Love You a Latke

Chapter 8

8

Hugging has never been my thing. Being tucked up right against somebody’s sweat and hair and odors, wrapped in arms so that you can’t get away, and wondering if they can smell or feel anything weird about you? No thank you.

But it wasn’t like I could sidestep the mother of my fake boyfriend, or ask her if she’d prefer a handshake (I would actually prefer to greet someone without having to touch their skin at all, but for whatever reason that doesn’t seem to be an option. Society, get on that). So when she, upon Seth and I walking into their airy, sunny apartment and him introducing me to her as his girlfriend, swooped in for a hug, I just gritted my teeth and let it happen.

It could have been worse, I supposed. She was soft and round and smelled like cinnamon, though that only made me more self-conscious that I probably smelled like stale car sweat and my road snack of turkey jerky.

After what felt like about three hours, she released me. I took an immediate step back and sucked in a breath of clean air. The apartment itself, or at least the small chunk of it I could see upon walking into the main living area, was really nice: built-in bookshelves filled with Reese’s Book Club picks and foil-bound editions of classic novels; cozy mismatched furniture in bright colors and plaids that should have clashed but somehow didn’t; pictures of Seth and his parents at all ages lining the mantel above a grand fireplace. I seized upon that and figured I’d start with a compliment, because who didn’t like that? “It’s so nice to meet you. You have a beautiful home.”

She clasped her hands before her. I’d expect a woman with an apartment like this to have polished, manicured nails, but hers were short and unadorned. “Thank you so much, Abby. It’s absolutely delightful to meet you, too.” She shot a chagrined look at Seth. “I only wish my son had told me you were coming. I would have been more prepared.”

“I’m very sorry,” I said, shooting my own annoyed look at Seth. This whole situation was weird enough; why did he have to make it weirder by springing me on his parents out of nowhere? “I didn’t realize he was serious when he told me I was going to be a surprise.”

“You should always take me seriously,” Seth said brightly. “Come on, both of you, it’s better this way. Less stress for all of us. Mom, you would’ve worked yourself into a frenzy trying to make sure everything was perfect. Now we can all relax.”

I was truly impressed by the force in Seth’s mom’s glare, and truly surprised it didn’t reduce him to a smoking pile of ashes. By the time she turned back to me, it had melted into a warm, welcoming smile. Kind of scary. “By the way, dear, I’m Bev. It’s short for Beverly, but nobody calls me that,” she said. “Please, take a seat and relax. Let me go get Seth’s father. He probably has his headphones in and is dead to the world.”

She bustled out of the room and down a hallway. I obediently took a seat on the red and yellow plaid couch, perched on the edge of the cushion. Seth sat beside me, close enough to touch without actually touching me. He asked, “Everything okay so far?”

“Your mother is lovely,” I said. “I like her more than you at this point.”

He touched a hand to his chest in mock pain. “You wound me.” He cocked his head, considering. “Though, to be fair, she probably likes you more than me right now, too.”

We didn’t get a chance to say anything else to each other before Bev came back down the hallway, tugging by the hand one of the tallest, thinnest men I’d ever seen. “This is Seth’s father,” she told me. “Benjamin, introduce yourself.”

His mustache—dark hair speckled with gray—twitched. “I think you just introduced me.”

“Nonsense.”

The mustache twitched again, but Seth’s dad stepped forward and held out his hand. That was my kind of greeting. Well, more my kind of greeting than a hug was anyway. “Hello. I’m Seth’s father. My name is Benjamin.” It was too bad he looked nothing like a Ben, because Ben and Bev would’ve sounded adorable together.

Benjamin’s handshake was strong and firm without threatening to crush my fingers. “Hi, I’m Seth’s girlfriend. Abby.”

Somehow, between all the introducing and sitting, Bev had conjured up a platter of cookies and some teacups, which she placed on the coffee table between splayed copies of Bon Appétit and Architectural Digest . “These are lime shortbread, and these are chocolate hazelnut biscotti. Pick your choice of tea, too, and I’ll bring in hot water.”

I chose a floral herbal mix, not wanting to introduce more caffeine to my wired nerves, and soon enough Bev was back with hot water for it to steep. “So,” she said over her own cup of tea, as she and Benjamin sat down in a pair of armchairs facing us. One was green; the other was brown leather. “Abby, since we haven’t heard anything about you, you’ll have to fill us in. Tell us all about yourself.”

I cleared my throat and took a sip of tea to stall. It was sweet and pleasantly bitter. “Well, I grew up in the area, in Riverdale,” I said, feeling a bit like I was at an interview for a job I didn’t really want. “Now I run a café up in Vermont. It’s a small operation, just me right now. I make and sell artisan coffee and some easy breakfast and lunch food. Um, it’s a lot of work but a lot of fun.”

Bev’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, so you’re ‘the cute girl at the coffee shop’ Seth looked forward to seeing every morning! How nice that worked out.”

My eyes darted to Seth, who was redder than a steamed lobster. “ Mom ,” he said, his voice strangled.

“What?” she said. “You’re dating now, aren’t you? So she knows you think she’s cute.”

Something wanted to jump out of my throat. I wasn’t sure whether it was a laugh or a cough. Seth must have started laying the groundwork for our fake relationship before we left so that it wasn’t a total surprise when he showed up with me. I had to assume that, because the thought of him actually thinking I was cute and looking forward to seeing me every morning? It made my insides squirm in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, like going on a roller coaster.

“Anyway,” Bev continued. “So that’s how you met? At the coffee shop?”

Seth jumped in before I could respond, his voice still thin and oddly high. “Sure, I thought she was cute, but she was so grumpy all the time, I didn’t know if we could ever make it work.”

Grumpy? Me? I got my hackles up, but they deflated pretty quickly. Honestly, it fit.

“She always had this attitude,” Seth said. “Sometimes she wouldn’t give me the whipped cream I paid for just because she didn’t feel like it. Or she’d snark at me when I wished her a good morning. You know. But I got past it.”

Okay, now my hackles rose and stayed up. He got past it ? Seriously?

Come on, Abby , I told myself. Be a good fake girlfriend. Nice and sweet and demure and whatever. Remember the festival.

But my mouth opened on its own. “How generous of you to get past it,” I said breezily. I turned to Bev with a wry smile, hoping she’d think I was joking. “He might have thought I was grumpy and difficult at first, but I thought he was so annoying. Like, I’d just be trying to get through my day, get all my orders right and deal with problem customers, and he’d be in there trying to chat with me about how nice it was outside or how he just loooooves the smell of autumn.”

I’d gone too far, I immediately thought, but Bev laughed. “Sounds like Seth,” she said.

I should probably smile, too, to show that I wasn’t being serious, even though I was. I stretched open my lips, negating my usual resting bitch face.

“So the two of you started off getting on each other’s nerves, but obviously that changed,” Bev said. “What happened?”

Seth glanced at me. “Well. It was a wild day.”

“The wildest day,” I said, jumping in. Not a chance I was going to sit here silently and let him emphasize how grumpy and difficult I was. Even if, it occurred to me a second later, that was exactly what a good fake girlfriend would do. Because what did it really matter? He was the one who would be stuck with these people for the rest of his life, while I would never see them again after seven more days, so what did it matter what they thought of me?

It was too late, though. The words were already spilling out of my mouth. “Seth had come by in the morning for his usual sugary latte, and it was storming outside. Pouring down buckets. Lightning flashing in the sky.”

“Are you sure about that, dear?” Seth asked. He cocked his head at me, grinning a little. “I remember it being bright and sunny.”

I felt a smile twitch at my own lips. “No, it was definitely storming. How could you forget? Considering you’d just come in for your morning sugary latte and the ceiling opened up.”

“You’re right, how could I forget,” Seth said, raising his eyebrows at me, like he was challenging me not to laugh. “It was pretty unforgettable how the water poured right on your head.”

The image was absurd. I swallowed the laugh down so he wouldn’t get the satisfaction. “Seth leapt forward to rescue me, but I was screaming about the expensive coffee machine. It wasn’t like I’d gotten a blowout that morning—my hair could take a soaking, and I could always wash my clothes. But my espresso machine?”

“Right,” Seth said. His parents were glancing back and forth between us as if we were bouncing a Ping-Pong ball from hand to hand. “You were screaming in panic, looking like a drowned rat, scrabbling in place trying to stay upright as the water tried to drown you, and all you would say was, ‘Save the machine!’ So I gallantly dove into the fray and moved the machine to a dry table, then went back in for you.”

“If only you hadn’t slipped and fallen!” I interrupted.

“I fell?” Seth was raising his eyebrows, his lips pressing together hard like he, too, was trying not to burst out laughing. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll never get the image out of my head,” I said earnestly, turning my eyes up to the ceiling, because if I spent any longer looking at his face I was definitely going to explode. “I was standing there with the water beating down on me almost like a massage, trying to calculate how much this was going to cost to fix, only to have you come sliding into me like a soggy Rollerblader.”

“How could I forget literally knocking you off your feet?” Seth’s voice was strangled now.

Do not look, Abby. Stick the landing. “You’re misremembering again, because I didn’t fall,” I said. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. “You don’t remember how I had to stoop down and drag you out of the fray so that you wouldn’t be like that urban legend of a turkey who drowned because it was too stupid to stop looking up at the rain?”

“Somehow I did not remember that.”

“I’m not sure how; it was very memorable.”

“That’s right. I’m remembering now,” said Seth. “The water was so slippery and moving so much that you might not have fallen at first, but you fell after dragging me out of the waterfall. Leaving us both lying on our backs in the pool, turkeys looking up at the downpour.”

My deep breath shook with the effort it took not to laugh. I almost broke when I looked at him to see him grinning at me with his eyebrows raised.

But I didn’t. I held strong as I said, “And that was, of course, when you saw fit to ask me out.”

That did it. He burst out laughing. I looked down, smirking with victory, as he covered his face with his hands, shoulders shaking.

“Sounds…romantic,” Bev said doubtfully. “But what about your ceiling?”

Right. If that had happened in real life, I would’ve been freaking out, because I definitely would not have been able to afford the café being closed while my landlord lackadaisically arranged for the repair. Maybe I would’ve finally gotten to be the target of one of Lorna’s emergency meetings. “Oh, it all worked out,” I said, because the less specific detail I gave her, the better. “But, you know, I want to hear about you, too. Seth told me you’re a podiatrist and a lawyer, right? Those jobs sound very interesting.”

Immediate brownie points for me as Benjamin’s face lit up. “It’s extremely interesting. I’ve spent most of my career working with tax and estate law—”

“Oh, she doesn’t want to hear about tax codes and people’s feet,” Bev interrupted, though the pleased expression on her face told me I’d gotten some brownie points from her, too. “I’d much rather hear more about you. What about your first date?”

Not going to lie, I was actually kind of curious to hear about being a foot doctor. What drove a person to go through medical school and residency and all the red tape and lack of sleep and everything only to focus on feet, maybe the least essential part of the body? Also one of the smelliest and the ugliest?

But I was a good fake girlfriend and I wasn’t going to press. “Oh, our first date was much more romantic.” The holiday pop-up bar we’d gone to had opened in October, so we theoretically could have been together for two months after going there on our first date. We expounded upon the atmosphere, the drinks, his invitation to come and meet his family. Which was all true. Technically.

“How lovely,” Bev said. “Now, Abby, you said you grew up around here, didn’t you? What’s your last name?”

“Cohen,” I said, and braced myself for the reaction I knew I’d get.

I wasn’t disappointed. Bev’s entire face lit up, and she clasped her hands under her chin. Benjamin’s lips creased in a tiny smile. I figured those were equivalent emotional reactions for them. “Oh, so you’re Jewish?” I confirmed with a nod. “How wonderful. Not that we’d have anything against you if you weren’t. Where are you from?”

For the next several minutes we played Jewish geography, another thing I’d braced myself for—what if they knew my parents? Fortunately, they didn’t, but they did know the parents of a couple kids I’d gone to camp with and one of my old neighbors, and we spent a few more minutes debating if they knew some of my distant cousins or if they just had common names. It was kind of nice, feeling connected to the community again. No matter that I hadn’t talked to any of the people we were discussing in years. I was still a part of the web.

“Well, they’re all lovely people,” Bev said finally, which was a lie about at least one of my cousins. “And what brought you to the middle of nowhere in Vermont?”

“I went up for a relationship and stayed because I liked it,” I said.

Bev pursed her lips. “Oh, but it’s just so far away. And there’s no community up there. I hate that Seth is up there all alone.”

There was plenty of community, just not Jewish community. But I understood what she meant. I’d almost forgotten how nice it was to be surrounded by people who knew your inside references, who wouldn’t prejudge you for your ethnicity or religion (your synagogue membership or your specific level of observance, though, sure).

But this was only temporary, I reminded myself. So don’t get too comfortable.

The silence was stretching on too long. You’re here to be a good fake girlfriend, Abby. So I plopped my arm over Seth’s shoulders and made myself smile. The skin of his neck was warm against my bare forearm. “We’re not up there all alone anymore.”

Bev gave us a tremulous smile. Her eyes were just shiny enough where I suspected she might be ready to cry. “And I’m so glad for it.”

My tea was growing cold. I took a sip anyway so that I’d have something else to focus on besides that gooey look on her face. My nerves were starting to dance under my skin, begging for a break from the interrogation and the cheery attitude.

As if he could read my mind—or maybe it was just the fact that my arm had tightened around his neck—Seth jumped in. “What are we going to do for dinner tonight? Should we take Abby out to one of our favorite places?” He’d barely let Bev nod before he continued. “We spent a lot of time in the car. Do you want to freshen up a bit, Abby? Maybe take a quick nap or a shower?”

Oh, thank god. I didn’t even need a nap; I just had to sit by myself in a quiet room for a minute. “That sounds great.”

Seth stood and motioned toward the hallway as if he were about to give me a sweeping bow. “Because I am a gentleman, I will gift you my old bedroom while I take the couch. Let me show you where it is.”

I nodded with a look that I hoped expressed appreciation. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate it for real—I truly needed this break—but I’d been told my face wasn’t the best at expressing emotions. Resting bitch face strikes again. I’d gotten “Why does the cashier always look so angry?” on more than a few comment cards.

I’d stopped putting out comment cards.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bev said, waving her hand in the air.

Oh no. Was she going to insist that her darling son have his old room back while I stayed out here in the main area where she could watch me sleep and force-feed me warm milk at three in the morning?

She continued, “The two of you should share the bedroom. It’s fine with me.”

Seth’s jaw hung open. “But…you never let me share the bedroom with Freya. I always had to sleep on the couch.”

Freya. His old girlfriend. I pictured a Viking goddess, icy blond hair swooping into braided buns and light blue eyes peering down at me from a face sculpted of cut glass. She’d definitely be cold if we ran into each other, I thought. Maybe she’d try to harpoon me.

Bev waved her hand in the air again. “Oh, times have changed.”

Seth scoffed, raising one thick black eyebrow. Funnily enough, his dad was doing the same exact thing right now with his same exact thick black eyebrow. “Times have changed? Or is it the girl who’s changed?” He had an edge to his voice now. “I always thought you liked Freya.”

“I did like Freya,” Bev said. “Must we discuss your ex-girlfriend in front of your new girlfriend? I don’t think Abby came all the way here for that.”

“I really don’t mind sleeping separately,” I said, steering the conversation away, even though I was kind of interested in hearing more about Freya. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable in your own home. I’m happy to go by your rules.”

“And I really don’t mind allowing you two to share Seth’s room,” she said. “You’re welcome here.”

Seth glanced at her darkly, that edge still to his voice. “This conversation isn’t over.”

“Of course it’s not, dear,” she said. Her voice was mild but hard underneath. Seth’s edge wouldn’t be able to cut it no matter how sharp it got. “I’m always around to talk whenever you want. In fact, we should talk more often. I’d love it if you called me more.”

Seth sighed and grabbed my bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. The equivalent of a dog rolling over and showing its belly to the dog with bigger, scarier fangs. “Come on, Abby. I’ll show you to my— our —room.”

The hallway branched off the living room on the far end of the kitchen. I peeked into a small, lavender-scented bathroom before Seth opened the door across from it. “Here’s my old room slash the guest room slash the office.”

I stepped inside. Whatever the slashes, it was clear they hadn’t changed much about this room since Seth moved out aside from maybe shoving a desk under the window and adding some decorative pillows to the head of the bed. Otherwise, it was all baseball bedding and navy blue walls covered with sports posters and framed pages from comic books. The room’s bookshelf teemed with middle grade and young adult sci-fi and fantasy novels, thick paperbacks with creased spines.

Seth followed me in, closing the door behind me. He leaned in, like his parents would otherwise be able to overhear his whisper through the door and down the hallway. Though who knew? Maybe Bev had tiptoed after us and had her ear pressed against the wood. “Sorry about that. I can take the floor.”

Because, of course, there was only one bed. One full-size bed, tight for two people but not too tight. It would be perfect if I were a real girlfriend who wanted to cuddle and, you know, not a fake one who had no desire to cuddle through the night even when in a real relationship. I slept hot. Cuddling all night just made me sweaty. “Okay,” I said. “I guess. You don’t think that’ll be a problem, though? What if your mom pops in to wake us up and finds you on the floor? Won’t she think that’s weird?”

He didn’t even bother trying to tell me that his mom wouldn’t barge in on us while we were sleeping. “Probably,” he said. “But we could just tell her you kick a lot in your sleep or something?”

“Why am I the kicker?”

He shrugged. “Because it was never an issue with past girlfriends, so it would be weird if it suddenly came up now?”

But how would his mom know, considering he’d never shared a bed with one here? Whatever. It didn’t really matter. I was only here for eight nights and then I was out. “We can figure it out later. Can I have a few minutes to chill?”

“Of course. That’s why I got us out of the living room,” Seth said, but he didn’t move. I coughed, widening my eyes and moving them meaningfully toward the door. Now he moved, but farther into the room, which was not the intention. “Anything you wanted to talk about?”

I cleared my throat. “I, um.” Why did asking for a moment alone feel so awkward and weird? Maybe because Seth didn’t seem to be the kind of person who valued alone time. If anything, he seemed like the kind of person who did his best to never be alone ever. “No, I was thinking of maybe taking a nap. Like you said.”

“Oh, okay. Got it. Can’t blame you.” He moved toward the door, hands in his pockets. He glanced over his shoulder before leaving. “Anything you need to be comfortable? Do you want to take a shower or something? Not, like, with me. That’s not what I meant. I just meant, there are towels in the closet next to the bathroom and soap in the—”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t think you meant you wanted to take a shower with me,” I said dryly. He nodded, then opened the door to reveal Bev standing there, fist raised as if she were either about to knock or punch her son in the nose. I hastened to add, “Because that would be awkward in your parents’ house, obviously. Not because we haven’t done it before. Plenty of times.”

Nailed it. The pained expressions on both his and his mother’s face testified to that .

Hey, maybe by the end of this Hanukkah season, I would have so horrified his mother that she’d be kissing the feet of whatever non-Jewish girl Seth dated next.

“Sorry about that, Bev,” I said. “I didn’t realize you were there.”

The pained expression quickly resolved itself into a bright smile. “I just wanted to tell the two of you something I forgot.” She produced two long strips of paper and held them out to Seth, who took them. In contrast, the pained expression on his face settled in for the long haul. If he used my own headache ranking system, I’d say he was preparing for a Category 3. “I couldn’t help but get tickets for the Eighth Night Ball. They were fundraising for the HIAS, so it was for a good cause.”

“Tickets for you and Dad?” Seth’s voice barely strained with hope.

Bev rolled her eyes. “You know perfectly well that the Eighth Night Ball is far too fashionable for the likes of us. Also, it’s much too late at night. No, they’re for you and Abby.”

Though I’d never gone, I had vague memories of the Eighth Night Ball from when I lived around here, because it got written up in all the Jewish publications and friends’ older siblings and parents had posted their glamorous getups beneath twinkling white lights and garlands. The charity ball typically took place on the last night of Hanukkah; everybody got fully dolled up to see and be seen. I’d always kind of wanted to go.

“Mom, I don’t dance,” Seth argued.

But Seth clearly didn’t want to go, and I was here to be a good fake girlfriend, not don a Disney Princess gown and be swirled around beneath glittering crystal chandeliers to the elegant tunes of a string quartet. So I said, “I don’t have anything to wear.”

Bev started with Seth. “You do too dance. I’ve seen you.”

“At what? My bar mitzvah?”

“You had a very good sense of rhythm for a thirteen-year-old,” she said. Point apparently made, she turned to me. “And don’t you worry about that. I figured you wouldn’t bring any formal gowns with you. I’ll have it taken care of.”

“Oh, I can’t possibly.” Even renting a formal gown was expensive. I couldn’t afford it, and the idea of letting my fake boyfriend’s mother take care of it filled me with guilt.

“I insist. It would make me so happy.”

If you’ve never tried to argue with your stereotypical Jewish mother about something, let me set the scene for you. Picture trying to wrestle a greased golden retriever, all while it gazes at you with big, sad puppy dog eyes. Oh, and it’s also two sizes bigger than you. With large teeth. And opposable thumbs.

Point being: I’d already lost. “That’s so kind of you.”

She beamed at us. “The two of you are going to look so handsome together. I can’t wait for all of our friends to see you.”

“I’ll hold on to the tickets,” Seth said. “Hopefully, I don’t lose them. Or accidentally light them on fire.”

“Don’t you worry,” Bev said with an angelic smile. “I purchased them digitally. So if you lose them, or burn them, all I have to do is print them out again.”

What the hell. She already had us. “It sounds like so much fun,” I said. “Thanks so much.”

“Of course,” she said. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” She stepped away, even closing the door behind her, leaving Seth and me alone in the room. He stared after her, probably thinking something about how she never would’ve behaved this way with his Viking goddess.

“Hey,” I said, stepping closer. “It won’t be so bad.” It was kind of funny, this role reversal. That I would be the one telling Seth things weren’t so bad. Just to make it extra ironic, I said, “Look on the bright side.” But then I couldn’t figure out what the bright side would be for him, so it only did so much.

He made a face, hopefully coming to a deep and powerful understanding of how irritating his personality could be. But then he smiled, as if he was indeed looking on the bright side. Ugh. “You’re right. I’m glad you’re excited about it, at least. That will make it fun.”

What did it matter, when I was just a fake girlfriend? But I supposed he was one of those annoying people who made their day by making other people happy.

But before I could say anything about it, he was gone, leaving me totally, blissfully, alone. Or maybe it wasn’t total, or even entirely blissful, because that last smile of his lingered in the air before me like the afterimage of a flash photo.