The Kiddush Ladies

by Susan Sofayov

  Naomi opened the door. Laurie stood on her front porch, pink cheeked and grinning.

  “Well?” she asked as a devilish glint sparked from her eyes. “Sex? No sex?”

  “Stop it!” Naomi playfully swatted her friend’s arm. “I told you, he kissed me good night. Don’t get all excited. It was a friendly kiss not a kiss-kiss.”

  “Aw...”

  Naomi tried not to laugh, but the disappointment registering on Lauri’s face cracked her up.

  “Stop laughing,” Laurie scolded. “This is serious. You deserve a good roll between the sheets. Are you going to see each other again?” She tugged off her left boot and dropped it onto the small rug next to the door. It was supposed to be for Ezra’s friend’s wet shoes, but the boys ignored it.

  “You know we are. Esther’s Shabbat dinner next week. Remember, her grand attempt at matchmaking.”

  “I love that woman,” Laurie replied as she hung her coat in the hallway closet. “Pour me a cup of coffee and tell me about your date.”

  “No.”

  Laurie followed Naomi into the kitchen and settled into Jake’s old spot at the table. Naomi walked to the refrigerator and grabbed the small carton of half and half from the shelf. She filled the cup and handed it to her friend. “We have more important topics to discuss. Last night, I may have discovered the source of the Becky-Miriam mess.” It pained Naomi to convey such intimate information to Laurie, almost slanderous. But who else could she trust with the information? Under normal circumstances, when she needed advice she called Becky or Miriam or both. More than any time in her life, she needed advice. Because she didn’t have any idea how to approach either woman with this information.

  Laurie would keep the secret and only use the knowledge to help the situation. Spreading gossip wasn’t her style. She was a natural born listener. Naomi inhaled and on her exhale, she launched into the story.

  Laurie left Naomi’s house at 10:30 a.m., declaring herself stumped. Together, they failed to generate one decent plan for mediating the mess. Naomi’s date with Aaron became a mere footnote in the conversation.

  Naomi tidied up the kitchen, walked through her living room and dining room, holding a dust rag but not doing much dusting. Ezra and his friends woke and invaded the kitchen. The three very tall teenage boys begged her to make pancakes. She relented without much of a fight and became pleasantly distracted, listening to them talk about school, girls, and video games. Then the phone rang.

  “Don’t you ever check your voicemail?” Excitement always made Miriam’s voice squeakier. Today, not even an oil can would have helped.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Well, I called you three times last night. We need to talk. I think I found the solution. I’ll meet you at Panera in an hour--my treat.”

  Naomi hit the end call button and stared at the small screen. She scrolled through her contacts and hit the send button on the listing for “Mom.”

  Her mother answered after the third ring and launched into her usual interrogation regarding the well-being of Josh and Ezra. Naomi knew it was best to let mother do what she needed to do. Naomi referred to her mom’s phone style as firecracker speech--open with a barrage of questions, barely listen to the answers, and eventually run out of things to ask. Sometimes it tried Naomi’s patience, but there was no way to stop it.

  Naomi answered the final question about the boys and without missing an inhale, her mom launched into a dramatic description of the wonderful dinner she and her dad attended the evening before at some couple named Aronson’s house.

  “Mom, I need to ask you an important question. Please, tell me about the dinner another time.”

  “Okay, what’s the question?” her mother asked, not the least bit sensitive to the graceful way Naomi just told her to shut up.

  “I heard an awful story and you’re the only person I know who may be capable of verifying the truth of it.”

  “Wow, honey, this sounds serious. Tell me.” Her mom used the word “serious,” but her tone rang excited, like she was about to become involved in a fun mystery.

  “Is it true that Miriam’s dad and Becky’s mom had an affair after Miriam’s mom died?”

  Silence...Breathing...

  “Mom?”

  “Who told you this?”

  “Not important.”

  “Yes, it’s true. But it isn’t a simple story.”

  “Of course it’s simple. They either slept together or they didn’t.” Naomi clenched her fist and rolled her neck. Her mom’s answer smacked her into the realization that mediating those two puffer fish was going to be deadly.

  “I hate talking on this phone. I wish you were here. It would be easier,” her mom said.

  “Just talk.”

  “The three of us were best friends, just like you, Becky, and Miriam. You remember Agnes, Miriam’s mother? She was an amazing seamstress--should have worked in Paris. But she wasn’t a very warm person by nature. Always a bit distant, but I loved her anyway. Most people don’t know this, but Miriam’s parents were an arranged marriage.

  “Arranged marriage, as in no choice?”

  “I don’t know the exact details of the arrangement, I just know the parents shook hands and Agnes and Al were married.

  Naomi’s mind drifted from her mother’s words. An arranged marriage? Like the burka wearing women in Afghanistan? Arranged marriages only happened in third world countries or novels. They most certainly didn’t happen to women like Miriam’s mother. A woman who no one ever described as a cupcake. Agnes swatted her wooden spoon at any kid who cursed or, even worse, stepped a toe into her sewing room without an invitation.

  “Al grew-up in the house next door to Agnes. He loved her from the time he was old enough to notice girls, which could explain why the parents made the match in the first place. Agnes didn’t love Al. She was a dutiful wife and a good mother, but I don’t believe she ever came to feel any real warmth toward him. And Hashem knows how hard he tried to earn her affection--fancy vacations, a beautiful house, and all the other trappings of success.”

  “Okay, I’ll accept that she agreed to the arrangement, but why didn’t she leave him? A lot of parents in the old neighborhood got divorced.”

  “The man Agnes loved died in Korea,” her mom replied. “She was heartbroken when the news of his death arrived.”

  “Okay, I get the story. Now connect it to Becky’s mom, please.”

  “This part is harder. Miriam’s dad and Becky’s dad went to high school together, played baseball together, and roomed together in college. If one of them was a girl, they would have married--inseparable”

  “Then this affair must have killed Becky’s father.”

  “That’s the odd part of this story. Their friendship caused the situation. After Miriam’s mother died, Al spent his evenings with Becky’s parents, Sam and Mildred. Sam and Al went from being two buddies to a threesome.” Her mom chuckled. “Threesome, how appropriate is that word?”

  “Not funny.”

  “Sorry. Anyway, during all the time they spent together, Mildred fell in love with Miriam’s dad. She loved Sam and she loved Al. She cried to me about it all of the time, saying Agnes was so cold and Al deserved a little love. She tried to hide it from her husband, but you know how small Squirrel Hill is.”

  “Why did Sam stay with her?” Naomi asked?

  “I can’t answer that question. When Mildred killed herself, I feared what Sam would do--afraid he would go after Al. But she battled demons much more powerful than guilt over an affair.”

  Naomi heard the pain in her mother’s voice.

  “I’ll never forget the day Becky found Mildred lying on the bathroom floor. Sam called me. I could barely understand a word he said, but I knew enough to drop what I was doing and run to their house. One of the worse days of my life. She was and always will be my best friend and I do know this, Sam loved Mildred until the day he died.”

  “I think Becky found out about the affair. She’s refus
ing to invite Miriam to Noah’s wedding.”

  Her mother moaned.

  Naomi imagined her shaking her head and pursing her lips. “It’s as if I’m in the middle of a fight between sisters. It’s awful.”

  “Speaking of sisters, how’s yours? Since the last baby, she never calls. Do you see her?”

  “I try to call or stop by at least once a week. She’s fine, just exhausted as usual. Mom, back to Miriam and Becky, please.”

  “Naomi, I don’t know what to tell you. The situation caused everyone pain, but it happened a long time ago. It shouldn’t have any bearing on Miriam and Becky’s friendship.”

  Naomi hung-up the phone and walked to her china cabinet, wishing her mother’s last statement was true, but she doubted it. The bottom drawer contained the bag of peanut M&Ms she kept hidden from herself. Only five left--bummer. It was time to meet Miriam.

  ***

  Miriam waved to her from a booth in the back of the restaurant. Naomi navigated through the aisle and around a few orange tray toting customers. She curled into the booth and set her bag down.

  “Joe and I are going to send Noah and Maria on honeymoon to Israel!” Miriam blurted, twiddling her fingers like she always did when she was excited. “But I promised, my treat. What do you want to eat?”

  “I’m not hungry. Just a cup of coffee.”

  “Let’s celebrate and eat something gooey and calorie infested.” Miriam pulled her wallet from her purse. “I’ll be right back.”

  Naomi leaned forward and put her head down, resting it on her crossed forearms. What the hell? This is getting worse. Yoga breathe. She inhaled through her nose and exhaled slowly, straightening in her seat and rubbing her temples. Inside her purse, her phone vibrated. She looked at the screen, not a phone call, a text message. I had a great time last night and have the afternoon free. Would you be interested in meeting me at the museum? Remember the Hall of Architecture?

  Naomi bit her bottom lip, unable to ignore the flash of embarrassment rushing through her. The last time they went to the museum together, a docent caught them making out in the back corner of the Hall of Architecture. The upset woman lectured them on the inappropriateness of public displays of affection and asked them to leave. Instead of leaving, Aaron pulled her by the arm into the Botany Hall, and they picked up where they left off.

  What time? she typed back.

  At 2:00. The clock on the cell phone read noon. Would love to meet you. Having coffee with Miriam now. If I’m a few minutes late, forgive me, she typed slowly on the phone that Ezra suggested donating to the Smithsonian.

  Miriam set the tray on the table. “Who are you typing at?”

  “Aaron, he asked me to meet him at the museum at two.”

  Miriam pushed the tray toward Naomi. “One coffee and a sesame bagel, cream cheese, and butter on the side. I didn’t know which you would be in the mood for. There are two squirts of half and half in your coffee--just the way you like it. This little dalliance with Aaron is getting exciting.” She said “getting exciting” in a sing-song voice.

  “Thanks for the bagel.” Naomi sipped the hot coffee. “This coffee is perfect. And, as for Aaron, no excitement, just friends catching up.” After the words left her mouth, Naomi wondered if she was a hundred percent sure she was telling the truth. But now wasn’t the time to contemplate that subject. She switched her attention back to the situation sitting across the table. “Why are you buying Noah a honeymoon and how will this solve the problem?”

  Miriam launched into the same speech she gave Joe.

  Naomi sat ramrod straight, listening and slowly rolling her coffee cup between her hands. “That is an incredibly generous offer. But I don’t want to see you get hurt if it doesn’t work. You know how stubborn Becky is.”

  Miriam leaned back into the vinyl pad of the booth. Her eyes began to tear. “You and Becky are my only family. I know you’re not real family, but you’re the closest thing I have. Someday, my kids will get married, and I won’t have one family member to invite to the wedding--only your family and Becky’s. Do you understand why this balagan is killing me?”

  Naomi reached over and patted her friend’s hand. “I know that’s why this bullshit is killing you. It’s killing me, too, but, I don’t know how to help.”

  “If Becky would tell me what I did, I’d apologize. When I call her, she hangs up on me.”

  Naomi stared into her coffee cup, mentally wrestling with the information she held.

  Tears dripped down her friend’s face. Naomi knew that this was not the time to bring up the affair. She needed to speak with Becky first. “If you believe this honeymoon plan will soften Becky, do what you need to do. I’ll pray it jars her out of this what-ever-it-is, but you have to prepare yourself for the possibility of it backfiring.”

  Miriam blew her nose on the rough brown napkin. “I could never hurt her like she’s hurting me.”

  Naomi squeezed Miriam’s hand a bit tighter. “I know.” But the words brought back a long-buried memory...

  ***

  They loved hanging out in Miriam’s bedroom. It was so pretty, walls painted pale pink, white furniture and a pink eyelet comforter covered her bed. “Becky, you know you’re not allowed to use nail polish in Miriam’s room,” Naomi said.

  Becky sat on the edge of the bed, nail polish remover between her legs and a bottle of bright red nail polish resting on her thigh. “Don’t worry, nothing is going to happen.” As she turned her head to look at Naomi, the nail polish toppled off her leg. The red polish oozed from the bottle and onto the pristine fabric of the comforter.

  “Oh, my gosh.” Naomi watched as a blood-red liquid stain grew bigger by the second. “You’re dead.”

  “Quick, hand me a towel.” Becky’s eyes filled with panic.

  The towel just smeared the stain, making it worse. “When Miriam gets out of the bathroom, she’ll see the stain. What am I going to say? She’s going to kill me. Maybe I should wet the towel with nail polish remover.”

  Naomi shook her head. “That will smear it even more.”

  Becky stared at the red mark, no longer trying to remove it. Her head shot up when the bedroom door open. “Woo,” she exhaled--Miriam, not her mother.

  When she noticed the splotch, Miriam’s eyes widened and she rushed to the bed. “What the heck, Becky?” she asked, gathering the stained part of her comforter into her hand.

  “I’m so sorry, Miriam. I’ll tell your mom, I did it. I snuck in the nail polish and tried to paint my nails while you were in the bathroom. You didn’t know anything about it. If I tell her the truth, she can’t be mad at you.”

  “Yes, she will. She’ll be mad at both of us,” Miriam replied, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. “Actually, she’ll be furious at all three of us. Naomi, you should have stopped her.”

  “Me?” Naomi looked at Miriam as though she had left her brain in the bathroom. “No one can talk Becky out of anything.”

  The three girls sat silently, staring at the massive mess.

  “It’s reversible,” Miriam practically shouted. “Let’s flip it over, that way my mom won’t notice it for a few days. Then, I’ll say I did it, and you two won’t get in trouble.”

  “Miriam, that’s not fair. You weren’t even in the room when it happened,” Naomi said, walking over to the bed. Together, she and Miriam lifted the blanket, flipped it over, and remade it in her mother’s approved fashion.

  Miriam sat down on the floor. “You’re my friends. Why should all three of us get in trouble? I’ll be grounded no matter what, so I’ll take all the blame.”

  ***

  Naomi entered The Carnegie Museum of Natural History through the rear entrance. As she began her descent down the ramp that led to the lobby, she spotted Aaron at the bottom. He waved before she could. His smile could have melted the steel sculptures lining the giant foyer. His eyes made her long for the warm sand of the Caribbean. Such the opposite of Jake, his gray eyes smoldered, but lacked warmth--a
deep, cold New England sea.

  As much as she hated to admit it, there were nights she lay beside Jake, remembering what it felt like to be wrapped in Aaron’s arms. Actually, what she fantasized about most was the way Aaron kissed her on the soft spot behind her ear. She raised her arm slightly over her head and waved back.

  He greeted her with a huge hug and then stepped back to loop the string of the admission tag around the button of her blouse. She stifled a laugh, because this tiny touch aroused her more than Jake had in years.

  “Art side first or natural history side?” he asked, while giving a slight tug to the tag to make sure it wouldn’t come off.

  “You pick.”

  “Art.” He linked his fingers through hers and led her back to the ramp she just walked down.

  They wandered through the galleries laughing like college students, making fun of the fat women splayed across the canvases of the old masters. In the abstract section, prompted by a large white canvas with blue drips, they told each other stories of their children’s adventures in elementary school. When they reached an enormous sculpture comprised of giant paper clips, coat hangers, railroad ties, and pink ribbons, Aaron doubled over laughing.

  Naomi looked at the artwork. “I don’t get it.”

  “Of course you don’t. There’s nothing to get. I met this guy at a cocktail party once.”

  Again, he started laughing. This time Naomi joined in, not having any idea why she was laughing, other than watching him do it made her happy.

  Aaron caught his breath. “He was dressed in a broccoli-green silk shirt, a kilt, and combat boots. He insisted everyone refer to him as R Squared. I was with my ex-wife. He tried to convince her to model for his next sculpture. Seeing this, I wish she’d done it. She would be a sculpture of shark teeth, money and slim fast cans.”