Chapter 3 #2
Her family was both as devout and as liberal as the Venn diagram would allow.
For her, that meant she was fully steeped in the traditions of the Jewish faith but was also given permission to live life, and Judaism, in whatever way was right for her.
What had grown out of that was a deep, abiding love for Judaism and the intricate tapestry of history and culture that provided community, guidance, and grounding in all areas of her life.
And like a beautiful tapestry, her Judaism was not rigid, but soft and flowing and able to change with the needs of the moment.
Which meant that sometimes she would honor Shabbat by going to temple, sometimes she would only light candles at home, and sometimes, she would use Shabbat as a way to get out of trouble.
Unfortunately, once again, Abby knew her too well to let her get away with that. “You’re right. Which is why you were home lighting candles instead of out drinking and cavorting last night.”
“Cavorting!” She had forgotten about her brief encounter with Will until right now. She was not expecting that same flutter to tickle her as the memories queued up of his funny banter, his engaging smile, his gentle brown eyes, his very … inviting … lips.
“Spoilers!” Riley’s voice brought her back to the present. “You have to start at the beginning,”
Abby scoffed and wordlessly walked down the short hallway in her apartment to the next room. Abby’s apartment was identical to Naomi’s, with the living room, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen all connected by a single hallway.
Riley took a seat next to Naomi, clearly settling in for story time, and Abby’s cat, Lancelot, made a beeline for the couch, his eyes set on Riley’s lap.
“No, no, Lancelot,” Riley said, scooting back as Lancelot leapt onto the armrest. “I hate to rain on your parade, good looking, but I’m in all black and you’re in all silver and never the twain shall meet.”
Abby reappeared holding two cups of coffee.
“Are you tormenting Riley again?” she said to Lancelot as she leaned over Riley to hand Naomi one of the cups.
Naomi could tell from the absence of any heat on her hand that drinking the tepid coffee was going to be a willful act of necessity and not one of pleasure.
Naomi tried to get Lancelot’s attention. “Here, Lancey, come snuggle with me.” When that didn’t work, she picked him up and set him directly in her lap. He seemed to consider his options before padding in a circle and lying down.
“Enough distractions!” Riley, now safe from the dangers of cat hair, was back on task. “I’m ready. Fill me in.”
Abby sighed and began. “Freya emerged from the depths of the netherworld and started doing that thing, that same goddamn thing she did in high school, where she picks apart and belittles my entire life. And I was a few drinks in.”
Naomi was compelled to interject. “A few? I believe you told me you were four, tequila drinks in.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Riley said. “You’ve never been able to handle your tequila.”
“I’m aware.” Abby rubbed her temples for emphasis.
“So yes, my tequila-soaked brain made a decision. A less-than-stellar decision. A decision I’m comfortable putting away in a vault and not talking about ever again.
But if we’re locking it all in a vault, then I get to add how amazing it was, that after all these years, I finally, finally got to put Freya in her place.
For the first time in my life, I left her speechless.
It felt so good. And now we close the vault door forever. ”
“You may think it was a less-than-stellar decision, but you can sleep soundly knowing that you have made many seasons of reality television stars very proud. And now that I am comfortably sated in my need for gossip, I decree it is time to go shopping.”
Although she didn’t have her phone with her, Naomi had spied the “100+ messages” notification from her work e-mail app as she was dragged out of bed. “I really need to work today,” she said.
“On a Saturday? What kind of totalitarian regime do you work for?”
“An accounting firm that is in the middle of the busy season.”
“Naomi,” Riley said with solemnity. “The three of us—we’ve gone through something big together. Fingers were pointed, and lies were stripped away. Now we need to heal together. And there’s no better way to heal than through shopping.”
“I really should—”
“Excellent! I’m glad we’re agreed on that.”
It wasn’t that she couldn’t say no. It was that she didn’t want to—and Riley knew that.
She was on the tail end of fiscal year audits for a number of her company’s biggest clients and had been working until the wee hours of the morning every day for weeks.
Being at the reunion last night, however fleeting, had given her a taste of freedom, and she craved another helping.
She’d pay for her rebellion with some even later nights to make up for the missed hours, but for now, she would let Riley talk her into playing hooky for a few more hours.
“I’m sorry, do I not get a say in this shopping trip?” Abby said. “I could have plans. Or work.”
“Abigail Meyer,” Riley replied. “I know you well enough to know you would never book clients during the sacred hours reserved for hangovers and the walk of shame. Besides, I peeped your calendar when I met you at your office for lunch yesterday, so I know you’ve got nothing planned.”
After some more coffee, cajoling and, finally, a cab ride, the three friends were at their destination.
Or perhaps more accurately, at Riley’s destination.
The small, treelined street of boutique shops was one of their favorite spots for one-of-a-kind fashion—the only kind Riley would be seen in.
While Naomi didn’t have the same predilection for eye-catching outfits, shopping trips with Riley gave her a chance to browse and occasionally indulge in a piece if something caught her eye.
As she and Abby were perusing jewelry and Riley was somewhere ensconced in an aisle of skirts, a jaunty piano rendition of “Poor Unfortunate Souls” started emanating from Abby’s purse.
Having been the one to suggest that ringtone, Naomi knew that it meant an incoming call from Abby’s younger sister, Rebecca Rhein.
Six years their junior, Naomi had known Becca since she had been born and loved her like the annoying little sister that she was.
Abby took her phone from her bag and answered it with a brisk, “Hello?” There must have been no answer because she said it again, this time more sharply. “Hello?” After another few seconds, she pulled the phone away from her ear and hung up.
“Pocket dial?” Naomi asked. Like Sisyphus, condemned for all eternity to roll a boulder up a hill, Abby had been sentenced to the burden of a life of receiving pocket dials. As someone with a name starting with A, she was often the victim of unintentional calls from unlocked phones.
The phone began to ring again. Abby answered Naomi’s question by accepting the call and then holding the phone close to Naomi’s ear so she could listen. Sure enough, it was the familiar sounds of a pocket dial: indistinguishable, muffled noises of life from behind fabric.
As soon as Abby ended the call, it was ringing again. Abby threw her hands up. “I swear on all that is good and holy.”
She stabbed her phone like she was trying to skewer it.
Naomi watched as she declined the call and then, like she was playing a reverse Uno card, turned the tables and dialed her sister.
Her phone had barely reached her ear before she started talking.
“Rebecca, can you please, for the love of God, lock your phone? Or at least, change my name so that I’m not your first contact?
You pocket-dialed me again!” Naomi could hear Becca talking but couldn’t make out what she was saying.
“Yeah, well, do you have any idea how annoying it is to have a seventeen-minute message from the inside of someone’s pants? ”
Whatever Becca was telling her was causing every muscle in Abby’s face to twitch. Abby’s expressions were coming too fast for her to try and translate. Naomi’s curiosity got the best of her and she mouthed the word “speaker” at Abby.
Abby obliged with a tap on her phone. “—someone getting murdered,” Becca was saying. “Or at the very least, someone having sex. Isn’t that possibility worth it? It would be worth it to me.”
“I accept your apology.”
“I am not apologizing for what my phone did without my knowledge. Although this does work out perfectly, since I was planning on calling you anyway.”
A look of suspicion drifted across Abby’s face. “Where are you? It sounds like you’re standing in the middle of a runway.”
“I might as well be. I’m over in Bucktown.”
“Bucktown? What are you doing there at,” she looked at her phone, “10:30 in the morning on a Saturda … oh, please tell me you weren’t doing what I think you were doing.”
“Umm …” came a squeaky reply.
“Becca! You told me you ended it with him! I thought you were going on the straight and narrow!”
From the moment she arrived on the planet, Becca had made it clear that she had a singular goal: to be the star of whatever room she was in.
She loved being the topic of conversation, loved being in front of the camera, loved having all eyes on her, but most of all, she loved being loved by boys.
The minute she was able to understand the concept of a boyfriend, she had one.
And then another one, and then another one …
until right before she graduated college when she did something entirely unexpected: she got engaged.
Quiet, unassuming, and unremarkable, Peter Rhein was not a high school quarterback, a professional kitesurfer, or a NASCAR driver—a mere sampling of some of her previous beaus.
He was the CFO of Lynch Mortuary Services, one of the nation’s largest funeral home supply companies.