Love You a Latke

Chapter 5

5

As it turned out, the corgi wasn’t even his. Which means I’d basically agreed to this meeting under false pretenses. “I only agreed to come because of the possibility I might one day get to play with your fat corgi,” I said, then realized how that had sounded.

Fortunately, Seth either had a less dirty mind than me or was polite enough to snicker only on the inside. “Sorry. He’s my friend’s. So is the cute kid.”

That, at least, was a relief. I didn’t even know if I wanted kids, and I definitely wasn’t ready to be a stepmom.

Not that that had anything to do with anything right now. There was no chance of me being anyone’s stepmom. This was just a business meeting. A business meeting at a holiday pop-up bar.

By “holiday,” the bar of course meant Christmas. Christmas music was jingling over the speakers, and the warm wooden walls were strung with garlands of tinsel and twinkling multicolored lights; a tall Christmas tree glittered in one corner, and the bartender and servers were all decked out in Santa hats. The menu included such gems as the “Naughty but Nice” (lots of cinnamon and some chili pepper) and the neon Day-Glo green “Grinch” (melon liqueur and vodka). The one token Hanukkah cocktail was called the “Hebrew Hammer” and was not only a disconcerting shade of blue but consisted mostly of tequila. Hammer, indeed.

I went with a simple cranberry cordial, and Seth got an eggnog. “I’ve never really understood eggnog,” I said, grimacing at the thick white liquid in his crystal glass from where I sat beside him at the bar. “It’s just…like, milk and alcohol together. Gross.”

“You’re missing out.” He took a sip. “It’s like drinking cake.”

“Like I said, gross,” I said. “Though maybe it’s because I never really had it until I was older. It could be an acquired taste. Like gefilte fish.” I still remembered the time my cousin brought her non-Jewish boyfriend to the family Passover seder. He’d gamely eaten the matzah and the egg in salt water, but when she passed him the little paper plate of mushy gray fish cylinder topped with glistening globs of gelatinous slime, he’d quite literally gone green.

“Gefilte fish is delicious, though,” Seth said. “I like the stuff from the jar—classic—but have you had the fancy kind that comes in a loaf from a good deli? Fantastic.”

I shook my head. “I’m a jar girl all the way.” Though I hadn’t had it in so many years. They probably didn’t even carry it at the grocery stores up here.

It felt nice to talk to someone who didn’t just know what gefilte fish was, but didn’t gag at the thought of it, even if that someone was Seth. I took a sip of my cranberry cordial. Nice and sweet and tart enough to make me pucker up.

“I wouldn’t have pinned you for a jar girl,” Seth said with an easy smile. “I would’ve pinned you as a girl who goes to the river, catches her own carp, and bludgeons it to death in the bathtub.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said.

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“Good.” I wasn’t sure how to take that . “Anyway, about why we’re here.” I’d already told him a bit about the Hanukkah festival in our messages, but now I elaborated, going into what Lorna had asked me, what I thought would make for a good Hanukkah festival, and my disastrous talks with the Christmas vendors. “So, I was really hoping that you might know…well, anything and anyone more than me. If you know anyone I should contact, especially if they can source kosher food or happen to own an enormous blow-up menorah, that would be amazing.”

He leaned into me, so close I could see a few crumbs of sugar from his drink rim clinging to his beard. They glittered like tiny snowflakes. I breathed in deep, trying not to think about it, but that only made me realize that he smelled like oranges and campfire. Which I really shouldn’t have been able to smell, considering the strong odor of mulling spices drifting my way from behind the bar. “Abby,” he said solemnly. “I can solve all of your problems.”

“You definitely cannot solve all of my problems. You don’t even know what all my problems are.” And I certainly wasn’t going to share them.

If I were him, I probably would have rolled my eyes. But he just grinned. “I mean all your problems related to the Hanukkah festival.” Dramatic pause.

Which I did not have patience for. “Spill it.”

“So I’m from New York,” Seth said. “And there’s a reason they call it Jew York City.”

“I’ve literally never heard anyone call it that,” I said. “Except maybe on 4chan. And those aren’t the people you want talking about the Jews.”

“You’re familiar with 4chan? I have so many questions. But anyway, I grew up in one of those Jewish families who knows everyone. Between my parents and my cousins and my Hebrew school friends and summer camp pals, I’m probably connected to every kosher food vendor or enormous blow-up menorah owner in the city, and that’s not even mentioning the theater players with a skit about the Hanukkah story and the Hanukkah craft ladies and the—”

“I got it,” I interrupted, solely because I was sick of hearing his voice and not at all because of the stab of jealousy that hit me upon hearing about his close-knit community and family. Or at least that’s what I told myself. “So you’ll help me? In exchange for all the free coffee and whipped cream you can drink?”

What I expected based on my past experiences with him: him to smile big, nod like he’d just downed a glass full of sugar (which he had), and gush about how helping people gave him such a high he’d never even thought about taking drugs.

What I got: a keen glint in those hazel eyes, a cock of his head like he was considering pushing me off my stool, and his arms crossing over his chest.

I was immediately intrigued. When he spoke, the intrigue rose even higher. Also the annoyance, but that tended to rise whenever anybody spoke, honestly. “It’ll cost you more than free coffee.”

“I don’t have any money,” I said. I had a sense that wasn’t what he was talking about, but I wanted to get it out of the way anyway. “And I own nothing of consequence, unless you want a collection of vintage fast-food glasses I’ve accumulated at yard sales or a bunch of half-dead plants. And honestly, you can take the plants. They’re too much commitment for me.”

“I mean, I’ll take your plants. I’m a great plant dad,” he said. “But I meant more a price of your time, and also maybe your sanity.”

“That would scare me if I had any sanity left after sitting here with you for an hour.”

He pointed at me. “See? That’s what I need. Say that around my mom and she’ll love you forever. She loves it when people take the piss out of me.”

I blinked. Maybe that explained why he kept coming back to the café and trying to befriend me no matter how many times I rebuffed him: he was used to snark meaning love. “Why would I be talking to your mom?”

He folded his arms on the bar and leaned into them, almost knocking over his nearly empty glass. “Because if you want me to help you create the Hanukkah festival of your dreams, you’ll be coming home with me for Hanukkah.”

I laughed. When he didn’t, my own laugh fell off my face. “Are you joking?”

I already knew he wasn’t, but he confirmed. “No. Hanukkah starts next week, and I’m supposed to spend it in New York with my family. I want you to come home with me and pretend that we’re dating.”

Okay, this time I couldn’t hold the laughter back. “That we’re dating ?”

He cast his eyes down at the bar and traced a crack there with his index finger. “You don’t have to remind me that you find the thought of it so hilarious.”

“I…” He was right. I was kind of being a dick. But it wasn’t even the thought of me dating him that I found so hilarious—it was the thought of him wanting to date me . Me, whose own family had cast her out. Me, who was barely even Jewish. Me, who was hanging on to her café and her place here in the community by a thread. I said, “That wasn’t what I meant. I was just surprised.”

His shoulders relaxed a little bit. “Okay. I get that. So, are you in?”

“I still have so many questions,” I said. “Why do you want me, of all people, to be your fake girlfriend? Why do you need a fake girlfriend in the first place?”

He answered me with a question of his own. “Why do you think I was on that app at all?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “My parents don’t love that I moved so far away from them.”

“You’re not that far,” I said. “You don’t even have to fly to get down there.”

“I know, right?” he said, shaking his head. “I could be living across the ocean or something. And they’re worried about me being all alone in a Jewless land. When I say worried , I mean there are weeks where my mom calls me crying every day about how she’s devastated I’m so far away from my family and my community and my people. So if I can bring home a Nice Jewish Girlfriend I met up here who’s keeping me connected, she’ll stop stressing out so much.”

“Aw, you’re a mama’s boy,” I teased. It was maybe the least surprising thing I’d learned about him.

He grumbled, “If I was that much of a mama’s boy, I wouldn’t have moved so far away from her.” He perked up. “So what do you say?”

“Still not done with the questions,” I said. Behind me, a group of guys burst into a rousing chorus of “Jingle Bells.” I sipped my cocktail quietly, waiting for them to finish in a round of cheers, before continuing on. “Obviously, we’re not really dating. Won’t people pick up on that? Like, no offense, but I don’t really want to cuddle up each night in your childhood twin bed.”

“My bed at home is actually a full, thank you very much,” said Seth. “And you don’t have to worry about that. My parents might be Jewish, but they’re pretty WASPy Jews as far as things like PDA go. Nobody’s going to be expecting us to cuddle or kiss. And as far as bed sharing goes, my parents have a rule that under their roof you can’t sleep in the same room unless you’re married. Used to drive my ex crazy that one of us had to take the couch.”

“You’re taking the couch,” I said. “I want the bed.” The words had barely come out of my mouth before I realized what they were. A confirmation. I was…actually considering doing this?

I could ask Maggie, the retiree, to come back in for a week and take care of the café—she already knew what she was doing, and I trusted her. I’d be out the money I had to pay her, but I’d basically be breaking even, which I could survive for a week. And if I could put on the absolute best Hanukkah festival that would already be pricking the ears of all these New Yorkers jonesing for a winter-break getaway…well, I’d be repaid many times over. Like investing in the stock market. Or so I imagined. I didn’t have enough money to invest in the stock market.

“You can have the bed,” Seth said. “Are you in?”

It didn’t seem like the worst idea in the world, but something stayed my tongue. It seemed too rash to agree to something that big on the spur of the moment. I was more prudent than that. “I need some time to think about it.”

“No worries,” Seth said. “Just let me know. Last minute is fine. I think the whole thing is actually more fun if I don’t even warn my parents you’re coming.”

I choked on the last sip of my cranberry drink. It went down the wrong pipe, making my lungs way too festive. “Please don’t make me surprise anyone. What if they say they have no room? Or that they don’t want me there?”

“One, having no room at the inn was how Jesus was born, so maybe that’s how we finally get the Messiah,” Seth said. I snorted back my laugh this time so that I wouldn’t drown in merriment. “And two, you clearly haven’t met my parents, who are maybe the most welcoming people in the world. My mom would rather choke on a ham sandwich than tell a guest she doesn’t have space for them. She’d put you in her bed and sleep on the floor if she had to.” He stopped and considered for a moment. “You’d have to sleep next to my dad, though. And he snores.”

The bartender stopped by to see if we wanted another round. I hesitated. “I shouldn’t. I’m driving after this.”

“Me too,” said Seth. “I probably shouldn’t have more.”

I’d dreaded the thought of coming here in the first place, but now the thought of the night ending, well…it didn’t quite fill me with dread, but it didn’t fill me with delight, either.

Seth said, “How are your mocktails?”

Apparently, the candy cane mocktails were excellent. Seth said, “Great, I’ll try one.” And turned to me.

I sighed, hiding my relief. “Well, if you’re having one, I guess I’ll try one, too.”

I quickly took a sip of mine as soon as it came so that Seth couldn’t suggest a toast. The bartender was right: it was excellent, sweet and minty without tasting like toothpaste. I delicately speared one of the sugared cranberries from the top and popped it in my mouth.

“So, assuming you do come,” Seth said, giving his drink a stir. The separate layers of whatever red and white concoctions they’d laid in the glass spun together. “Will this be your first time in New York?”

I closed my eyes. It wasn’t the stirring or the alcohol, but somehow I was feeling a little dizzy. Maybe it was the glare of lights off all the garish tinsel, or the smells of Seth’s citrusy campfire mixing with the mulled wine spices and mint and sweat of so many people packed close together. The conversations around me all blended into a dull roar.

Probably thinking I hadn’t heard him, Seth prompted, “Have you been to New York before?”

With effort, I opened my eyes. Seth was smiling patiently at me, eyes wide and curious, and as long as I focused on him the room didn’t spin. I said, the words sour in my mouth, “Not in a while.”

It wasn’t a real answer to his question, but he seemed to take it as me saying I hadn’t spent much time there. “You’ll be in for a treat, then. The city is beautiful around the holidays. We’ll take you everywhere. It’ll basically be an all-expenses-paid vacation.” And he went on to tell me all the things we would do, all the things his family liked to do for Hanukkah, how his friend group would welcome me with open arms.

I just sat there with my mocktail, taking sip after sip, knowing that no amount of sweet would erase that sourness from my tongue.