"Brian, I've worked for you for eight years. In that time, you've never once made a decision that wasn't calculated to the last decimal point. Then you spend one night in Pittsburgh during a snowstorm, and suddenly you're reading books, signing multi-year leases, and restructuring your entire agency."
Put like that, it does sound wild. "I'll introduce you when you come out to set up the office," I promise.
"I'm holding you to that. Oh, and your mother called. Twice. Something about candles."
Right. Night six of Hanukkah. "I'll call her back."
After ending the call, I check my watch—3:15 PM. I try Noa again, but it goes straight to voicemail this time. Her phone might be off or have a dead battery. No reason to worry yet.
By six o’clock, after three more unanswered calls and two text messages, concern has taken root. I pace my hotel room, alternately rationalizing and envisioning worst-case scenarios. She's busy with the shop. Her phone died. She's having second thoughts and avoiding me.
Unable to stand it any longer, I grab my coat and head back to Butler Street. The winter evening has settled over the city, and streetlamps cast pools of light on the sidewalks. When I reach Bishop Books, my heart sinks. The shop is dark, with a “CLOSED” sign prominently displayed.
I cup my hands around my eyes and peer through the window. No movement inside. Looking up at her apartment windows, I see only darkness there as well.
A chill that has nothing to do with the December air runs through me. Did she flee? Did I come on too strong this morning? Or am I just being paranoid? Here I am, having just signed a three-year lease basically on her doorstep, and I can't even reach her.
Back at the hotel, I stare at the menorah I've traveled with for years. Six candles for tonight, plus the helper. Normally, I light it alone in whatever city I happen to be in, a solitary ritual that's become so routine I barely think about it.
But lighting the candles with Noa felt different. Like the ritual had meaning again beyond obligation.
The clock on the nightstand reads 7:30 PM. Time to call my mother before she sends a search party. I set up my laptop for a video call, positioning it so she can see the menorah.
Her face appears on screen, eyebrows already raised in silent question. "There you are! I was starting to worry."
"Sorry, Ma. Busy day."
"Too busy for your mother?" But she's smiling as she says it. "Rachel's here too. We're about to light the candles."
My sister leans into the frame. "Hey, stranger. Nice hotel room. Where are you this time?"
"Still in Pittsburgh, actually."
My mother's eyes narrow. "You're supposed to be in Newark by now with us. Your flight was this morning."
"Change of plans." I arrange the candles in my menorah, avoiding her gaze. "I'm staying in Pittsburgh for... a while."
"Define 'a while,'" Rachel says.
"I signed a three-year office lease today."
Silence, then a chorus of exclamations. I wait for them to quiet down before continuing.
"I'm restructuring the agency. Focusing personally on the Stag clients while building a team to handle the others."
My mother studies me through the screen. "This is very sudden."
"It makes business sense," I say automatically.
"Bullshit," Rachel replies. "This is about a woman."
I should deny, deflect, or change the subject. Instead, I sigh. "Her name is Noa."
My mother's face lights up. "Noa? A nice Jewish girl?"
"Yes, Ma. She owns a bookstore."
"A bookstore!" My mother clasps her hands together. "Intelligent, then. And Jewish? When do we meet her?"
