Dating Kosher (33 page)

I started to cry. Noisily.

“Hey, hey, what’s happening? What’s wrong?”

I continued to stroke Armani, swallowing past the lump in my throat until I could speak. “I just kicked Ari out.”

“Why? I thought it was going okay. Oh, hold on.” She covered up the phone and I heard muffled voices. Oh my God, did I just interrupt sex with her and Jacob? I felt like the worst friend ever.

“Do you want to grab a coffee? I can meet you at Starbucks…”

I sniffed, getting up off the couch to grab a Kleenex from the bathroom. “No, I don’t want to ruin your night.”

“It’s okay, Shosh, I would never blow you off.”

I knew she meant it, it didn’t’ matter. Jacob was probably only in town for a few days and the last thing I wanted to do was take her away from her hookup, even though I wanted nothing better than to meet her at Starbucks for a little ranting and bitching. Still, I promised her that I would be okay.

“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, go back to Jacob.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” I looked into the bathroom mirror; I looked like shit. “And Bev?”

“Yeah?”

“Make sure he wears a condom, the last thing I need is another family scandal like you bearing the bastard child of my new stepbrother. There’s way too much almost-incest going on already.”

Bev laughed. “I’ll take that under advisement. Talk to you tomorrow.”

I hung up the phone and looked around my very quiet, very empty apartment. I looked at the phone, willing it to ring. No such luck.

“Fuck it,” I said out loud as I picked it up and dialed Nate’s number.

“Hey, it’s Shoshanna.”

There was a long moment before he spoke when I was terrified he was going to hang up. But then he didn’t. “Hey…I’m glad you called,” he said, sounding sleepy. Sexy. I wondered if he had rumpled bedhead... “Did you get my message?”

“Yeah, and I’m really sorry about what I said on Friday. I don’t know why I’m such a bitch all the time.”

“Shosh…I…I really appreciate what you’ve done for Caroline.”

I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “That doesn’t excuse my terrible behavior.”

“Don’t worry about it, really. I’m in a forgiving mood.”

I realized his voice didn’t sound sleepy, but something else. Mellow, melancholy.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Not really, it’s been a tough few days,” he said, his voice suddenly very low. He sounded like he could use a little comforting; I needed some myself.

“I know it’s kind of a trek for you, but do you want to come over?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, his voice breathy. “I’m on my way.”

I had probably a good half hour or so before he would arrive, so I put the kettle on and made my way into the bedroom to find something more comfortable to wear.

By the time Nate knocked on the door, I had changed into my flannel pants and a t-shirt, brushed my teeth and even had a chance to tidy up a little (including throwing out Ari’s used cotton ball—so gross).

I answered the door and saw instantly a side of Nate I hadn’t yet seen, one that made me instantly want to fold him in my arms; his face was solemn, his eyes sad. My eyes dropped to the cardboard tray he held containing two paper cups.

“I stopped at Starbucks, but I couldn’t remember how you take it so I’ve got a pocket full of creamers and sugar.”

I took the tray from him so he could remove his jacket. “You’re a lifesaver.” I moved back to the couch, sat down and took the coffees out of the tray.

“So, um…you got my message?” Nate asked, sitting down beside me.

“Yeah,” I flipped open the lid of the coffee, allowing a plume of steam to escape from the hot liquid.

Nate took the lid right off his cup and lifted it almost to his chin, cupping it in his palms. He looked into its depths before announcing, “My best friend died over the weekend.”

I wondered if I’d heard him right. “What?” I looked up at him.

He nodded. “My best friend, remember I told you about him, the Jewish guy. He was in an accident a while ago and he’s been in a coma since. I’ve been with his family all weekend. The funeral was Sunday.” The somber look, the sad eyes: no wonder. I put my hand on his arm, trying to comfort him.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Nate.”

He put his coffee back down on the table and looked up at me. “Thanks. I guess we knew it was coming, but we at least had some hope when he was in the coma.”

“How long was he in the coma?”

“Almost six months.” He took a deep breath. “He was the coolest guy, you know?” He smiled but at the same time, his brow furrowed. “He was so smart. He worked at a bank and he had such a head for business, they scooped him up before he even graduated from college.”

I wondered what a Jewish banker had in common with Nate; an Irish blue-collar air conditioning guy. “How did you meet him?”

“We went to high school together. We were both in the chess club.”

I snickered. “I can’t see you playing chess.”

“Do you play?”

I shook my head. “Blackjack’s more my game,” I said, remembering my Zaidy. “Though not very well.”

“We should play sometime: chess, I mean. I could teach you. Anyway, Paul was really good. He went to the state finals. I love the game but was never any good.”

“So what happened? Car accident?”

Nate shook his head. “No, skydiving.”

Something clicked in my brain. Skydiving: the parachute tattoo.

“Do you skydive, too?”

Nate nodded.

My heart sank. “Were you there when it happened?” I whispered.

He nodded again, dropping his head. “We were being stupid. Goofing around. Doing stunts that were beyond our skill.”

Wow, that was pretty brutal. I rubbed his arm again. “I’m really sorry.”

He wrung his hands. “It shouldn’t have happened. It shouldn’t have happened and it definitely shouldn’t have happened to him.”

“You can’t think that way, Nate,” I said in my most comforting voice, feeling just terrible for him. “You can’t blame yourself or feel guilty for it not being you. It was his time and you just have to focus on the awesome memories you have of him.” Even to myself, I sounded wiser than I had any right to be.

“I know. Me and his mom were talking the other day, you know, and she was so awesome, telling me what you just said. But it’s hard, you know, I was there. The wind picked up and you can’t help the wind, but if he hadn’t been showing off, he probably would have been able to…” he sniffed, the tears welling up in his eyes.

I stood up and grabbed his hand, gently pulling him to his feet. He gave me no resistance as I slid my hands around his back and squeezed him tight.

His chest began to heave and I held him even tighter as he cried. I even felt the faint pressure of his tears falling intermittently into my hair, but I kept on squeezing and he squeezed back.

After several long moments, he pulled away, wiping his eyes with the cuff of his shirt. “I’m really sorry,” he said, turning his head away.

“It’s okay. Really.”

It was sweet that he was uncomfortable crying in front of me. It reminded me of my dad who would rather die than let anyone see his emotions (part and parcel of being a lawyer, I guess). “It’s okay, don’t be embarrassed. I don’t know what I would do if something ever happened to Bev. I’d be a total basket case.”

“I know, I know,” Nate said, looking back at me. “I’ve never been much of a crier, but this has just about killed me. It’s been a hell of a year with what happened to him and Caroline’s husband, you know?”

I nodded, not sure what else to say. I sat back down on the couch, hugging my knees to my chest.

He sat down beside me and looked at me for a moment before taking a deep breath, “Thanks for inviting me over. I hope I haven’t ruined your night.”

I snorted. “On the contrary, I was having a really shitty night, so having you over has drastically improved it—other than your news, of course. The fact that you brought over Starbucks is an added bonus.”

“If having a guy come over and cry on your shoulder is an improvement then you really were having a shitty night.” He grinned. And in that second something happened. In that very second, as Nate shoved his fingers through his hair and smiled down at me, my heart jumped. It seems so cliché, but it really, actually, physically skipped in my chest. Before I had a chance to even think of what I was doing, I leaned toward him and planted a kiss on his lips. Nothing serious, just a friendly peck.

He was obviously surprised. “What was that for?” he asked when I sat back.

Suddenly shy, I shrugged, feeling my face heat up. “You looked like you needed it.”

He smiled, showing his nice, straight teeth. “You were right.” He stared at me just long enough for me to start squirming in my seat. What was he thinking?

I didn’t have too long to wonder as his eyes drifted from mine down to my lips. He leaned in, taking the lead, but this time, the kiss was much more than a peck. I allowed myself to let go, not caring about his job or the fact that he’d never been bar mitzvah’d as a teen. None of that seemed to matter when his lips were against mine.

Suddenly, as the kiss began to
really
get started, we weren’t alone. Armani had jumped up onto the couch and was insistently shoving his forehead against my breast.

I laughed, breaking the kiss. Nate’s confusion was obvious until he looked down at my very rude cat.

I stumbled an apology. “Sorry. He’s a little jealous, I think.”

Nate reached down and gave Armani a scratch on the head. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

Armani gave Nate a short, “Mreow,” and promptly made himself quite comfortable in Nate’s lap.

Now it was
my
turn to be jealous. “Just put him on the floor if he’s bugging you.”

Nate shook his head, “Nah, he’s fine.”

“He seems to really like you,” I observed aloud, remembering Armani’s extreme distaste for Ari. I looked down at my purring cat. “He has good taste. And thanks for the basket of goodies for him. That was really sweet.”

Nate looked up and smiled, “My pleasure, I like cats.” He kept scratching Armani and then, after a long moment said, “Listen, I really like you. But what you said that day…”

“Nate, I…” I began, but he stopped me with a shake of his head and a raised palm.

“Do you think I could ever make you happy, Shoshanna? We had this conversation before, but you never answered me. I figured I’d give you some time to get to know me. But you keep sending me mixed signals.”

I remembered back to our night on his uncle’s boat how he had asked me if I could ever be into a guy like him. I had thought I was so clever, avoiding the subject, never dreaming that he knew I was dodging the question. I
was
sending him mixed signals; mostly because I was confused and didn’t know what signals I
should
be sending.

He mistook my confused silence for a reluctance to deliver bad news.

He looked away, his jaw clenching before he said, “I guess I always knew you’re out of my league.”

A short time ago, in true snotty Shoshanna Rosenblatt form, I would have agreed with him, maybe even out loud. But recent events had caused a massive upheaval in my thinking. A knot of guilt and self-loathing rose in my throat as I realized how horrible I had been to so many people.

Swallowing past it, I spoke, needing him to know his assumption was wrong. “If we are in different leagues, it’s me who isn’t in yours, Nate. You’re a great guy and I’ve been such a spoiled brat until now, too hung up on my own bullshit to notice just
how
great a guy.”

He blinked several times. “But I’m not Jewish. You trying to tell me all of a sudden that’s not going to be a problem?”

I took a deep breath and let it out before saying, “You know what? I think that if my cousin Simon can come out to my family at a Rosh Hashanah dinner, I can tell them the guy I’m dating isn’t really Jewish.”

“Really? Simon came out? At a family dinner?” he laughed. “Wow. Saffron won’t be happy about that; she told me at the wedding she thought she had a chance with him.”

“Oh God, poor girl!” I laughed.

He shook his head. “Why do girls like that think they can convert gay guys?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe conversion isn’t such a bad thing…” I tried, testing the waters. Nate just raised his left eyebrow, knowing exactly what I was talking about.

“Anyway,” I continued, not wanting to put the cart waaaaay before the horse, “If he can have the
chutzpah
to do that—and by the way Ben isn’t Jewsh either—and the Rosenblatt family didn’t explode in hellfire, you’ll be just fine. And anyway, they already really like you and I don’t think most of them bought that you were Jewish anyway.”

He acted offended. “You mean they didn’t buy my Oscar-winning performance?”

I shook my head, “Nah, your act was flawless: it was your Irish good looks that gave it away.”

He chuckled, but I detected the hint of a blush. “Ah well, the curse of the Irish.”

“So, um, do you think you can handle more crazy Rosenblatt dinners filled with huge family dysfunction?” I asked, only half-joking: he hadn’t even met Tippy yet.

“I think I can. Do you think you can handle being with a grease monkey?”

I cringed. “As long as you don’t call yourself a grease monkey and keep your nails clean.”

“There is nothing grosser than dirty nails, so that part I can definitely promise.”

Looking down at his hands I had to admit they were spotless. No one could ever guess from the state of his hands that he worked with them. I nodded.

He raised an eyebrow. “And how does
small business owner
sound?”

“Perfect. Because it’s true,” I said, feeling weirdly proud of myself.

The smile disappeared from his face and he got suddenly serious. “I know money is important to you…wait,” he held up his hands when I opened my mouth. “I’m not saying you’re a gold-digger…”

I took a breath. “I’m trying not to be.”

He was still stroking the purring Armani as he continued. “Well, what I mean is that I do make a pretty good living. I do own my own business, and I know that a lot of people don’t equate what I do with being successful, but I really am comfortable.”