Also, it was probably possible to be in the middle of The Corrections for a very long time.
“Fine. I take back my aspersions cast on your literariness.”
He grinned at his wineglasses as he unloaded them from his cabinets, and I watched the controlled elegance of his arms a little too closely. “Yeah, and I’m afraid you’re going to remain a nerd.”
I glared at him. “Where’s Abe?” I asked pointedly. “He said he was going to show up early.”
Abe arrived not long before the others and at the same time as the caterers, so
he hauled all the food up to the apartment. I transferred salads into bowls and arranged sandwiches on plates. The boys placed the wine glasses at all the seats and Ryan even pulled out a set of cloth napkins that looked like they’d never been used before.
Within minutes of each other, goateed Keith and redheaded Mike arrived, Malcolm and Dylan on their heels. All of them greeted me cheerfully, complimenting me on my dress, and every last one dressed like they were going to church.
It was very sweet, in a very strange way.
After everyone sat down, they all turned my way. I tucked a loose thread of hair behind my ear. “So. Have any of you ever been to a Shabbat dinner before?” Except for Abe, they all shook their heads. I sucked in a nervous breath. “Okay. Cool. Well, this is going to be really informal. There’s just a couple prayers for bread and wine and candles, so, um, Abe and I are going to say them, and then we can eat.”
They all nodded and looked dutifully respectful. I had to bite my lip to keep from breaking into giggles. What was my problem? Was I freaked out because I was a bookish girl surrounded by jock boys, or because I was a Jew having Shabbat dinner with Gentiles?
“Okay, then.” I glanced at Abe, and we broke into the blessing over the candles, Hebrew lilting off our tongues while I struck the match. It lit with a hiss, and I held my hand steady until the wick took, a slow orange flame growing out of the blackened thread. Discarding the match for wine, I recited Kiddush. “Amen,” Abe finished, and several of the boys looked surprised and murmured the same. I raised my glass, and the Leopards joined in.
After the prayer for wine, we removed the cloths that symbolically removed the challah from the table. I’d looked this up on Wikipedia. All I really remembered from our scattered several years of Shabbat during my childhood were the most basic prayers, the scent of melting wax, and donating money for charity into the tzedakah box—which was one of my mother’s old coffee canisters, painstakingly covered with felt cutouts.
When I finished my Shabbat-for-dummies service, everyone dropped the respect and started grabbing at the food. I let out a breath and my shoulders relaxed. I rolled my neck and started to load my plate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sat around a table for anything resembling a home cooked meal. Eva and I spent a lot of time eating take-out dim sum on the couch, making pasta, or consuming the bagels I bought by the dozen.
Keith polished off his third sandwich and decided to pull me into the conversation. “So are you coming to our game on Sunday?”
Across from me, Ryan snorted softly. “What?” I lifted my chin at him. “Why is that funny?”
“She doesn’t like the game,” he told the others. “There’s no way she’d go.”
The others regarded me with a mixture of puzzlement and disbelief. “What do you have against football?” Dylan asked.
“Nothing.” I wanted to glare at Ryan for throwing me under the bus, but instead I focused on the slightly hurt expressions turned my way. “At all. In fact,” I decided rashly, “I will be there Sunday.”
Ryan put his fork down sharply. “Impossible. We’re sold out.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I told him. “My date already has tickets.”
All the guys perked up at this. And they say girls are gossipy. “You’re going with a date?” Keith crowed. He grinned over at Ryan, who I refused to look at, covertly or otherwise. “Who’s the lucky dude?”
Uh-huh. Because I wanted to talk about my love life with a table full of guys. Time to turn the table. “This guy I’ve been seeing from the ad agency I temp at. What about all of you?” I asked, arching a brow. I’d worked for three years before I could do that, with the single-mindedness I had applied to memorizing cards. “I’m sure the Leopards have very discriminating taste.”
They immediately started needling each other. Mike shoved Keith’s shoulder. “Keith only dates models with very low IQs.”
Keith pushed him back. “Says the guy who won’t even date someone for more than one month.”
“Dylan’s entire extended family is involved in his dating life.”
Dylan shook his head. “You think being an interfaith kid is hard? Try being biracial.”
“Hey.” Keith looked at me. “So do you have to marry a Jew? I met Abe’s mom once, and she was on him about that.”
I laughed as Abe winced. “Nope. Judaism’s a matriarchal line. My theoretical kids are automatically in.”
“Malcolm,” Mike continued, “is disgustingly well-adjusted, and even bought Bri—that’s Briana—a ring.”
I turned toward him, delighted. “Really? Do you have it on you?”