Chapter 14
14
Asha is still out on Tuesday. In a turn of events that’s shocking to no one, the stomach bug torpedoing through her house has claimed her as its latest victim.
I’m scheduled to meet Graham at the hotel in the afternoon, and when I enter through the lobby doors, he’s standing behind the front desk. I stroll over and rest my elbows on the counter as I stare at him with bemusement.
“Tell me: is this a promotion or a demotion?”
Graham grins. “I’m just filling in today. Both of our usual front desk attendants are out sick with the stomach bug. It must really be going around.”
“Yikes. Has it been busy?”
He sighs wearily. “It’s fine. I’m just trying to cover a lot of territory. We just had a walk-through with a family who’s celebrating a Bar Mitzvah here on Saturday night.”
“Members of the tribe? I wonder if I know them. I mean, let’s be honest, the chances are high.”
“Well, they’re still in the ballroom. Maybe you can meet them when they’re on their way out?” His eyes lock on mine again, and a flutter runs through my belly. Then his gaze drops to the manila folder in my hand. “What’s this?”
“Oh.” I had been so busy staring at Graham that I’d completely forgotten my reason for coming by. “I got the contract from the bakery and needed your John Hancock.” I frown. “Or I guess your King Henry?”
“Don’t these things usually just need electronic signatures?”
“Okay, Captain Physical Check.”
A grin sneaks across his face. “I suppose that’s merited.”
The truth is that the bakery did send me a digital contract. But I may have printed it out as an excuse to come over and see Graham. Because that’s what friends do. They visit each other. Right?
“I figured you’d prefer to sign off with your signet ring,” I say.
“What poor luck. I just returned it to the vault.”
We’re still grinning at each other when I hear a clack of shoes against the lobby’s marble floor. The sound of a familiar voice turns my blood to ice.
“ Bubbeleh! ”
Rotating slowly on my heel, I turn around and there they all are. My mother, sister, and Bubbie. The first two are staring at me wide-eyed. Bubbie, on the other hand, is wearing a look of unbridled glee that’s historically been reserved for the black and white cookies I brought home during my visits from New York.
“I see you’ve met Mr. Wyler. What a shayne punim, huh?” She reaches forward to clasp Graham’s cheeks, which promptly go pink beneath her grip.
“My grandma thinks you’re pretty,” I whisper out of the side of my mouth, and his flush deepens.
“This is your family?” he whispers back, like everyone can’t hear us. Which of course they can.
My mother raises her eyebrows, and I can see her trying to piece the situation together. “What are you doing here, Al?” she asks.
I clear my throat and do my best to avoid her curious gaze, because if we make eye contact, she’s going to see right through me. Mothers have built-in bullshit detectors.
“My company is planning a wedding at the hotel,” I say. There, not a lie at all. I have just conveniently omitted the fact that Graham is the groom. “What are you guys doing here?”
“Doing a walk-through for Jackson’s Bar Mitzvah,” Sarah says. She takes in my blank expression and a look of irritation crosses over her features. “You do remember that it’s this weekend?”
Jackson’s Bar Mitzvah is going to be here ? Sarah’s been talking about the “historic hotel” she’s booked for months, but somehow, I didn’t put it all together. I guess I never looked that carefully at the invitation. Since I’m living with my parents, I didn’t receive my own copy, and I never dedicated much thought to the logistics.
“Of course,” I say brightly.
Bubbie leans forward to wrap her red lacquered nails around my wrist. “You’re going to bring a date, aren’t you? If you still haven’t found someone, Joyce from my mah-jongg league is dying to set up her grandson. He’s in medical school. He’s going to be a doctor! Technically, he does have a girlfriend, but Joyce thinks things are going to fizzle out soon and wants to get on top of it.”
“Actually, I already have a date!” I blurt out, because admitting that I’m going stag to my nephew’s Bar Mitzvah, where even my eighty-nine-year-old grandmother has a date, is a cross I simply can’t bear.
Bubbie’s eyes flit to Graham and I see something flicker behind her eyes as she connects the dots. Oh no. God, no.
“ Ohh, ” she says. She’s grinning conspiratorially as she looks back and forth between us, and I can see the incorrect assumption has already formed. “You’re bringing Mr. Wyler?”
I open my mouth to protest, but before I can say anything, Graham wraps an arm around my waist, sending a trail of sparks across the fabric of my shirt.
“Yup. I can hardly wait,” he says. I whip my head around to stare at him, flabbergasted. What on earth is he doing?
My mother looks stunned. “Oh. I didn’t realize you were seeing someone, Ali. You haven’t mentioned it before.” My sister is the only one who’s unconvinced. Her eyes narrow as she studies me suspiciously. She knows something’s amiss but can’t quite put her finger on it.
“Oh, well. I’ve been so busy with work,” I manage, still scrutinizing Graham, whose own placid expression gives nothing away. Damn the English and their stoicism.
“Right,” my mom says. “Well, we are headed out. But I guess I’ll see you at home?”
“You betcha!” I say with a smile. You betcha? Jesus, what is happening to me? I sound like a character from a nineties sitcom.
The minute they disappear through the revolving doors, I whip around to face Graham.
“Why did you just do that?” I ask.
Graham bites his bottom lip. “Would you believe me if I said it was a complimentary service for being a valued patron of the Black-Eyed Susan?”
I raise a skeptical brow and he laughs softly.
“Didn’t think so.” He uses his pointer finger to adjust his glasses. “It just seemed like you needed a save. I know what happened the last time your family set you up. And I guess I felt like I owed you. After what happened the other night.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “But I apologize if I overstepped. Don’t feel any obligation to take me up on the offer. I just thought it might be fun to go. As friends.”
“Oh, you’re going,” I say. “Forcing you to play a game of Coke and Pepsi is the only adequate punishment for your behavior.”
Graham’s lips rise in a small smile, and I can’t help but return it.
“Have you ever been to a Bar Mitzvah?” I ask.
Graham shakes his head. “This will be my first.”
“You’re in for a treat.” I grab a piece of paper off the desk and scribble down my parents’ address.
“Pick me up here. I won’t subject you to the morning service at synagogue, but the party starts at 8 P.M . Not having to drive there with my parents will make me feel less like I belong at the kids’ table.”
Graham tips an invisible hat. “It’s a date.”
Saturday morning comes too quickly. Despite the occasional cracks in his voice, which he wears like a badge of honor, Jackson reads his Torah portion like a champion. I give my sister’s hand a squeeze as I watch her tear up with pride.
I’ve never given much thought to whether I want kids of my own. The role of Cool Aunt has always fit like a glove and felt like enough for me. But sitting here with my family, watching my nephew achieve an important milestone, I can’t help but feel a flicker of longing. And I know that a part of me wants this, wants to start a family of my own.
The kiddush luncheon afterward is predictably mobbed, and I lose track of my family immediately. By the time I get through the buffet line and reach the bagel platter, the only flavors left are salt and oat bran. Bluch.
I’m still deliberating which is the best of the worst when I hear a familiar voice.
“How does one choose between such grim options?”
At the sound of it, my head pops up in surprise. Graham is standing right in front of me, chewing on a cream cheese and lox sandwich on everything bagel. It looks positively divine. Also, what ?
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He blinks. “What does it look like? I’m enjoying a bagel and shmear.”
I shake my head. “No, I mean, what are you doing at synagogue? I told you that you only needed to come to the party. How did you even know we were at Beth El?”
“It’s possible that I was Googling a bit and ran across the Bar Mitzvah announcement.” Graham uses his thumb to brush a sesame seed from the corner of his mouth. “Ali, I might not be Jewish, but even I know the Torah reading is the main event.” He takes a step closer to me and his voice drops an octave.
“Look, I know your family is important to you. And you…” Graham’s eyes darken as they burn into mine and a heady pressure builds between us. My breath swells as I wait for him to finish that thought. But then he drops his gaze to the floor and the tension that’s filled the air between us deflates like a popped balloon.
“I couldn’t attend your nephew’s party but skip his service. Wouldn’t be proper.”
My mouth is hanging open, but no words are coming. Truth be told, I have no idea what to make of this conversation. Luckily, Graham lets me off the hook, offering me the second half of his sandwich.
“Please accept this pity bagel? Unless, of course, you were angling for the oat bran.”
“I would, but alas, I am not a horse.”
Graham breathes out a tiny laugh as he gingerly scoops the uneaten half of his bagel onto my plate, along with some fruit salad. Then he walks his empty plate to the end of the table, depositing it into a trash can. His gaze slices mine as he turns back to look at me over his shoulder. The expression on his face is unreadable.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he says softly. And with that, he disappears through the doorway.