Chapter 28
28
After our tryst on the floor, I quickly redo my hair and makeup. I’m still slightly disheveled and I don’t even care. I’m kind of into it, to be honest. When’s the last time I showed up somewhere flush-faced and wild-haired? It’s exhilarating.
Looking at the time, I swear under my breath and hurry us toward the door. In the living room, I see that the television is still on. Some Dick Wolf show set in Chicago. Two cops making out. In the background, there’s a siren, which makes the TV cops pause. I wonder what the golem saw on-screen before he came leaping protectively toward me. Did he see a siren on the show, and learn what it meant from the action on-screen?
I turn off the television, and grab our coats.
“Let’s go,” I command.
The rehearsal dinner is downtown, which means normally I’d take transit to get there, because traffic and parking anywhere in the Loop sucks. But since I have a Subaru full of bottles and blooms to transfer to my sister, the golem and I drive into the heart of the city.
Parking in the garage connected to the restaurant costs forty dollars, which makes me curse under my breath when I read the posted pricing. But at this point, we’ll be late if I take the time to look for cheaper parking. So I punch the button, take the ticket, and park the car. Shoving the ticket into my cute little clutch purse—an early birthday gift from Sasha—I pause. I still haven’t even read any of Sasha’s messages from yesterday or today. Whenever we cross paths, she’s absolutely going to murder me.
Good thing I have a golem to thwart her efforts, I guess.
As soon as we walk into the restaurant, I hear a shriek.
“Safe?” Paul Mudd asks, tensing beside me.
“Oh, that sound isn’t technically a threat,” I say, although my shoulders have gone so rigid they’re practically touching my ears. “It’s just my sister.”
Rosie comes barreling over, dragging Ana behind her. Rosie is wearing a bright red cocktail dress, her honey-blonde hair done up in a sleek chignon, showing off her narrow neck. She is fit, thin, and vibrating with misdirected energy. Ana, sturdy and curvy, is in billowy black pants and a white sleeveless shift shirt. Her dark hair hangs heavily to her chin on the right side of her face while the left side is pulled up and back to reveal the clean lines of her sharp, freshly shorn undercut.
I also notice their matching perfectly manicured nails, and feel a small pang, guilt commingling with regret over not making it to the salon with the rest of the bridal party. I should probably check my own nails for dusty debris. I have to remind myself that while it would have made my nails look nice, I wouldn’t have had fun at the salon. I would have been the old spinster sister, whispered about behind polished hands, miserable and resentful. At least, that’s probably how it would have gone. I resist the urge to bite my colorless fingernail.
“Where do I even start—” Rosie says, wide-eyed.
“How about ‘hello’?” I mutter, but she’s talking right over me.
“Did you get everything? Is your car here? Where did you park? Not on the street, I hope. I don’t want someone to break in and steal everything. Is everything in the car?”
“Rosie, take a breath,” I say. “Yes, everything’s in there. All the flowers, all the wine. I parked in the garage attached to the restaurant.”
“Good,” Rosie says, finally exhaling. “And you locked the car?”
“Thanks so much,” Ana says, with a genuine smile, putting an arm around Rosie and giving her a squeeze that clearly means chill out, dude .
“Happy to help,” I say to my future sister-in-law, and not to my sister.
“We really appreciate it,” Ana says. “And tomorrow night, the toast—I want you to know, it means a lot to both of us that you’re doing that. We’re just really glad you can help make the night special.”
“Yeah, of course,” I say uneasily. Not wanting either of them to ask me anything specific about the nonexistent draft of the epic speech, I quickly add, “Hey, you really look great. Both of you.”
“Thanks, you too,” says Rosie, but she’s not looking at me. She’s looking at the golem. “And this must be Paul.”
“Paul,” repeats the golem, startling me, since that’s the first time I’ve heard him use the stupid name I gave him. He just stands there, not extending a hand or anything, which is when I realize that perhaps I should have attempted some sort of crash course in basic etiquette.
“So nice to meet you, Paul,” says the ever-gracious Ana. She’s an attorney, skilled in the art of talking to strangers and engaging in redirection. “We’re so glad you can be here to celebrate with us.”
The golem nods gravely, like he’s just been asked to testify at a murder trial and is committed to telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
“Nice hat,” Rosie says.
Paul touches the brim of the fedora, which I insisted he pull down as far as possible. Tonight, he’s only wearing the hat, a crisp white shirt, and the suit pants. Tomorrow he’ll wear a blue button-down shirt and we’ll add the suit jacket, keeping the same hat and pants. Hopefully, no one will notice. It’s kind of fun, figuring out what to dress him in with these mix-and-match pieces. Like having a hot Mr. Potato Head.
“So, how did you two—” Ana starts to ask, and I plaster a huge smile on my face and interrupt her before she can finish the question.
“This place is so nice,” I say, looking around, desperate to get Rosie and Ana to stop directly engaging with the golem.
The restaurant’s decor is modern, with high ceilings, chrome accents, black walls. It’s the polar opposite of “Hanukkah camp vibes.” But apparently, the parents got to pick the rehearsal venue, since they’re paying for it. Some parts of a wedding weekend are for the couple, and some parts are for the benefactors.
I guess my mother and Ana’s parents must have a similar aesthetic. The holiday decorations here are minimal but striking: a tall, slender, silver-tinsel tree in the center of the dining area, red poinsettias on the larger tables, and a single elegant menorah placed near the hostess stand. I wonder if they set that out just for us.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” says Rosie, gesturing for us to follow her, and in the same motion waving away a ma?tre d’ that had just tentatively approached us. “Come on, the rest of the bridal party’s already here. We’re going to do a quick walk-through of the ceremony. We’re doing it on the rooftop bar—it’s heated, it’s covered, it’s fine —and then we’ll meet the rest of the guests in the private room for cocktails and dinner.”
“The rest of the guests?” I say. “I thought the rehearsal dinner was just for the bridal party—”
“And a few out-of-town guests,” Rosie says.
“Rosie and I have different definitions of ‘a few,’” Ana warns me.
Rosie ushers us all into a clear glass elevator. When it begins lifting us skyward, the golem flattens against one of the glass walls, pressing his palm over my hand. I recognize his posture as defensive, but my sister assumes he’s afraid.
“Scared of heights?” Rosie asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m not a huge fan of heights myself,” Ana says, nodding sympathetically.
The golem says nothing.
I’m relieved when we make it to the roof, six floors up. The rooftop bar is lined with tiki torches, which have made me uncomfortable ever since they made headlines as the accessory of choice for white supremacists. But otherwise it’s nice, evoking the same clean lines and elegant feel of the restaurant while adding the glamour of the sparkling Chicago skyline into the mix.
The bridal party is scattered across the wide-open space of the roof, laughing and talking in small clusters of two people here, three people there. I recognize most of them as Rosie and Ana’s camp and college friends, including Layla, the bridesmaid serving as maid of honor in all but name. And there are a few silver-haired folks chatting in a far corner with the rabbi.
This group includes my mother.
“Okay, we’re just about ready!” Rosie calls, clapping her hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Five minutes ’til we run through this thing!”
Mom turns around at the sound of Rosie’s voice. Her eyes land on me and she hurries over, smiling brightly. She gives me a hug, tighter and longer than I’d expect, before turning her gaze to Paul Mudd.
“Hi, I’m Rena,” she says. “Eve’s mother.”
“Mother,” he repeats.
“Bit early to call me that,” she jokes. “But I like the sound of it.”
“Mom,” I say, horrified.
“Oh, I’m only kidding,” she says with a wink, but she also has a beaming ear-to-ear smile that means she is absolutely not kidding.
Then Rosie has me by the elbow.
“Sorry, Mom, sorry, Paul, I’ve got to borrow her,” Rosie says.
She drags me over to the rest of the bridal party, which doesn’t include our mother. Or Ana’s parents. They’re not having anyone walk them down the aisle; the parents will be seated the whole time in a place of honor in the front row. Seems a little odd, if you ask me, but Rosie always has enjoyed keeping the spotlight on herself.
I look over my shoulder, apologetically mouthing I’ll be right back to my mother and the golem, praying that nothing weird happens while I’m away.
“Okay, I want to introduce you to Ethan,” Rosie says. “He’s the brides-man who’s going to walk you down the aisle. He’s Ana’s cousin. Her only cousin, so her parents were kind of insistent that he be included, but whatever. He’s got a big personality, but he’s harmless, I swear. Okay? So be nice .”
“I’m always nice,” I say, but my sister isn’t even looking at me.
“Ethan!” Rosie yells.
A short guy with a thinning faux-hawk turns around and lifts one hand in greeting. He has a pint of beer in his other hand. He’s somewhere in his mid-thirties, a few years younger than I am. He’s wearing tight black jeans and a leather jacket, a bad-boy look that’s not quite working for him. But truly, it’s the faux-hawk that’s throwing me. I wonder if they’re back, or if this guy just hasn’t updated his look since high school.
“You must be Eve!” Ethan says, giving me a wet kiss on the cheek that makes me flinch. “Ethan, Eve, E and E! That’s, like, a perfect name-match.”
“A perfect name-match would be Adam and Eve,” I say automatically, since people have been making some variation of this joke for my entire life.
“Good one,” Ethan guffaws.
“Not really,” I say.
“You two are gonna be great together,” Rosie says brightly, already backing away from us like we’re a bomb about to explode. “Okay, I’m going to tell the rabbi we’re ready to roll. Oh, and I’m live streaming the whole rehearsal, by the way, so like—keep that in mind.”
I suddenly remember Bryan raving about my little sister’s million TikTok followers. Is she really streaming this whole thing for all those strangers to see? I try to shrink a little deeper into my long-sleeved dress.
“She should make people sign a waiver,” I mutter.
“So, you’re Rosie’s sister?” Ethan says. “Are you into girls, too, or...?”
“Or,” I say curtly, glancing over at Paul Mudd.
My mother appears to be talking his ear off. I wonder what she’s saying. I wonder what he’s saying. I wish I could go over there to drag those two apart before one or the other of them says something dangerous.
“Sweet,” says the chatty brides-man. “And you’re not married, huh?”
“Not last time I checked.”
“Ooh, and she’s funny,” says Ethan. He takes a swig of his beer, which is obviously not his first of the night, and leans in closer toward me. He smells like a sports bar. “So, do you have plans tonight?”
“Apparently I’m supposed to be at a wedding rehearsal.”
“Ha, no, I mean, like, when we’re done here,” Ethan says, with a wolfish smile. He drains the last of his beer, gesturing with the sudsy glass as he talks. “We should get into a little trouble after the rehearsal stuff’s done. I mean, bridesmaids, groomsmen, it’s, like, a whole thing, right? Tradition?”
“There are no groomsmen in this wedding,” I say, only half listening, mostly just trying to steal glances at my mother and the golem.
“What? Sure, there are—”
“No, there’s not,” I say, officially irritated. “Because there’s no groom.”
“Oh, right!” Ethan laughs, like what I just said was a riot.
Why is Ana allowing this prick in her wedding party? I know they’re cousins and her parents made her ask him, but Jesus Christ. Shouldn’t the brides have veto power?
“...so at least we should have a little fun, is what I’m saying,” he says.
“Uh-huh,” I say, barely aware he was still talking.
“Cool,” he says. “So when we’re all done here—you want to mess around right away, or wait ’til their actual wedding night?”
At my startled expression, he laughs.
“Just playing,” he says. “I’m not actually an asshole, you just kinda seemed like you were, I dunno, tuning me out. I was just seeing if you were listening. But for real, if you wanna—”
“I don’t,” I snap.
“Oh,” he says, looking genuinely surprised. “Got it. Well. I’m gonna grab another beer.”
“Bridal party, line up!”
Ethan manages to snag another sweaty bottle of craft beer as we walk to where the rabbi is waving everyone over, at the other end of the rooftop bar. Suddenly we’re all just cogs in a wedding machine. There are some brief introductions before we begin our orchestrated movements. I’m side by side with Ethan, who doesn’t say anything else to me. He just swigs his beer, swallowing quiet burps and exhaling sour breath.
Disgusted, I look around to see if my mother and the golem are still nearby or if someone has shuffled them away from the rehearsal. I spot them, still standing in a rooftop corner. My mother is gazing at Rosie and Ana. The golem is looking in our direction, too. But he’s not looking at the brides, or at me.
He’s looking at Ethan.