Dating Kosher (19 page)

“Shoshanna?” His voice was laced with concern.

I looked up at him.

“You okay? What happened?”

There was nothing I could do. I burst into tears, sobbing like a child until I could spit the words out. “I tripped…over the cat…on the way to the door.” I jerked my thumb back toward the living room, indicating the scene of the crime. “…I hit the table.” My words were punctuated by sobs. I felt like an idiot; for tripping, for hurting myself, for crying. It was a triangle of humiliation.

In an attempt to comfort me, Nate put his hand on my arm. “Let me see your eye,” he said.

I pulled the Kleenex away and felt a warm trickle down the side of my face. I swallowed, suddenly feeling very dizzy. What did bleeding out feel like? How long would it take? My stomach lurched.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” Nate said as he gently guided my hand back to my forehead to cover up the gash with the mostly soaked Kleenex.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to Yoga-breathe through the pain and dizziness. Glancing over at the clock, I forced my eyes to focus on the numbers. My heart sank. “I can’t. I’m supposed to be at the hotel in less than a half hour!”

Nate looked me up and down, the corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk though his eyes were full of concern. “Well, you’re not going to the hotel looking like this. You’ve got a gash on your forehead that I’m sure needs stitches, you’ve got blood all over you, and to top it all off, you’re not dressed.”

I thought about the silver sheath hanging over my bedroom door. I couldn’t risk getting blood on it. “I’ll be fine,” I said over my shoulder as I stomped toward the bathroom to administer first aid.

He followed. “I really think you need stitches. C’mon, I’ll take you.”

“I don’t have time to go to the hospital.” My voice sounded foreign to me: cracking and squeaky in my panic.

When I got to the bathroom, I looked in the mirror, cringing at the bloodstains on my face and arm. Leaning forward, I slowly pulled the Kleenex away from my face and almost passed out when I saw the gaping cut over my left eye. It continued to pour blood which ran unchecked down my face, dripping off my chin and pooling on the counter.

“See?” said Nate from over my shoulder.

I swallowed, trying to get rid of some of the saliva from my suddenly very flooded mouth and willing myself not to puke. I looked into the mirror at him and nodded. “Okay. Let me call my dad and throw some clothes on.”

He nodded back and retreated to the living room so I could get ready. I tossed the soggy red heap of Kleenex into the garbage and grabbed a square of gauze from my first aid kit (a housewarming gift from my grandmother– gotta love her practicality) and taped it to my face as snugly as possible so it would catch the blood at least while I got dressed. Pulling the towel out of my hair and allowing the still-damp strands of hair to fall around my shoulders, I realized there was no way I was going to be able to dry it. Grabbing my big comb, I dragged the tines through so at least I wouldn’t have tangles.

No use attempting to put on any makeup; and anyway, I’d have to return to the condo to get dressed before the wedding. I retreated into the bedroom to slip into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

By the time I came out of the bedroom, only a few minutes later, Nate was standing by the door, his hand on the knob. I’m not sure if he had stood there the whole time or if he’d jumped up when he heard me scream, “Fuck it, I’ll wear the running shoes, let’s go!” when I couldn’t reach my favorite sandals that had somehow ended up under the bed (I’m sure Armani had everything to do with it, although after tripping me, he was nowhere to be seen).

As an afterthought, I grabbed the box of Kleenex from the coffee table on my way out the door, shoving it under my arm.

Just as I was on the other side of the door, locking it behind us, I heard a wail coming from inside the apartment. I froze to listen and heard it again: a low-pitched “
mmmmmrrrrweeeeoooooooowwwww
.”

Armani.

“Stupid cat!” I said as I pulled the key from the lock and nodded at Nate to precede me down the hall toward the elevators.

With a sigh, I pulled my cell phone out of my purse to make the dreaded call to my dad.

Chapter 22

Of course, the hospital was a zoo. Of course, there were sicker people in front of me. Of course, they didn’t care that it was my dad’s wedding day. They were accommodating enough to give me some gauze to replace what had bled through on the ride over, but that was where my special treatment ended.

The waiting room was maddening. A young, distraught-looking couple tried to soothe a baby that just wouldn’t stop crying. My ovaries shriveled a little with each ear-piercing wail. It didn’t seem to affect Nate, which just succeeded in pissing me off more.

A teenager sat across from Nate and me, his leg wrapped in what I supposed were the t-shirts of his three bare-chested friends. I gathered from their very animated conversation, they had been doing some extreme skateboarding that had gone very wrong. It seemed a broken limb, if earned during Jackass-type stunts, was considered a skater’s badge of honor.

Another man, of about middle age, sat in the corner with no obvious injuries but moaned annoyingly the entire time.

And when it seemed to slow down a little and looked like they might take one of us, an ambulance would pull up and wheel out someone on a gurney through the doors into the bowels of the hospital. I wanted to kill myself to end the agony, or, at least, get served faster.

I threatened to leave about eighty-seven times, but each time I began to rise out of my chair, Nate’s firm and steady grip pulled me back down. “Your father will understand.” He kept saying. And I knew he was right, but the possibility of missing his wedding was just about killing me.

The one good thing about being stuck in the hospital; I finally had an opportunity to get a good look at Nate in all his dressed-up hotness. In asking him to get me a bottle of water from the vending machine, I was able to see him top to bottom and had to admit he looked good. His hair was all in place and he was freshly shaven; I could even smell a hint of aftershave on him that I really liked. His suit was well cut and pressed to perfection, right down to a silver and black diagonally striped tie that would match my dress perfectly; making people think we had coordinated our outfits. No one would guess he didn’t wear a suit every day in favor of a navy blue work uniform with his name embroidered on his chest. No, people at the wedding would never guess he was an air conditioning guy. Of course, that was assuming we ever made it to the wedding.

* * *

Neither Nate nor the emergency room doctor would let me see the stitches until they were done. Good call on their parts since if I’d had any idea what they would look like, I would have been out the door.

When it was all over, the doctor pulled his gloves off and threw them onto the suture tray, sighing (maybe because I’d been telling him to hurry the whole time, but he didn’t say exactly).

“Well good luck,” he said to Nate. I was offended by him not talking to me until I was able to sit up and see myself in the mirror. By then Doctor Frankenstein was long gone, although there’s a good chance he heard me shrieking all the way down the hall.

I never knew stitches meant just that: stitches. Tied up pieces of black twine sticking out of my eyebrow. Five of them, to be exact.

“Oh my God,” I gasped, turning to Nate. “I can’t go to the wedding like this!”

“Sure you can. You look great; tough, just like a boxer.” He smiled, sparring into the air in front of him. I suppose he was trying to make me feel better, but it wasn’t working.

I hopped off the table. “Come on, I have to go get dressed. What time is it?”

Nate cringed, looking at his watch. “Seven-thirty-six.”

“What?” I couldn’t believe it. I’d already missed the signing of the marriage contract and now I had less than a half hour to get home, change, do my hair and make-up and be back at the hotel for the ceremony at eight. The time on the road alone would ensure I wouldn’t make it. “Oh my God, what am I gonna do?”

Nate blinked, his face screwed up in thought. “Well either you miss the ceremony or you go as you are.”

I looked down. My outfit was hardly appropriate for a wedding, let alone a wedding that I was supposed to be
in
. The t-shirt (a birthday gift from the girls at the spa), even without the blood stains, was too tight and sported the pithy phrase “My other outfit’s a Prada.” The shorts were nondescript, but still not appropriate wedding attire.

“I have to go home. I can’t go like this.”

“You’ll miss the ceremony,” Nate helpfully pointed out.

“I don’t have any choice. I’m not going like
this
!”

“Well, you’re not getting anywhere standing here arguing with me. Let’s get to the car.”

That made sense. I clamped my mouth shut and followed him out of the room. Once we got out of the hospital and into the parking garage, I turned my cell phone back on and almost instantly it rang. I didn’t let up my pace as I opened it and held it up to my ear.

It was my dad. “Hi honey, I’ve been trying to get you…”

“I was getting stitches,” I told him. Nate led me into the concrete stairwell to take us up to the level the car was on.

“So you’re out? Everything okay?” Dad was anxious; a rarity for him. Just the sound of his voice, laced with concern was enough to start me crying. I tried to hold the phone away from my mouth so he wouldn’t hear me blubbering.

As we emerged from the stairwell, Nate touched my arm, gently nudging me to turn left. I followed his lead, suddenly very glad that he was with me.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I managed with a sniffle. “We’re just leaving the hospital right now.”

Dad exhaled. “Okay, I’m so glad to hear. I’ll see you shortly then.”

“Well…I have to go home and change, I’m not dressed.”

“Shoshanna, you don’t have time. You’ll miss the ceremony. I can stall it for a few minutes, but for you to get home and back will take longer than a few minutes.”

“What am I supposed to do, Dad?”

“You’ll have to just come straight to the hotel.” Dad sounded sympathetic, but how could he be? If he really understood what he was suggesting, he never would have done it.

“I can’t, Dad. I’m wearing shorts and a t-shirt.”

“Hold on, honey.” Dad said and I heard his voice muffle as he covered the phone to talk to someone else.

After only a few moments, he handed off the phone to Susan. “Hi, Shoshanna. I’m glad to hear you’re okay. Listen, we really want you here. We don’t care what you’re wearing.”

I knew she meant what she said, but all the planning, the shopping: all for nothing. I was supposed to look
good
, was supposed to be in that stunning silver sheath, not looking like a slob in a bloody t-shirt and shorts.

“I can’t stand under the
chuppah
in shorts,” I whined.

Susan’s tone was kind but firm. “Shoshanna…Shosh, listen. We want you here. If you’re more comfortable sitting with the guests, that’s fine by us, you don’t have to stand under the
chuppah
. Once the ceremony is over your friend can zip you home to change. All you’ll miss is the cocktails before the reception.”

It was easy to see again what my dad saw in Susan. My mother would have been a babbling wreck.

What else could I say? “Okay, Susan, we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“We’re looking forward to seeing you and meeting your new friend.”

I hung up and slid into the passenger seat of Nate’s car.

“So?” he asked once I was belted in.

“Just go to the hotel, please,” I said, my voice a dry whisper.

Leaning back against the headrest, I sighed. My head hurt; the wound pulsing with every heartbeat more and more as the freezing wore off. But I knew that an aching cut was going to be the tiniest speed bump in what I was sure was going to be the quick road to utter humiliation.

* * *

I had never in my life endured something as difficult as getting out of Nate’s Jetta at the Jardin hotel. Thankfully he had pulled into the parking garage and not right up to the front doors, but still... Considering what had happened, we were making pretty good time, arriving at the hotel with almost ten minutes to spare. For that, I was relieved. It was bad enough showing up in beachwear but would have been worse had I shown up
late
wearing beachwear. That was not the kind of entrance I wanted to make.

Still, the thought of being seen by all of the arriving guests was horrifying. Maybe I could just get into a seat quickly and slink down in my chair so no one would see me. Going up the elevator to the banquet level was agonizing, but at least no one got on the elevator with us.

When the doors opened into the lobby, I was greeted not only by the din of a large crowd waiting to get into the ceremony room but also the formality of everyone’s attire. My face was hot and surely red, with not a drop of makeup to cover it up. I didn’t even have my purse, just my house keys on a ring poking out the front pocket of my shorts and my cell in my back one.

“Cover me, please,” I begged of Nate, suddenly thankful that no one knew him. At least this way he wouldn’t be stopped. I grabbed onto him, tucking my body as closely into the crook of his arm as I could. I could feel right through the layers of fabric to his muscular bicep; it felt thick and strong, very nice, though more than ogling him, I was thankful to have his support. I’d have to make sure to thank him later.

I shuffled along his side, through the lobby, keeping to the perimeter of the crowd toward the wide front doors of the ballroom. We were almost there, almost to sanctuary when I heard my name above the ruckus of the crowd.

Shit. I’d been spotted. I slowly turned, peeking out from the folds of Nate’s jacket.

Bev was walking over toward us, looking really nice in her finery, other than the deep scowl on her face. I was so relieved to see her I almost broke down into tears again.

She looked up at Nate and smiled. “Hi,” she said to him before turning to me. “What’s going on? What’s with your face and where’s your dress?”