VIPs like Kara had an iridescent blue one, embedded with the same microchip, but re-programmed slightly. It wouldn’t work on the door Jonah was able to open using the scanner above the door handle. He unclipped the chain and ushered her through, then set it back on its hook behind him before letting the door swing closed.
The small deck was perched just outside the captain’s bridge, where officers were monitoring glowing screens. Its light was just enough to guide them to the railing’s edge, overlooking the ceremony that was about to begin. His throat thickened with overwhelm, as it always did at this point in the festivities, but tonight it carried the tiniest twinge of guilt for ducking out on the annual ritual with his closest friends. They’d understand…maybe.
His phone gave a ping, deep in his pocket. Then another.
It’s nowhere near sundown where I am …but thinking you might be doing the bracha in a bit.
* * *
Leave it to Sylvie. His friend had almost comedic timing. Under normal circumstances, he might even entertain the notion of livestreaming the ceremony, or bringing her up on FaceTime so she could be with them in digital spirit.
Sneaking up to the captain’s deck with Kara Koff was absolutely not normal circumstances.
Miss you…but this does not suck.
The second text was followed by an image of a beach, illuminating his screen in the dark. Its colors almost too saturated to be believed, but he knew Sylvie avoided filters. White surf, blue water, and glittery, exotic black sand. He was glad she had found somewhere beautiful to be, if she couldn’t be with them just yet. Jonah quickly hearted the photo so she’d know he had seen it, then silenced and pocketed his phone.
He felt Kara’s breath hitch beside him before he heard it, and knew he had chosen the perfect spot.
But everything else was wrong.
For one thing, Jay wasn’t the one climbing the ladder. It was some dude Jonah had never seen before, wearing a gold kippah and looking back down at the crowd. No, back down at Libby – the only one of their crew Jonah could spot from his vantage point. She looked impeccable, as always, in a knockout short red dress. The expression on her face was a swirl of emotion, but Jonah knew her subtle tells. Something had thrown her for a loop.
“Shabbat shalom!” The guy boomed into the mic, and the crowd – Kara included – greeted him back. Jonah mumbled absently, a beat behind.
Where the hell was Jay…or Avi, Nora, and Talia for that matter? Were they wondering the same about him? He scanned the outskirts of the crowd below for Asher, for Beck. Leah and Rebecca should’ve been close by, too. Nada.
So much for tradition.
And here he thought a Baller without Sylvie would feel strange. This was downright fucking weird.
He tried to concentrate on what was being said, on the important accolades of The Trevor Project as this year’s charity of choice. And on the sheer luck of having the entire top deck to themselves, with Kara’s perfumed shoulder brushing up against him as she leaned to take everything in. The skyline glittered in her irises, she was that close.
He checked his phone. No group text, no nothing. Just as his thumb was hovering over the keys, the prayer began…and he didn’t want to be that asshole, texting through it.
“Baruch atah Adonai…”
At least one tradition hadn’t changed. As a crowd, they chanted. Except for Kara. For Jonah, her audience of one, Kara sang. And the lilting melody blew him right back to his childhood.
Back to the Room to Bloom holiday special, each year.
She sang the entire prayer, just like Rosie used to.
Well, duh. Watch the end credits much, Captain Obvious? That role was her life for like, years.
Yeah, but a lot has changed since then.
At the moment, it didn’t feel like it. Watching her gaze as the lamps illuminated one by one until five were twinkling across the harbor, Jonah saw the delight of the girl who used to light up his living room in primetime. She clasped her hands to her chest, letting those long lashes close against her rosy cheeks.
Rosie Fucking Bloom.
With not a trace of Vanta Blackmore.
“Worth the price of admission,” she breathed. His low chuckle agreed. “Thanks for finding this spot.”
“Stick with me, kid.” His attempt at Roaring Twenties-era gangster was pretty pathetic, but his Jersey accent helped. “We’ll go places.”
She grinned. “How about a place with more of those kugel ravioli?”
