Chapter 12 #2
“Yes, you did. And it sucks that you’re so afraid that being yourself will ruin your life.
The only thing that will ruin your reputation and your standing in the community is you.
You, Micah. Your choices. Not mine. You want to know if I’ll be standing by your side?
Give me a fucking reason. Because for a man who preaches faith, you really aren’t showing any.
Not in your art. Not in me. Certainly not in yourself.
And definitely not in the community you pour your heart and soul into.
What makes you so sure they’re going to turn on you? ”
He started to speak, but she held up her hand.
“That was a rhetorical question. I don’t want to hear a word from you yet.
Not yet.” She shook her head slowly. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you want to go back into hiding.
Honestly, it’s a wonder I even found you in the first place.
But even though you didn’t tell me your real name, even though you didn’t text me all week when I couldn’t stop thinking about you, even though you denied knowing me when we saw each other again—which fucking broke my heart, if you were wondering—I gave you another chance. ”
“Libby, please—” His voice cracked, softer now, pleading.
She shook her head, tears blurring her vision.
“I swear to God, Micah—our God, whom you also pretended not to know—this is it. If you hide from this, we’re done.
I told you I didn’t do relationships, but I wanted to try with you.
I thought maybe dating you would be worth changing my schedule because what we could become together is even better.
” She dashed tears from her cheeks with both hands.
“But it’s not looking that way. Not if you deny who you are.
I’ve fought too hard for my independence—for my self, really—to ever help someone else hide.
” She cleared her throat, a thick, wet sound. “Now you may speak.”
He said nothing.
The silence was deafening.
“Nothing to say?” She swallowed hard. “Then you’re not the man I thought you were. And that is the real tragedy—because the man I met in Palm Beach was incredible. I liked him so much. But the man I saw last night? He was extraordinary.” She pointed at the bedroom door. “Get out, Micah.”
He went.
She heard him move through her apartment, gather his keys, and unlock the door. Then the door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone with the sound of her phone buzzing—and her heart breaking.
Every word she’d said was true.
He’d lied to her—to everyone. The responsibility for everything that had brought him to this moment rested entirely on his shoulders.
She hadn’t ruined him. Not at all. She’d shined a bright light into his life and helped him see himself clearly.
She’d shared herself with him, and he’d learned who he could be—with her.
When he’d tried to drag her back into darkness with him, she’d still given him a chance to shine.
But all he’d been able to see in that moment was the darkness, the weight of his parents’ expectations, how perilous it felt to step off the path that had brought him success and approval. He’d said terrible, unfair, hurtful things to her, and he’d regretted them the instant they left his mouth.
But he hadn’t been able to apologize.
Shame had gagged him.
Words were cheap. A simple “I’m sorry” felt like adding a highlight to a painting when what he needed to do was scrape the canvas bare and start over.
He sat on the train, numb, barely breathing, his phone silenced as the notifications piled up.
Texts. Missed calls. Mentions. He didn’t need to look to know what they were about. But he looked anyway. Because apparently he was a masochist.
His first text was from his sister
Shiri
Omg ur famous!!! Hope you had fun!
A link to a video followed—him lighting the candles on the Matzo Baller. He kept his phone muted. He didn’t want to hear himself talking about authenticity and community. Not now.
Shiri
wtf is going on? Call me now.
MICAH
That was the warm-up. He braced himself for a similar progression from his parents since Shiri always kept them up to date on tech and social media.
Mom
Micah! That video of you lighting the candles. So beautiful. I’m kvelling. We’re so proud of you.
His chest felt hollow, like it might cave in at any moment. He knew what was coming.
Mom
Did you make those cookies?
Micah, are you drawing again? Is it true?
Please call us.
Immediately.
Immediately.
He couldn’t answer. The secret that had once felt like freedom was now stalking him through every app on his home screen.
He forced himself to scan through them, just to see what he was facing.
The clickbait blog headlines were the worst. Rabbi with a Secret Obsession. Rabbi’s Muse not God but Flesh.
The train reached his stop.
He jammed his phone in his pocket and walked to his apartment, feeling like all eyes were on him, which was silly. No one on the street knew him—or cared what he’d done.
His apartment was just as he’d left it. A few dishes in the sink. His clothes strewn on the bed. A pile of black rustled, and Moses emerged, yawning.
“Nice,” he said to the lean black cat he’d rescued from the street three years ago.
“Always sleeping on my clothes. What if I want to wear that again?” It was a game they played.
Micah deliberately left the clothes on the bed so Moses wouldn’t miss him when he was gone, but then he pretended to be annoyed by all the cat hair when he got home.
A sharp meow split the air.
“Nope,” Micah said absently. “I checked the automatic feeder before I left, and it was full.” Ordinarily, he would lie on the bed for a cuddle as soon as he got home. It was their ritual. But today, he was too unsettled.
“Sorry, buddy.” He scratched the cat under the chin and gave him a few strokes from his knobby head down his sleek back to the tip of his silky, white-tipped tail. Then he stripped off his suit and carefully hung it in the closet, hoping it would recover from its night on the chair.
His mouth watered at the memory of sweet frosting on her soft skin.
Longing immobilized him. His chest tightened; the prospect of never touching her again was excruciating.
But she was right—he wasn’t enough for her.
He got his legs working again and went into the bathroom to shower. He didn’t linger, stripping her scent from him brutally fast, like a punishment, which it was, really.
He dried off, dressed in black pants and a blue button-down shirt, grabbed his coat, and pressed his lips between Mo’s ears. “See you later.”
He took the train to Beth Hatikvah, his heart thudding slowly in his ears the whole way.
He didn’t check his phone again. He had all the damning evidence he needed to know that his life, as he knew it, was over.
Where did he go from here? He knew where he wanted to go.
Back to Libby. Even though he’d left her like a coward, she was the first thing that came to mind when he thought of his future.
But she’d made it clear he didn’t belong in her life. He wasn’t the man she wanted him to be, not at heart. He didn’t know if he could ever be, given how lost he felt right now.
Last night, he’d been ready to seek counsel from Ezra, to reveal his art. To rip off the Band-Aid. To step into the light…
Right up until somebody flipped on that light before he was ready.
Then all his faith and courage had utterly deserted him, and he’d blamed Libby, literally the light in his life right now.
His chest was on fire with shame. His throat burned with the words he hadn’t said. He wanted to reach out. To text her. To tell her he knew he was wrong. But without action, his words would mean nothing.
He’d lost his way.
He got off the train and walked to the temple.
The moment he stepped into the lobby, the burn in his chest eased a bit.
He nearly continued into the sanctuary, but the need to find Ezra won over the need for comfort.
Luckily, the hall was deserted. The morning service was long over.
Neither he nor Ezra was handling services this weekend, but he knew the senior rabbi would have attended, even on five hours’ sleep.
He poked his head into the office. Sarah gave him a wide-eyed look that made him suspect she’d seen his paintings.
“Rabbi Wasserman, good morning,” she said carefully. “Rabbi Ezra is in his office. He’s…expecting you.” Her cheeks turned pink.
“Thank you.” He gave her a brief smile.
Micah braced himself and walked down the hall, past the framed photos of decades of rabbis, past the library where he’d led Torah study two days ago, past the cantor’s office, which always smelled faintly of coffee.
Ezra was behind his desk, reading something on his computer screen. When he looked up, his lips tightened.
“Micah.” Ezra gestured at the chair in front of his desk. “Come in. Sit down.”
Micah sat, his hands folded, awaiting judgment.
“I take it you’ve seen the posts,” Ezra began.
Micah nodded. “I’ve always wanted to be a meme.” He tried for humor, but it came out hoarse. “Not.”
Ezra’s mouth twitched. “People are funny, you gotta give them that.” His gaze was kind, compassionate, the last thing Micah had expected. “Are you all right?”
He blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“Several worried members of the congregation called my cell this morning, and that was the most frequent question. I’m not sure they meant it exactly like I do, but they should. How are you, Micah? How are you holding up under all this attention?”
Micah swallowed, too devastated to be anything but completely honest. “I’m embarrassed. Ashamed. Afraid I’ve let everyone down.”
Ezra leaned back, hands clasped in front of him. “And what exactly do you think you’ve done wrong? Can you explain it to me?”