A Year to Remember

by Shelly Bell

  As casually as possible, I took my cell phone out of my purse to send Goldman a quick text. DON’T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT PASSOVER TO ANYONE.

  As luck would have it, Goldman hadn’t turned off his phone for the wedding. Nor did he turn off the ringer. Ten seconds after I hit “send,” his phone beeped. I hoped Caleb wouldn’t notice. No such luck.

  Caleb leaned over and whispered in my ear. “What were you doing?”

  I didn’t want to lie, but I had no choice in the matter. “I sent a text to Missy. She must have forgotten to turn off the ringer.”

  Goldman took his phone out of his pocket and slowly turned his head around. I didn’t want Caleb to see, so I did the only thing I could think of to distract him. I kissed him.

  Even though I kissed Caleb with my eyes closed, I could sense Goldman watching us. When I pulled away from the kiss, Goldman faced straight ahead.

  Hopefully, he wouldn’t do anything to embarrass me tonight. Oh God, who was I kidding? He lived to torment me.

  Goldman put his arm around the woman sitting next to him. A grief-like sensation overwhelmed me as I realized Goldman brought a date to Jill’s wedding.

  I didn’t want to analyze my reaction. It was probably just a symptom of my concussion.

  I put my hand on Caleb’s thigh and smiled at him. He grinned back at me and mouthed the words “I love you.” I tried to mouth back “I love you too,” but I couldn’t. Instead, I blew him a kiss.

  In my mind, I listed all of Caleb’s wonderful qualities, then reminded myself of all of Goldman’s negative traits. I scolded myself for even having a momentary lapse of judgment in thinking there could ever be anything between him and me.

  Goldman had no place in my thoughts or in my heart.

  An hour after the ceremony ended, the doors opened to the reception. As we waited for the doors of the ballroom to open, I tried to nab some of the hors d’oeuvres from the waiters who walked through the lobby. I never caught one.

  I felt vaguely faint, but whether my light-headedness was due to my concussion or from lack of food, I couldn’t be certain. Either way, I needed to find my table and fast.

  Caleb helped me walk into the ballroom and both of our jaws dropped at the sight of the décor. Unsatisfied with having a simple and normal reception, Jill had created her own Midsummer Night Dream here in the hotel. Thousands of twinkling lights covered seven foot tall trees placed around the room, as well as on what appeared to be bonsai trees on each table. Hundreds of stars glowed on the ceiling of the ballroom providing the illusion of the open night sky. I couldn’t decide between labeling it tacky or romantic. I settled on romantic and vowed to use it to my advantage.

  We found our table near the dance floor and were not surprised to learn we’d be sitting with Seth, Emily, Missy, Adam, and his date listed on the table card as ‘and guest.‘ I guess I wasn’t the only one who brought a last minute date to the wedding.

  Thank goodness the waiters brought a basket of rolls to the table while Jill and her husband, Jacob, who I’ve wickedly decided to call Jack, thanked everyone for coming to their wedding.

  “Eating carbs again, Sara?” Seth made it a point of teasing me for every diet I’ve ever attempted. I gave him my usual “fuck you” face and made small talk with Emily.

  Goldman and his date arrived to the table a few minutes after we began eating our salads. As I studied him and his date, I noticed her dress appeared wrinkled and her lipstick smeared.

  “Everyone, this is Becca.” He made a point of looking right at me, a smug, self-satisfied expression on his face.

  “Nice to meet you, Becca,” said the always cordial Caleb.

  The bandleader announced everyone should join Jack and Jill on the dance floor to do the Horah. I hate the Horah. In fact, I have sworn never to dance the Horah again. The dancers hold hands and dance in a circle, usually to the song “Hava Nagila” while strong men lift the Bride and Groom on chairs as they hold a ribbon between them.

  It may sound like fun, but it isn’t. First, the band always chooses the long version. I’ve been at weddings where the guests danced the Horah for thirty minutes. Why would I spend all that time to do my makeup if it’s going to melt off my face at the beginning of the reception? Why would I bother doing my hair if it’s going to frizz from sweating?

  Not to mention the danger of lifting a bride on a chair six feet in the air. I’ve heard horror stories of brides sliding off of the chairs and breaking their arm in the middle of their wedding reception.

  When the band played “Hava Nagila,” I tried to leave the room, but some old lady grabbed my arm and forced me on the dance floor.

  “I shouldn’t dance. I have a concussion,” I yelled, but the old lady couldn’t hear me over the loud music and clapping.

  While I danced, I searched the room for Caleb, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. Then suddenly, my pantyhose started to fall down my legs. I attempted to yank my hands back in order to pull them up, but the old lady and the man on my other side wouldn’t let go. My skirt stopped above the knee and it wouldn’t be more than a few seconds before everyone would notice.

  Missy finagled her way between the old lady and me. “Need some assistance?” She giggled.

  Missy knew of my aversion to the Horah. She did not however, have knowledge of the pantyhose fiasco about to unfold.

  “Missy, I need to get off of the dance floor.”

  “Follow me!” she screamed and wrenched me away.

  We ran out of the ballroom and straight into the bathroom. Jill had also decorated the ladies room in her wedding theme. The girl hadn’t missed a thing. Other than the Horah, she really knew how to throw a beautifully elegant wedding.

  I took off my pantyhose while Missy laughed at me.

  “Thank God you saved me! It’s bad enough people almost saw me with my pantyhose down around my ankles. How about if I tripped and everyone discovered I’m not wearing any underwear?”

  Missy just gawked at me before bursting out in hysterics. “The one time ... you don’t ... wear underwear and ...” She couldn’t stop laughing.

  “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Fuzzball!” I muttered, quoting Star Wars.

  Once she stopped laughing, we returned to the ballroom and discovered the Horah had just finished. We sat to eat our dinner, chicken covered in some sort of sauce. At least I hoped it was chicken. I hate fish, although I was so distracted at my Bat Mitzvah, it wasn’t until the day after my luncheon I realized I ate fish rather than chicken. This time, I checked before I took the first bite. It wasn’t the greatest chicken in the world, but I was hungry enough that I didn’t care.

  Halfway through the meal, I turned to Caleb and whispered, “I’m not wearing any underwear.” I knew he’d be shocked, but I didn’t expect him to choke on his chicken.

  Coughing and sputtering, he drank an entire glass of water before regaining the ability to breathe again. I didn’t know whether to feel guilty or flattered.

  “Everything all right over there?” Goldman asked from across the table.

  “Everything’s fine. Caleb just choked on his chicken.”

  For some reason, that made everyone at the table laugh.

  Caleb cupped my ear and whispered that choking the chicken was a euphemism for masturbation. Then he lightly nipped my earlobe, which sent a tingly feeling all the way down to my toes and distracted me from feeling embarrassed for my lack of knowledge of masturbatory euphemisms.

  “Would you dance with me?” I asked Caleb.

  “Of course.” He led me to the dance floor and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight against him. I relaxed against him, all my earlier concerns about our sexual incompatibility forgotten.

  “What’s the earliest we can leave without offending the bride?”

  “We should at least stay until they cut the cake.” I could always use the excuse I had a concussion, but I didn’t want anyone to know about it. I already had a reputation for being a klutz, but I didn’t need to confirm i
t.

  “Are you really sans underwear right now?” Caleb moved his hand lower and brushed it along my ass. “Yep, no panty lines,” he groaned.

  As a new song played, Goldman interrupted our private moment by asking Caleb if he could dance with me. I could tell Caleb wanted to say no, but he’s too much of a gentleman to say. Caleb went to find Missy to ask her to dance while I danced with Goldman.

  “Becca seems nice.”

  “Yes, she’s very nice.”

  “How’d you meet?”

  “Sara?”

  “Yes, Goldman?”

  “Do you really care how I met Becca?” He searched my face for something, but I wasn’t sure of what.

  “Of course,” I said, even though I really didn’t. In fact, I had hardly talked to her. She could be the biggest bitch in the world for all I knew.

  Goldman chose not to respond to my original question of how he and Becca met. “I see you’re not drinking tonight. Afraid of what you might say this time if you’re drunk?”

  I could tell he didn’t mean any harm from his question, but I didn’t feel up to our usual repartee tonight.

  “No. My doctor told me not to drink.”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “Why? Are you pregnant?” he asked, a little too loudly for my taste.

  “No! No! I kind of hit my head and um, I probably have a concussion, so I’m not allowed to drink alcohol.”

  Goldman’s demeanor went from playful to serious as he began to check my head for the lump. “How did you manage to bump your head, or do I want to know?”

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry,” he said with sincerity.

  “I tripped and hit my head on the wall.”

  “Don’t you think you should have gone to the hospital?”

  “That’s what Caleb wanted, but I convinced him to let me call my doctor instead. I didn’t want to miss the wedding.”

  Goldman made a noise deep in his throat that sounded almost like a growl. “You wouldn’t have been able to get away with that if you were with me.”

  “Excuse me?” This conversation had taken a wrong turn at some point.

  “What are you doing with a guy like Caleb?”

  “What do you mean? What’s wrong with Caleb?”

  “Not a thing for most women.” He paused, then put his hand on my cheek. “But you’re not most women.”

  “Why is Caleb wrong for me?”

  For once Goldman seemed at loss for words. “Because he isn’t Jewish.”

  “So?” Not the answer I hoped for, but what else should I have expected?

  He didn’t say a word, only held me a little tighter.

  The song ended and the bandleader announced Jack and Jill would be cutting the cake. As I pulled out of his embrace, I thought he whispered something along the lines of “because he’s not me,” but I couldn’t be certain. My heart fluttered in my chest, but before I could ask him what he had said, Caleb came over to me to check in on my condition.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m ready to go. Why don’t we say our goodbyes and go home?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” He kissed me full on the lips.

  Although we should have said our congratulatory farewell to Jack and Jill, they were too busy smashing cake into each other’s faces. We decided they’d never remember if we said goodbye anyway.

  I gave hugs to my brother and Missy, careful to ignore Goldman. But I still felt his eyes burning into my back as Caleb and I walked out of the room.

  CHAPTER 20

  MAY 27, 2012

  DETROIT, MICHIGAN

  WEIGHT: 183

  STATUS: COMMITTED

  Caleb and I got ready for bed in a manner reminiscent to old married couples. We each brushed our teeth, put on pajamas, and did all the routine things people completed before going to sleep. That confused me. We weren’t going to sleep, were we?

  I slipped beneath the cool sheets lying on my back trying to determine if I should say something to Caleb or I should just make a move.

  “You should probably wake up every two hours to make sure you’re rousable. You know, because of your concussion. Why don’t you set the alarm?” he suggested.

  “I can think of a better way to wake up,” I teased.

  “I thought you’d be too tired.”

  “I’m not sleepy at all.” I flipped over on my side to face him and placed my hand on his crotch pleased to find him already erect.

  “Oh God, Sara,” he cried and started to kiss me.

  As he kissed me, Goldman’s face flashed in my mind and I replayed our conversation, analyzing everything for hidden meaning. What did he mean when he said I wasn’t like other women? In what way? I didn’t buy his lame explanation about Caleb not being Jewish. What did that matter?

  The more I thought about it, the more I began to fill in the blanks.

  After I said “Why is Caleb wrong for me?” he would answer “Because you need someone who’s passionate. Someone to make your toes curl when he kisses you. Someone who will make love to you thoroughly until you’re blissfully sated. Someone who will challenge you and at the same time understand you. A man like me.” Then, he would have claimed me with a passionate kiss, without caring who saw us.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “What?” Snapping back into the present, I found Caleb regarding me tentatively, again worried about my concussion. Right now, I just really needed to get laid so I could forget all about Goldman.

  “Yes, I really do. Only ... ” Now seemed like as good as time as any to bring up orgasms.

  “I understand your position about ... um… ... going down on me ... but if I don’t come from sex, then we need to ... figure out another way for me to have an orgasm,” I spit out before I lost my nerve.

  “What do you suggest?” he asked, not sounding at all insulted. In fact, he sounded like he might be sort of into it.

  “Well, you could use your hands.”

  “I thought I did.”

  Oh dear. “It’s just the average woman needs twenty-seven minutes of direct stimulation to have an orgasm.”

  “Wow. That seems like a lot.”

  “I could make it a little easier for you. I could show you how I like it.”

  “Sure.”

  I pulled up my nightgown, since I didn’t think I could do this while completely naked. I took off my underwear as he lay on his side, resting on his elbow, watching me.

  “So, I kind of rest my hand here on my, um, mons ...”

  “Mons?”

  “Um, yeah. It’s a word that refers to the part right above the, um, pubic bone.”

  I had spent an hour thinking and researching about how to instruct Caleb on the way to make me come. The only time I ever heard of a mons was in the historical romance novels I had been reading since the eighth grade, but I came across it in my research and it seemed like an easy way to explain where to rest his hand.

  “Okay, mons. Go on.”

  “Then from my angle, it’s easiest for me to use my middle finger, but you could use any one that’s comfortable for you. Then I, I mean, you, could kind of move your finger sort of like this. Then, after a couple of minutes, you put your fingers inside of me while you touch my clitoris at the same time.”

  His eyes were half closed and he was breathing rather heavy. I guess my friends were right. Guys like women to masturbate in front of them.

  “Do you want to try?”

  “I can. Or you could keep going.”

  If I kept this up for about two minutes, I’d have an orgasm. Then why did I need Caleb? I needed him to make me come. Some may say an orgasm is an orgasm, but I refuse to believe that, even though I’ve never had one from anything other than masturbation.

  I often wondered if the problem was with me. Maybe I couldn’t relax enough.

  In college, I read everything I could about how to have an orgasm. They all said the same thing. You have to relax and get totally out of yo
ur head. Don’t think too much. Easier said than done.

  “I’d prefer to have you do it.”

  For the next half hour, Caleb did his best, but sadly, it did nothing for me. He did everything I requested of him and more. His touch didn’t set me on fire. He couldn’t even stimulate a spark. That left me with only one solution.

  “Oh, Caleb. That’s perfect. Yes, yes, yes!”

  I admit it. I faked it. If I told him after thirty minutes of trying he still couldn’t make me come, he’d feel terrible and I’d feel terrible. Clearly, this wasn’t his fault. Why should he feel terrible? This was my problem and I needed to take one for the team. I’m sure over the years I’ll become more relaxed and comfortable. If not, there’s always a vibrator.

  I heard the ripping of a condom wrapper and then Caleb entered me. At least I think he did. A few minutes later, he rolled over and fell asleep.

  How long did I need to wait to make certain he was asleep before I could finish what I started earlier? Five minutes? Ten? When he snored a few minutes later, I knew it was safe. My fingers find the right spot and five minutes after, I fell asleep wondering if Goldman and Becca were having sex at that very moment.

  The next morning Caleb asked me to go with him to visit his family in New Jersey the following weekend. Knowing that meeting the parents was the step before engagement, I happily accepted. We bought the plane tickets and reserved the hotel online before he left to go home.

  He wanted to see me during the week but I needed some time to think before we spent an entire weekend together. That was a big step, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I should be ecstatic, but instead, I felt a nagging uneasiness.

  The only one who could tell me what to do was Missy. Of course, I called her right away and asked if we could meet for lunch.

  I saw my doctor at the Urgent Care Clinic he helped to administer and he confirmed I had a mild concussion. As long as I felt better, I didn’t need any tests. Satisfied with that answer, I left the doctor’s office and went straight to my lunch with Missy.