?”
“Hey,” Caleb says, and I turn around in surprise. “Who’s this little guy?”
“Ooo-kie!” he squeals.
“Never met an Oookie before.” Caleb grins at the little boy, his eyes dancing with humor. “Who is he?” he asks.
“No idea.” I smooth down a lock of hair that’s come loose from one of his pigtails. “He tripped over my feet and we’ve been best buds ever since.”
Caleb offers a fist bump to him. “Smooth, Oookie. Very smooth.”
I laugh. The boy lays his head on my shoulder, and warmth spreads through me.
“Do you think I can keep him?” I whisper to Caleb, caressing Oookie’s soft hair.
But when Caleb doesn’t respond, I lift my gaze only to discover that he’s watching me intently.
A kaleidoscope of emotions flickers across his eyes.
He clears his throat. “You’re a natural.”
Something unspoken crackles in the air—something that feels like yearning and hope, and smells distinctly of rainbow sprinkles. Of course, that last part is probably due to the cookie hitting my nose.
“Do you want to hold him?” I offer.
“Do you think he’d let me?”
I shrug. “I haven’t known him long, but I think Oookie is happy as long as he’s eating ooo-kies.” I transfer him into Caleb’s arms and smile as I watch the two of them make faces at each other. “You’re such a natural with kids,” I say.
“Thanks.” He lifts his eyes to meet mine. “So are you.”
An unexpected swell of emotion rises in my chest. I’d give anything to have a little family like this. A sweet, devoted man like Caleb, and a messy, yet adorable child.
The thought is jarring.
I want to have children, I realize with a startling rush of clarity.
I want to have babies and a husband and a family of my own.
I’ve spent years telling myself that being an aunt to Leah’s kids was enough, but now I know that I’ve been lying to myself, and that this whispered longing to be a mother is no longer whispering.
“You look deep in thought.”
I startle at the sound of Caleb’s voice. His deep charcoal eyes dance with amusement and he looks almost painfully handsome in his navy suit and paisley pink tie. My cavewoman instincts are screaming prime mating material.
“Are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head. “You look a little pale.”
I feel pale. Confused and terrified, too.
“I should return Oookie to his parents,” I say, taking the toddler back. Let’s face it—Caleb in a suit is dangerous in and of itself, but Caleb in a suit and holding a child?
Cata-friggin-clysmic.
“Anyone lose a kid?” I ask, approaching a group of guests. They shake their heads in bewilderment and I move on. I know I’ve found the mom when Oookie lunges at a woman with the enthusiasm of a dog greeting its owner. She thanks me in broken English and I respond in similarly broken Hebrew.
I stand off to the side, my arms feeling strangely bereft.
I watch the kids running around, playing tag, and squealing in delight.
A father walks by, cradling a small baby and looking down at it with such obvious pride that my heart tugs.
An older woman, probably a grandmother, is laughing and talking with a child who looks to be about ten.
Why am I suddenly noticing children everywhere I look? This is more than annoying. It is excruciating.
“I brought you some water.”
I accept the glass, but instead of taking a drink, I blurt, “I want a baby.”
Caleb looks shocked and rightfully so. I just vomited out this big life decision as if I had just decided what to eat for dinner.
“What?” he says.
“I want a baby,” I repeat. “Maybe even two or three.”
“That’s . . . great,” he says slowly, like he’s not yet sure where this is going.
“It could be a temporary thing. Maybe I’m coming down with a virus?” I say, with hope.
“Does this mean that you’ve changed your mind about marriage?”
“No— I mean, I don’t need to get married to have children,” I say, then glance at him, noting his tight jaw and the tension in the way he’s holding himself.
“Ashira,” he sighs. “When are you going to stop allowing your past to control your future?”
“That isn’t why . . . I mean, it’s not—” I break off and glance away. “I don’t know,” I finally say. But what I do know is that the closer I get to Caleb, the more I start to want the things I swore I’d never allow myself to have.
And that alone, terrifies me.