"I had been trying so hard not to be my usual self tonight. Right down to this monkey suit. But honestly, playing this role? Even though I was so unqualified for it…deep down it's the most authentic I've felt in a long time. Thinking on my feet, protecting you – it's been a no-brainer."
"Thank you. For all that. And for seeing me. Not Kara. Just... me."
He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. "Tzipi Solokoff. The most interesting person on this boat. And probably in all of New York City."
"You're laying it on pretty thick."
"Is it working?"
She squeezed his hand. "Maybe a little."
A chime sounded through the PA. Five minutes until the drag show.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Not even remotely."
"Good." He smiled. "Neither am I. Let's do this anyway."
And for the first time all night, Tzipi felt like maybe—just maybe—she wasn't drowning anymore.
Look for the helpers.
His parents had, with their retro TV watching, made sure he and his siblings had a healthy dose of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood growing up. They’d learned not only to look for the helpers if they saw something scary as kids, but to also become the helpers, when they grew up. Probably why Jules had gone into teaching, Jess had followed in their mom’s librarian footsteps, and Jillian had become a nurse.
He breathed a sigh of relief, watching Tzipi safe at the table with the two rabbis and their close-knit congregation. She was posing for selfies with the head rabbi’s wife and her friends and chatting animatedly. Making their night.
Sure, she was still playing a part. But it was what she’d been asked to do. And for all intents and purposes, she was pretty good at it.
He laughed at himself. Jonah Klein, superfan.
She caught his eye, and the smile she gave him was 100% “the other one.”
Around his own table, the OG Ballers were coming into the home stretch. Beck would appreciate that baseball analogy. He held Nora on his lap, his hands spanning her belly. Jonah imagined that scene playing out over the next six months; Beck’s hand there for the first flutters, the kicks, and finally, for the coaching at the hospital when the little slugger was up to home plate. Okay, that was a weird analogy. But he was so happy for them.
And for Asher and Talia, sitting across from him. He didn’t want to know where her right hand was, given the grin on his buddy’s face, but her left hand was resting on the table, tapping to the beat of Matzo Belle’s “Challah-back Girl,” and Jonah couldn’t wait to see it rocking the bling Asher was going to offer up within the hour.
Jay was in his glory – a rare moment off his feet, sitting and being thoroughly entertained. No doubt loving the venerable drag queen making him the center of attention for a moment as she shook her money maker – and tzedakah box – on behalf of the Baller. Even Rebecca looked relaxed, startling Jonah with a wink his way when she caught him looking at her. He raised his brows, incredulous at how she’d managed to step right back in and keep the ship afloat, especially after all of Reggie’s underhanded fuckery.
Next to him, Libby sighed. Took a swig of wine. Her long legs were crossed, one over the other, and she was swinging her foot to the beat of the music, but her gaze was roaming elsewhere.
“Avi Wolfson? Come on up, honey! Channel your inner Elton with me. Or your inner Kikki Dee, you choose!”
She whistled as Avi hopped nimbly onto the stage.
“Don’t go breakin’ my heart, Matzo Belle,” he warned into the mic she handed him, and the crowd went wild as the femme fatale shook her wig emphatically.
They had all stepped up, his friends, in some way or another. As helpers. They had come through for Jay last minute when he needed them, but for each other, too. And for him.
He hoped it would always be this way.
The minute Matzo Belle took her final curtsy, Jonah was up and out of his chair. Approaching the table where Tzipi continued to chat and charm.
He offered his arm. “Midnight toast by the menorah?”
Chapter Nineteen
If ever there was a time when Jonah wished Sylvie was here, it was now. He pictured her with three cameras hanging off her tiny frame, and tears in her eyes. They’d be happy tears though, like the ones welling up in his own, as he tried to do the moment justice with his phone.
