The Shiva
THE SHIVA
Theo
Theo’s mom dies the day before his birthday. It’s a Monday in May. She’s bones. So small in the hospital bed a hospice nurse set up in their living room two weeks ago. Not at all how he wants to remember her. Theo and Jacob wheel the bed to the back patio so Lori can feel the sun one more time. They don’t speak. Jacob is furious that Theo took Lori’s side when she told them she wanted to stop treatment. Theo is pissed that Jacob wanted to prolong her pain. It’s easier to direct their anger at each other than to acknowledge how fucking powerless they are. Evelyn is there, too. She sits between Theo and Jacob. Talks for them. Theo holds his mom’s hand, his final words to her two truths and one lie.
I love you.
It’s okay.
I’ll be okay.
Lori squeezes his hand.
And then she lets go.
Twenty-four hours later, he stands next to Jacob in an ill-fitting suit. Lori made all the necessary arrangements. Chose a casket, an outfit to be buried in, a quote for her grave marker. She even took care of the catering for the shiva. Booked a restaurant with vegetarian and dairy-free options. As if she knew that Theo and Jacob wouldn’t be able to handle it. She was right. Theo doesn’t process a single word Rabbi Goldberg says. Just attempts to mimic his father’s stoicism during the brief service, then tosses a handful of dirt onto the casket. Buries his mother and turns twenty-three all at once.
Jacob hosts the shiva.
Theo and Evelyn chase their grief with a shot of peppermint schnapps.
“For Lori,” she says.
When she briefly leaves his side to use the bathroom, he tosses back a second shot. Then, a third. His nose wrinkles. His mom always added a splash to her hot cocoa during the holidays. ’Tis the season. Alone, the liqueur burns. But it’s pretty much the only reason he can handle the relentless condolences extended by friends, colleagues, strangers who introduce themselves as former students, who all say zikhronah livrakha. May her memory be a blessing. Right now? Theo’s buzz is a blessing. He doesn’t feel too much. Barely feels anything at all.
Until his living room becomes claustrophobic and it’s impossible to breathe.
He escapes to his bedroom, the peppermint schnapps tucked into his suit jacket pocket like contraband. This isn’t supposed to be his life. Just three months ago, he was in his second semester at Teachers College. Seated in a lecture hall and taking notes on education law when she left the voicemail. Theo called back without even listening to it. Lori doesn’t leave a voicemail that could be a text. So. He knew. It’s back. He blacked out. Didn’t process anything except those two words. One second he was at his dorm, and the next he was at the admissions office, begging for a leave of absence and ready to withdraw if it wasn’t granted. Please. My mom is dying. He booked the first flight home. Called Evelyn before he boarded the plane. Without quite meaning to, months had passed since the last time they spoke. Still, she answered on the first ring.
I know.
It’s bad. Isn’t it?
It’s in her lungs, Theodore.
Theo couldn’t breathe. I’m coming home.
Now he sits on the bed in the room he grew up in and sips the liqueur straight from the bottle as the worst four-word combination in the world changes tense. My mom is dying. Theo coughs. My mom is dead. Loosens his tie. My mom is dead. Can’t breathe. My mom is dead.
A soft knock pulls him out of the spiral. “Theo?”
Evelyn’s voice is just as gentle. She’s the only good thing about being home. He missed his best friend so much. Neither has brought up the last four years. Him leaving. Her pushing. I will hate you if you don’t stay . Spring break and the awkwardness that formed a fissure that became a chasm. Convincing each other afterward that they were fine. Just busy. With school. With life. We’re fine.
They’re not.
Theo stands and opens the door to find her holding a gift box.
Right.
His birthday.
“It’s not from me.”
Theo processes his name written on an envelope tucked under the bow in his mom’s brush calligraphy as Evelyn swaps the gift box for the bottle of peppermint schnapps and tilts it to her lips. It distracts him from the box. Reminds him that he’s not up-to-date on her medications and some don’t react well with alcohol and—
“It’s safe, right?” Theo asks. “Mixing alcohol with your medication?”
“No.” She rolls her eyes, then takes another pointed sip. “Seriously? I’m sad as fuck, but I’m not a fucking idiot.”
“Sorry I care.”
Care isn’t a strong enough word.
Her expression softens, then her eyes shift to the box now in his hands. “Open it.”
He doesn’t want to open the present. He has to open the present. Decides to save the card for later, wanting to read it alone. Inside the box is a crochet blanket in shades of blue and white. Columbia blue. His mom’s last gift to Theo before she died is one of, if not the most common first gifts after someone is born. He is just drunk enough to appreciate the symbolism, the irony, the whatever it is.
“She asked me to finish it.” Evelyn points to the spot where her hands took over, his mom’s last stitch marked with the tiniest embroidered initials. “I hate weaving in the ends. Lori’s lucky I love her more.” Her eyes are wet. Shimmery. Beautiful. She reaches toward him to wipe his cheeks. When did Theo start crying? “She’s so proud of you.”
“Was.”
“Is.”
His eyes shift toward the door. “I don’t want to go back out there.”
Outside, Theo must perform grief in a way that is palatable, stoic, strong.
He doesn’t want to be strong.
He wants to drink his mom’s favorite liqueur without her and be super fucking sad about it.
“Then don’t.”
“Stay with me?”
Evelyn nods. She’s slept over every night for the last two weeks. Says good night to Jacob after dinner, then a few hours later slips back in through the side door and sneaks into Theo’s bedroom. Curls herself around his body and holds him until he falls asleep. Theo is certain she’s the only reason he’s been able to sleep at all. Now her palm stays pressed against his cheek, her touch so tender it hurts.
Theo wants this hurt.
So he turns his mouth toward her hand. Presses his lips to her palm. Allows his grief, his want, the alcohol to touch her skin with his lips. Her breath hitches as her fingers curl and her nails drag across his cheek. Theo buzzes from this gentle pressure that he feels even when she pulls away. When her wide eyes meet his, he wonders if she aches for him, too. If it’s becoming as unbearable for her as it’s always been for him.
“Theo.”
His name is a whisper on her lips.
Lips that answer his unspoken question by pressing against his mouth in the softest, most tentative way. His response is not soft. Not at all tentative. Theo deepens the kiss. Their second kiss. Her first time climbing onto his lap as she brushes her tongue across his bottom lip. His first time unbuttoning her blouse and pressing his mouth against her collarbone. In this moment, Theo allows his grief and pain and desire to meld into one fucked-up feeling that fuels this confession, this revelation, this mistake in the making. Evelyn allows him to slip the black silk off her shoulders, then wraps her arms around his neck and pulls his lips back to hers. She tastes like salt, like peppermint—
Like peppermint.
Theo pulls away. He’s wanted this for so long. Her. Evelyn.
But not now.
Not like this .
“I don’t… You… I don’t want this. Like. You .”
I don’t want you like this .
Theo’s drunk.
His words are jumbled.
All wrong.
“Fuck,” she says. “I’m so… Fuck .”
Evelyn stands and Theo just watches her like an actual idiot as she rebuttons her blouse hastily, then finger combs disheveled hair. Her cheeks are on fire. Words are stuck in his throat. You. You. You. As soon as she’s decent, she slips out of his room and Theo knows in his bones that she’s not staying tonight. Already feels the dread, the panic, the fear that he screwed up so massively that she’ll never stay again and that he’s just supposed to… what? Never sleep again? Then learns that half a bottle of peppermint schnapps is just as effective a sleep aid.
He wakes the next morning with a splitting headache and a body pressed against his back. Images of last night swirl in his brain. Evelyn kissing him. Theo stopping it. Her leaving. But. At some point, she came back. Theo is mortified. Relieved. So in love it hurts.
“Hey,” she says when he stirs.
Theo presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Morning.”
“It’s over. We got through it.”
“Yeah.” Theo swallows, then turns so he’s facing her. “Ev. Last night—”
“—really sucked. I know.” Theo searches Evelyn’s expression for any indication that they’re talking about the same moment. Really sucked would not be among all the phrases he could use to describe what happened between them last night. “What? Do I have drool on my face?”
“No.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Did I do something embarrassing? Yesterday?”
“No.”
“I totally did.” She covers her face with her hands. “What happened under the influence of peppermint schnapps? Actually. No. Don’t tell me. Let me live in ignorant bliss.”
Theo tries not to freak out. He’s so relieved that they stopped, that he stopped them when he did. Before it progressed any further. There are moments from yesterday that are a blur, but everything about kissing Evelyn Bloom is in sharp focus. Does she really not remember? Just the thought makes him nauseous. Theo is never drinking peppermint schnapps again.
“Ev—”
“Don’t.”
Evelyn’s eyebrow twitches as her eyes meet his, her expression confirming what she refuses to acknowledge out loud.
She remembers.
“Theodore,” she whispers. “ Please .”
He nods. Assumes she means not now . In the moment, it’s a relief not to assign words to this one overwhelming feeling when he’s goddamn drained from so many competing overwhelming feelings. He has no idea, as she curls against his body and they drift back to sleep, that they will spend the next five years pretending it didn’t happen, that so much time will pass that sometimes Theo will wonder if it even happened at all, or if it was just a devastating dream.