‘I’m glad you were there,’ Cohen told her.
‘It was the right place for me to be. He was a good man, you know. A good man. Just not a very good husband. Or, in the end, a very good father. Well.’ Esther handed Cohen a mug of black coffee. ‘Well, we all have our strengths and weaknesses. He just wasn’t meant to be a family man.’
Esther sat back at the table, one hand idly going to her mother’s ring. She gave a deep sigh, before pushing it towards Cohen.
‘You should keep this,’ she told him.
‘I have no use for it,’ Cohen replied. ‘When I get married again, I’m going to give my intended a ring of her own. I don’t want her to have any legacies of heartbreak or sadness on her finger.’
He meant that. When he married River, he wanted her to wear a ring from him that was – and would only ever be – hers alone.
‘What should I do with this then?’ Esther put the ring back in the box.
For once, Cohen didn’t miss a beat. ‘Save it for a granddaughter,’ he suggested, sipping at his coffee.
Esther almost glared at him. ‘Don’t tease me like that,’ she chided.
‘I mean it, Mother,’ he told her, his voice serious. ‘I’m thinking about getting married again.’
Esther stared at him. ‘What?’
‘I’m thinking about getting married again. Soon, I hope. Well, as soon as we can arrange—’
‘—you’re getting married. Again?’ Esther repeated.
‘Yes,’ Cohen said slowly. ‘I’m thinking about getting married. Again.’
‘Is she Jewish?’
Cohen grimaced but bit his tongue. Because he knew that for all Esther might now try to be his friend, in some respects she would always be his mother.His over-bearing, Jewish mother.
But he loved her for it.
‘No,’ he said.
Esther suppressed a frown. ‘Who is she?’
‘She lives in London. She’s twenty-six and deaf.’
Esther’s mouth fell unattractively open. She was silent for a full minute while Cohen calmly drank his coffee.
‘Mother?’ he finally asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Esther began slowly. ‘I don’t know what to do with any of that information, Cohen. It’s the first day of Hanukkah.The first day of Hanukkahand you’re sitting there, drinking your black coffee and casually telling me you’re thinking about getting married again? And to a gentile woman who lives in London? Are you kidding me, Cohen?’
‘Nope.’
‘And this twenty-six-year old is not only British but deaf?’
Cohen nodded again.
Esther breathed out. ‘I didn’t know you knew sign language.’
‘I don’t. But I’m learning.’
‘Oh, that’s nice.’ Esther’s voice was unnervingly tight. ‘Have you gone crazy, Cohen?Oy vey, but you can’t do this. You can’t marry a woman who isn’t American; a woman you can’t even talk to. A womanwho isn’t even Jewish.’
‘Yes, I can,’ Cohen replied patiently.
