Chapter 5 #2
“Yup.” Nora bit her lip, grinning. “Accidentally knocked up and ridiculously happy about it.”
The two women embraced, rocking back and forth.
“Ahem.” Libby cleared her throat loudly. “Stop hogging the mama-to-be.” She peeled Talia’s arms from around Nora’s shoulders and replaced them with her own. “Congratulations! I’m thrilled for you guys. Due date? Can I make your shower cake?” She stepped back so Rebecca could hug Nora, too.
“July and yes, please.”
“Noted.” She poured Nora’s drink into her glass. “Keep Talia and I updated on your cravings. Between the two of us, we can lock down anything Beck can’t find. Do the guys know yet?”
“Just Jonah. We tapped him for an emergency pick-up when we impulse bought a crib at IKEA.”
A crib. Which would hold a baby. She was happy Nora was happy, but she couldn’t imagine how much a baby would change her life. Oy vey.
A server materialized with a glass of what looked like sparkling water garnished with blueberries frozen in ice. A twist of lemon sat on the gilded rim. Rebecca motioned at Nora, and he handed her the glass.
“Thank you.” Nora smiled at the server and then at Rebecca. “That was an impressive display of former Matzo Baller coordinator kung-fu magic. Did you text the bartender or what?”
Rebecca’s smile was smug. “I have my ways.” She raised her glass. “L’chaim, like, literally.”
“Cheers to our new little matzo ball.” Talia’s voice was choked.
Nora wagged a finger at her. “Don’t you dare start crying. You’ll make me start.”
Libby’s eyes began to sting, too. Their lives were changing, for the better—but still. It had been ages since they saw Eli. Sylvie had bailed this year. Would Nora and Beck stay home with the baby next year? Who would they lose next?
Her heart gave a sharp tug in her chest.
She prized her independence, but sometimes she envied her paired-up friends.
They were building new lives while she was stuck in the same rut of sixty-hour weeks, living deadline to deadline.
Logistical challenges used to excite her, but she was beginning to resent the extravagant demands of her clients.
She’d hoped a week on the beach would revive her mojo, but although it had provided plenty of inspiration, it had also left her with an ache she couldn’t figure out how to ease.
Why the hell hadn’t Mike texted her? Should she text him?
She took a slug of her drink to distract herself, only remembering when ice clinked against her teeth that it was her second.
Maybe the tequila would restore her joie de vivre?
“I better get moving,” Libby said reluctantly.
“Unlike you slackers, I’m still working this gig.
The cut-out cookies won’t organize themselves. ”
Rebecca caught her arm. “Before you go, how was the M. Waterman exhibit?”
Libby jolted. Chill—she’s not a mind reader.
“It was great,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully.
“Stunning, as you would expect. Life changing,” she said truthfully, giving Rebecca a brief smile.
“I got enough cake ideas for the next decade.” And hundreds of photos she could never show anyone.
And a painting that could never see the light of day.
What was she going to do with it? Hang it in a locked closet?
“That’s great! Was Waterman there? Did you get to meet him?” Rebecca was also a fan.
“Uh—no.” She should have been ready for the question, but lying wasn’t something she did very often. She cleared her throat and strengthened her voice. “I was bummed.”
“Not for very long, it seems.” The Brightworks director’s green eyes were amused. “I hope your beach hook-up comes to his senses and texts you.”
“Me too.” The uncomfortable truth surprised her. “Meanwhile, I’ve got cookies to keep me busy.” And there will be no hearts—or flowers—anywhere on them, thank you very much.
Rebecca stood. “I’ll go bug Jay about your assistant.”
“Thanks.” Libby waved to her friends and walked back to the cookie station, determined to put Mike out of her mind.
Wonder what she’s doing now? Mike thought for the thousandth time since he’d kissed Libby goodbye and watched her Uber drive away. He’d nearly texted her dozens of times since Monday, but he’d never gotten past typing a few words, second-guessing himself until he lost his nerve and deleted them.
She hadn’t texted him, either.
“Rabbi Micah!”
He turned to see Jay Katz, the mastermind of the Matzo Baller cruise, weaving in and out of the crowd toward them, holding the hand of a striking green-eyed brunette who looked vaguely familiar. Had he seen her at temple? It was a big congregation, and he hadn’t met everyone yet.
“Just Micah is fine,” he said. Jay undoubtedly knew Ezra, the senior rabbi at their temple, his wife, Miriam, Cantor Susan and her wife, Aviva, and Sarah, their shared executive assistant, but he introduced them, anyway.
Jay tugged his companion forward. “This is Rebecca Weiss, my girlfriend, the former Baller event coordinator and the current director of the Brightworks gallery in Tribeca.” Pride was clear in his voice.
Micah’s heart flew into his throat. That’s how he knew her. Not from the temple, from Brightworks. He’d spent an entire day wandering from room to room in the gallery known for launching the careers of some of New York’s biggest talents.
Ezra nudged him, and he realized he’d zoned out. Everyone was looking at him, obviously expecting a response. “Sorry, what was that?” he asked.
“Jay asked about your vacation,” Ezra prompted him. “Palm Beach? Sunsets? Seafood? Ring a bell?”
Actually, no. He’d eaten mostly Chinese takeout and whatever was in his parents’ fridge before he’d left the door open. He hadn’t seen a single sunrise or sunset, either. “Of course,” he lied. “It’s gorgeous down there.”
“How’s the nightlife?” Rabbi asked. “With all the Hanukkah happenings this week, I forgot to ask what you did while you were gone. Did you enjoy the beach all day and dance all night?”
“Not exactly.” To his horror, he felt his cheeks heat with memories he certainly couldn’t share with present company. But he couldn’t tell them he’d been painting, either. He needed some sort of explanation for how he’d spent his time.
Why not stick with the truth? “Actually, I met a girl,” he admitted. “We had some great conversations, drank wine, ate pizza. It was pretty perfect.”
Ezra chuckled. “Good for you. Will she be visiting New York? Do we get to meet her?”
Walked right into that one. “No,” he said.
“Not likely. She fell asleep on me the night we met. I was having a great time, but she keeled right over on the couch and started snoring. I guess she wasn’t that into me.
” Micah attempted a philosophical shrug and thought he pulled it off, despite the startled look Jay’s girlfriend was giving him.
The rabbi clapped him on the shoulder. “You never know—God works in mysterious ways. If it’s bashert, you’ll figure it out. But let me know if you need some pointers on how to keep a woman awake,” he teased.
The rabbi’s wife snorted. “Like you’d know anything about that. The night we met, you talked about Torah all night. I thought I was going to have to fake cardiac arrest to get your lips on mine.”
The rabbi winked. “See? You were into me.”
His wife rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond. “Yeah—what can I say? I’m a sucker for a guy who knows the Tanakh from his tzitzit.”
Their crowd erupted with laughter, and Micah laughed along with them, but his thoughts were stuck on Libby.
When she’d mentioned she’d packed a menorah and candles to celebrate Hanukkah on her vacation, he’d asked her to bring them to his parents’ place on Sunday and celebrate with him a day early.
She’d chanted the prayers flawlessly, even the shehecheyanu, which was only said on the first night.
She’d even mentioned taking a gap year in Israel.
I bet she’d love to hear about the Matzo Baller cruise. Maybe he should text her.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolled past the pictures of the donuts she’d sent him, and opened the keyboard.
If it’s bashert, you’ll know.
His heart sank.
Micah knew, all right.
He knew he’d met an observant, art-loving, gorgeous sufganiyot whisperer, and he’d had the most glorious nights of his life with her, every sense on fire, his brain churning out ideas, his soul an inferno of creativity—and he’d pretended to be someone else.
Not just someone else—a goy. He hadn’t told her he was Jewish, a Jewish rabbi, which was the biggest part of him.
Information like that wasn’t an “oh, by the way” kind of thing, not when you’d watched someone light Hanukkah candles and heard them say the blessings.
His lies, which had felt like glorious freedom in Palm Beach, weighed heavily now.
If he texted her and told her he was Jewish and celebrating Hanukkah on the Matzo Baller, she’d probably block him for being a lying creep
He shoved his phone back in his pocket.
Jay gestured at the base of the twelve-foot menorah visible out the window.
“We’ll light the candles right after we launch, and then we’ll get this party started.
Bars are open and there should be hors d’oeuvres circulating soon.
An entertainment schedule is posted on every door and bar, but just grab me or anyone in a Matzo Baller t-shirt if you have questions.
Have fun, everyone! You’ll have to excuse me, I need to—”
“Find an assistant for the cookie decorating class, like you promised your dear, old Year Course friend?” Rebecca broke in. “She’s fresh off a very busy vacation herself and is totally exhausted. She could use the help.”
Why was Jay’s girlfriend smirking at him? Had she noticed he was more interested in his phone than the conversation? He felt heat creep up his neck again and rubbed the tightness gathering there.