My phone buzzed. Mom, probably checking to make sure I’d made it to Golden Doors. I hopped off my seat and walked into the hall so we could have a semiprivate conversation. “Hi.”
“Hi. Did you get to the house okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Um—I split a taxi with Tyler Nelson. His house didn’t have power, so he came over here.”
“Oh.” Mom sounded startled, but not unpleasantly so. “Do you two have food?”
“I think so. We haven’t looked yet.” I winced at the admittance. “I’m sure there’s pizza in the freezer or something.”
“Okay, good. Everything’s working?”
“Yeah, it’s totally fine, Mom. What are you guys up to?”
“We’re back at Aunt Liz’s—we got takeout, since no one expected to be here. We’re about to light the menorah. Do you want to FaceTime?”
A deep ache opened in my stomach. Part of me wanted to see her, see the whole family. On the first night of Hanukkah, we always sang “Sevivon” and “The Dreidel Song” and “Light One Candle.” It hurt, the idea they might sing without me. But if I watched everyone from a distance, I’d feel even worse when I hung up. “No, thanks—I need to start decorating anyway.”
“Are you sure? Here, I’ll—”
“Mom, it’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Why did you snap?” she said immediately. “What’s wrong?”
I sighed. “Nothing’s wrong. I don’t want to leave Tyler alone.”
“Okay. Well. We’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she said, and hung up.
CHAPTER FOUR
Back in the great room, I plopped back down at the island counter across from Tyler. “Here’s the deal,” I said. “It’s the first night of Hanukkah, and tomorrow my family’s arriving.”
“Happy Hanukkah.”
“Thanks.” I strove for a tone of practical briskness. “So. We have to do a couple things.”
“Light the menorah?”
I pulled back. “No. Decorate the house.”
Though I would like to light the menorah. How hard could it be to find? At home, our menorah lived on a bookshelf in the living room year-round. Menorah on the bookcase, Elijah’s cup in the cupboard, Shabbat candleholders on the sideboard.
But I’d never lit a menorah without my family surrounding me.Would it be weird with Tyler here? What would he do—watchme sing the prayers? Awkward. Also, I was not exactly vocally gifted.
Then again, I already felt guilty after snapping at my mom, and not lighting a menorah would only increase the guilt. A pickle: guilt or awkwardness.
Obviously parental guilt smashed everything else flat.
“Maybe we’ll light the menorah, too,” I relented. “But first we have to carry boxes down from the attic. Think of it as your rent.”
I unearthed a box of candles and a matchbook in the pantry and found the brass menorah in the formal dining room. Next, I led Tyler upstairs. He looked curiously at everything as we moved upward through the house, trailing his hands across painting frames and couches and even stroking the curtains.
“You keep touching things.”
“I’m a tactile person,” he said offhandedly. “When I was little and my moms took me shopping, I used to touch all the fabric in the stores.”
