I winced, imagining them all standing around together, and I abruptly wished I wasn’t naked. I had to stop obsessively answering my phone.
“Landed one,” he said happily a minute later. “I’ll text you the address. See you at six!”
I dropped the phone on the sink counter and stepped back into the shower, dismayed. If we weren’t going to my friend’s, who exactly would be leading this Shabbat dinner, and where would the food be coming from? Did I need to supply dinner for who-knew how many football players?
Half an hour later, I’d paid $200 for a deli that would cater. I also printed out half a dozen copies of the Shabbat blessings for wine and bread and hand washing. I wasn’t sure if “interested” meant the guys wanted to see the ceremony, or if they just wanted food. Damn, I hadn’t the slightest idea how to lead a service. Abe may have assumed I knew Judaism as well as he did, but I was really just a half-baked halfie. I hoped I didn’t embarrass the both of us.
Without the time for my curls to dry, I blasted them into a flat mess and twisted and stabbed pins into my hair until it resembled a French twist. I threw on a blue wrap dress, shoved dangling pearls into my ears, and spun around three times to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything before running out the door.
Abe texted me an address on Central Park West, which meant the apartment had a rent I couldn’t afford even if I sold my soul to corporate America, and that I’d never be there by six. Especially as I still had shopping to do.
Wine was easy, but it took three bakeries before I found one that hadn’t run out of challah. The last purchase was only difficult because I didn’t want to part with the money. Suck it up, I told myself, and bought two silver candlestick holders and white wax columns.
The train ride took forever but only included one transfer. I made it in Brooklyn to avoid the horrors of the Times Square stop, which was always filled with angry commuters, confused tourists, and proselytizers. After settling into my seat on the B, I finally relaxed. It would take me all the way to 72nd Street, just blocks away from Abe’s.
As soon as I came out of the subway, my phone started beeping with missed calls from my mother.
There went relaxation. Well, I still had a ten minute walk, so I clicked her number.
“I just wanted to see when you would be home. You’re coming for Rosh Hashanah, right? And then what dates are the reunion?”
“End of November. And, Mom—I have a friend who doesn’t have anywhere to go for the holidays. Would it be okay if I brought him home?”
She pounced. “Him? It’s a him? Would this be a date?”
I resisted rolling my eyes, since she couldn’t see, or grinding my teeth, which would damage me more than her. I sighed. “No, Mom. Just a friend.”
“Someone I know?”
My mother, queen of the third degree. “No. I just met him last weekend. He just moved here from California.”
“What’s his name?”
“Abe.”
“Where’d you meet?”
“At a friend’s house.”
“What friend? Rachael, I feel like I’m pulling teeth when I talk to you.”
“Yeah, well, that might be less painful.”
She sighed. “You know, my friend Linda’s son lives in Astoria. I know I’ve given you his number. Why don’t you see if he wants to meet up?”
“Because I’m busy. Look, Mom, I should go. I’m just getting to a friend’s house.”
“Oh? What are you doing tonight?”
Might as well bite the bullet. “Shabbat.”
There was a moment of silence where my infallible mother was stunned. “Shabbat?” she repeated as she recovered. “Are you serious?”
Might as well deliver the rest. “Yeah. I’m leading it.”
“What? Do you even know how to lead Shabbat? Rachael, what brought this on? Are you feeling all right?”
“God, Mom, I’m not totally incompetent. It’s going to be casual. I told you; I have a friend who’s new to the city. He wanted to do this.”