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Having to worry about a hate crime, I didn’t add. But I’d already decided I wasn’t going to dwell on that. Besides, what he’d mentioned did make me feel like I wanted to smile.

Not that I actually smiled. As previously mentioned, my face didn’t always like to listen to the rest of me. Impulsively, I asked, “What do you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, your job,” I said. “If you told me before, I forgot.” He blinked at me, apparently surprised. “If I’m supposed to be a good fake girlfriend, I should probably know what you spend most of your time doing.”

“Probably true,” he said. “I’m a dog food taster.”

I boggled at him. “What?”

“You know,” he said. “That big factory up near Burlington? Someone has to taste the dog food and make sure it’s up to par.” I had no idea what to say to that. He continued, “It’s not too bad. Though I have developed a taste for horse. And it’s amazing how many wines you can pair with it. A good red really covers up the aftertaste.”

His lips were twitching. I smacked him on the shoulder the same way, I realized a moment too late, that his mom had yesterday. “You’re joking.”

“I am. Though it is a real job, you know,” he said. “I wish I had a more serious face so that I didn’t give it away. Imagine how hilarious it would’ve been if we were out to dinner with my parents and you started talking about how my breath tastes like tinned horse when we kiss.”

“Is horse even kosher?” I asked. It didn’t matter. None of us kept strictly kosher anyway. “So what do you actually do?”

He shrugged. “The real answer is way more boring, I’m sad to say. I’m in data analysis. Not glamorous, but the pay is decent, it’s remote, and the hours are pretty good.”

More than anyone could say for my job, to tell you the truth. “What data do you analyze?”

He dove into a word salad of financial and marketing buzzwords that left my head spinning. It was a relief when the guests of honor—I missed who exactly they were, but they were all dressed up and grinning from ear to ear—got up to light the menorah.

The massive candle burst into flame, lighting up the night. Was it my imagination, or had the Christmas music from the fair area dimmed? Only the drummers were still going, their thuds like a heartbeat. I opened my mouth to sing the blessings, and it was like the words weren’t just coming from inside me; they were flowing through me from the people all around. Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu Melech ha’olam…

Out of nowhere, I felt Seth press something into my hand. I looked down. A tissue?

I swiped it at my cheek out of instinct. It came away slightly damp, but I was not crying. I had no reason to cry. If my eyes were a little bit shiny, it was nothing but a trick of the light.

10

The next day was a synagogue charity event, which Bev was very excited about. Over breakfast, she told me about all the people I would meet (or, in her words, all the people she would “get to show me off to”). Barbara Horowitz, who had a tendency to lie about how much money her son made. Helen Goldberg, whose botched boob job had given her a serious case of uniboob. Eva Hallac, who had cheated in order to win the rainbow cookie Bake-Off against Bev last year. (Over his newspaper, Benjamin, not looking up, said, “She didn’t cheat.” “Did so,” said Bev, which evolved into an argument that ended in Bev pettily drinking the rest of Benjamin’s coffee and then making a sour face at its lack of sugar.)

During the argument, Seth popped in, freshly showered, hair curling damp around his ears. “Oh, man,” he said as Bev was grimacing into the empty mug and Benjamin was smiling smugly behind his paper. “I’m really sad we’re going to have to miss it.”

“What?” Bev said with dismay. “But all of my friends are going to be so disappointed.”

“Sorry,” said Seth. He didn’t sound sorry at all. “But we have big plans.” He didn’t specify what those big plans were. I managed to hold back on asking until he’d reached a bargain with Bev that we’d miss the event but meet them for lunch afterward and I had to ask him how I should dress for said big plans.

“These plans had better be pretty damn great for me to miss out on seeing the uniboob,” I told him. “Your mom said you can see the one nipple poking through her shirt, like a Cyclops.”

“Trust me, I’ve seen it and it’s not nearly that impressive,” Seth said. “Just wear your regular clothes. Anything is fine.”

Clad in my jeans, a purple sweater, and my pea coat, I ventured out with Seth into the cold. Or coldish—today wasn’t all that bad. “So?” I said, once we were on the sidewalk. “Where are we going?”

He grinned at me. The green of his own sweater set off the green flecks in his eyes, made them sparkle above the dark brush of his beard. “No idea. Any thoughts?”

I gaped at him, thumping him lightly on the arm. Beneath the soft weave of his sweater, I could feel his muscle flex. I pulled my hand away before it could linger too long, try to figure out how many bicep curls he’d done in the last few weeks. “I thought we had big plans.”

“We do have a big plan,” Seth said. “And that big plan is not going to the synagogue charity event.”

“Why do you hate charity?”

That smile was still playing on his lips. “Doing good things for other people is the worst.”

I rolled my eyes. He went on. “Really, it’s probably for the best we aren’t going. My mom will feel so guilty that she RSVP’d yes for me and I didn’t show that she’ll donate twice as much to make up for it. Hey, want to go see dinosaurs?”