I’d barely finished when Aunt Rachel, Noah’s mom, poked her head inside. “Edward, dinner’s ready—oh, hello, Shira.”
“Hi, Aunt Rachel.” I pushed to my feet and hovered until Grandpa was also standing, then looped my arm through his, offering silent support as we made our way to the dining room.
Most meals were taken in the great room, but when we wanted the whole family to be able to sit inside, we ate in the older, central portion of the house. The formal dining room had enough stately chairs around the mahogany table to seat a dozen adults. Opened doors led into a parlor, where we had seating for the cousins.
My table consisted of the older cousins: me, Noah (and Abby), David and his brothers, and Miriam. The middles and littles sat at the other table, and two-year-old Steffie sat in a high chair with the adults. Grandma and Grandpa had six children, which struck most people as excessive, but I loved having over a dozen cousins and almost as many aunts and uncles.
As Grandma picked up the matchbook at the main table, I picked up the one on ours. Iris, the triplets’ ringleader, picked up the matches at the younger kids’ table. Then I hesitated, gaze flicking to Abby. I’d fight the boys tooth and nail to light the menorah first, and Miriam would always give me precedence, but Mom and Grandma would 100 percent expect me to give this to Abby, a guest. I held the matchbook out. “Want to?”
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head quickly. “Another night.”
This shouldn’t have made me think more favorably of her, but it did.
“All right, everyone,” Grandma said. She looked around the room to confirm our attention, then struck her match, light flaring at the tip. Iris and I followed. “Baruch atah Adonai...”
We sang the blessing, each table a half step off, laughing and chattering as the shammash was reinstalled. Then, from ancient, stapled packets of paper, we sang everyone’s favorite songs before diving into dinner. I breathed in deeply, inhaling the smell of hot wax and fire and latkes and applesauce and cinnamon. If I could bottle a smell, I would bottle this one.
After dinner, everyone traipsed back into the great room. The adults drank wine and the kids ate milk chocolate gelt. The triplets started distributing the gift bags and packages that everyone had placed by the fireplaces. We ripped in, no orderly manner for us: the littles and middles went wild, the adults more measured, the older cousins in between. People called out in excitement and thanks, shouting over each other and waving gifts.
I’d made everyone DIY sugar scrubs and gotten Mom and Dad matching slippers and coffee mugs. I got a book from Noah and Abby, and from Grandma and Grandpa a pair of earrings. The various aunts and uncles gave gift cards, lotions, and candles. Grandma received two one-thousand-piece puzzles, which we’d all work on throughout the week.
I unwrapped a white cardboard box from Mom and Dad and opened it to find an elegant white sweater. I turned to Mom, beaming. “This is so nice! Thank you!”
“Happy Hanukkah.” Mom kissed the top of my head.
Happy Hanukkah.
Once all the gifts were opened and the chaos had quieted into mild disarray, Iris, the oldest of the triplets, waved her arms. David and I shot each other wary looks. Triplet trouble: you couldn’t avoid it. “I’d like everyone’s attention! Can I get all the cousins upstairs?”
“One of these years, I’m going to get her a bullhorn,” David muttered to me.
“Don’t you dare.”
Pushing to our feet, we trailed through the labyrinthine halls and staircases to the cousins’ hang-out room. Situated on the second story, it had a sweeping view of the lawn and gardens and sea. Couches and beanbag chairs and board games and an entertainment system filled it, and the adults generally left us in peace here.
I squeezed onto one couch alongside Miriam and David, while Ethan—second oldest, just shy of eighteen—claimed one of the coveted recliners. “What’s up, triple threats?” he asked.
Iris nodded as though Ethan’s question had been in earnest. She clapped twice for everyone’s attention, Lily and Rose perched on either side of her like a row of identical caryatids. “We’ve decided to put on a play.”
A play. Of course. We were lucky it wasn’t a musical; the triplets’ bat mitzvahs had been Broadway-themed.
“It’s a Hanukkah play,” Iris continued. “I will be the director and narrator and General Holofernes. Rose will be Judah Maccabee. Lily will be Judith.”
“Sounds fun.” Noah made to stand. “Abby and I will bow out, though.”
Iris threw a pillow at him with deadly accuracy. “Sit down. You’re not getting out of this. You’re Mattathias. Don’t worry, he dies at the end of the first act.”
Noah sat down.
“What ishappening?” David hissed in my ear as the triplets handed out scripts with character names scribbled at the top. “Why do we give them so much power?”
“It’s your fault,” Miriam said from my other side. “You guys are the oldest. You should have pulled the plug years ago.”
I gaped at her in betrayal. “Noahis the oldest! And Ethan!”
Lily arrived, handing me a script. “You’re my handmaiden.”
Judith, I was familiar with; her handmaiden, less so. I had the vague feeling she showed up in paintings and looked beleaguered. “What do I do?”
