Chapter 3 #2
As he soaped his belly, his face burned with shame over the thought of losing it in his sleep to a sitcom character. Although in this dream, Rosie Bloom was a grown-ass woman and mythically gorgeous. Fuck, he was hard again.
Jonah cranked the shower knob around until ice needles pummeled him in punishment, solving that problem pretty quick.
With a thick towel around his waist and his tight curls dripping a trail across the kitchen floor, he palmed a metallic Nespresso pod and tossed it into the machine.
All his mugs were dirty, so he jammed a cereal bowl underneath and held it there, growling at the Bianco Doppio as it took its sweet time brewing.
His laptop chirped from the kitchen table. Not the sound of a new email, but of a Teams meeting starting. It might’ve been the third day of Hanukkah, but to the rest of the world, it was Wednesday.
Double fucccccck. He splashed milk into the bowl and ferried it over to the table.
Shirtless. Dripping. As the newest client of his boutique firm sat in the virtual lobby, waiting for someone on his team to kick off the hour-long Budgeting it was a blue-and-yellow bagged nightmare.
Luckily, he spotted Nora waving by the loading area, as Beck struggled to steer a cart that precariously held two long, wide boxes taped together past harried shoppers and their excited children.
Yeah, that definitely would’ve gotten them thrown off New Jersey Transit.
Jonah hopped out and popped the Jeep’s tailgate. And Nora popped a meatball into his mouth from the little cafe container she cradled, then forked the last one into her mouth. “Jo, you are a lifesaver!”
Lingonberry jam and allspice hit his taste buds as he took his first bite of the store’s most popular café item.
Delicious, mysteriously creamy and in no way kosher, it flooded him with memories of his first walk-up in Manhattan, trying to furnish it on his starting Staff Accountant salary at the non-profit where his career had started fresh out of college.
And memories of his parents, driving a U-Haul across the Garden State to move him in. But not without a stop to fill the rental with particleboard necessities – and their youngest kid with Swedish meatballs – at the Elizabeth IKEA.
Beck hoisted the monstrosity from the bottom while Jonah grappled with the long side. Together they wrestled it into the back of the Wrangler.
“Go big and go home, right?” Beck groaned. “Best of both worlds.”
“Speaking of best of both worlds…” Nora slapped a lumpy frozen bag of meatballs against Jonah’s chest once they were buckled in and on their way back to the city.
“Aw, you bought me HUVUDROLL?” It was even more fun to say than to eat.
She laughed. “You deserve meatballs for days, my friend. You’re always there for me...” A little smile was exchanged over her shoulder to Beck in the backseat. “For us.”
Meatballs for years would’ve been more accurate, by the time he and Beck got the thing up the six steps to the raised parlor floor of their historic brownstone on West 44th.
And then another flight up to one of the bedrooms on the second floor.
Whatever ?LSKV?RD was, Jonah noted from the side of the one box, it was awkwardly heavy.
Nora trailed behind, carrying Jonah’s toolbox he’d assembled for IKEA hacks like reinforcing joints and customizing pieces. “Maybe we should’ve gotten the SNIGLAR instead?”
“Snails?” After an entire year as an exchange student in Sweden, Jonah was passably fluent in that language, as well as IKEA instruction manual pictograms. “They serve those in the café now?”
Nora grinned as she helped Beck rip open the first box, revealing white slats. The hex keys in Jonah’s brain turned. The furniture named after small things, cute things, always meant… “Oh, no way. You guys! A baby?”
His good friend nodded happily, her eyes filling as she bit her lip. “We’re doing things a little backwards, but…”
“But hey, at least you’re doing them.” Jonah swept Nora into the most delicate bear hug. “Your little tax credit! When is he or she due?”
“It’s early days. Not until July,” Beck supplied.
“No one else knows yet,” Nora added. “I’m thinking we’ll tell everyone after the candle lighting on board.”
However many of their core Year Course crew who managed to make it onto the Matzo Baller each year always did the honor of helping light its giant menorah as the ship sailed out of the harbor.
It was an awesome experience, a time of reflection.
Especially about how far their friend group had come, and how they had grown.
“Wow. Wow-wow-wow. No wonder you guys weren’t at Asher’s last night.” He clapped Beck on the shoulder. “You, though. Cigars and shots on me next time, man.”
Never drinking again, his brain echoed. Remember?
Except for toasting happy occasions.
The three of them got down to work and, with the help of Jonah’s extra set of Allan wrenches, a rubber mallet and some Gorilla Glue, had the crib built in no time.
“Stay for dinner?” Nora offered. “It’s almost time to light candles, too.”
Ah, the third night. Jonah smiled at them, watching as Beck helped his girlfriend to her feet and she leaned into his hug. A baby. He still couldn’t believe this milestone first for his crew.
A baby makes three.
Three candles for the three of them.
“Nah. I gotta…” He thumbed behind him. “I’m still parked in the loading zone, and…the meatballs are thawing on my front seat.” He gave her one last hug. “Please tell me you’ll name this baby ?LSKV?RD. Because that sounds bad-ass.”
Nora kissed his cheek. “No promises.”
Jonah took a detour home, heading uptown to see if he could catch the big public menorah near Central Park being lit.
Always tons of crowds, where he could get swallowed up in the celebration.
But it was rush-hour gridlock most of the way, and by the time he got close to the vicinity, he could already see its glow and zero parking to be had.
Ah, well. His favorite ramen place was a few blocks east and on the way home.
Home is where the hangover is. He was still feeling the remnants of last night’s bad decisions.
Flicking on the TV and kicking off his shoes, he settled in on the one piece of furniture that was not Scandinavian-design – a leather recliner that had seen better days and inherited from his parents’ family room.
GiGi’s afghan hung over one of its overstuffed arms, and he pulled it over his feet.
Ramen was kind of like a grown-up version of Cup O’ Noodles, right?
And he had taken a sick day from work. Kind of.
The television’s bright screen cycled through a menagerie of music, gunshots, and applause as he absently flicked channels, reminding himself this was just the lull before the storm. The Matzo Baller was just two nights away, and it would be a whirlwind of social obligations.
Maybe I should get a cat. The thought flickered as the Bloom family’s resident feline stalked out of Rosie’s bedroom covered in staticky foam packing peanuts to the cue of canned laughter. He had landed on an old re-run.
Within two seconds, he recalled the entire premise: young Rosie had snooped and found where her parents had hidden the Hanukkah gifts…although the presents were all “boy things” intended for her brothers. Her real present was a purple bike in the garage.
Get a life, Jonah Klein.
But his eyes were getting heavy and his belly was full of warm noodles. His feet were the perfect temperature under the homemade blanket, and tomorrow was another day.