Unorthodox Love by Heidi Shertok

Author:Heidi Shertok
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“To wear dreams on one’s feet is to begin to give a reality to one’s dreams.”

—Roger Vivier

“Hey, guys.” I give my mother a quick peck on the cheek and smile at Libby as I dump the grocery bags, filled with cream cheese, cottage cheese, and butter, onto the kitchen counter. Shavuos starts tonight, and as far as Jewish holidays go, this one isn’t half bad—unless you’re lactose intolerant. Since we received the Torah on a Saturday and couldn’t cook because of the no-work-on-Shabbos thing, we stuff ourselves with lasagna, cheesecake, and ice cream.

“I had to go to three different stores for these ingredients,” I announce, “but don’t feel bad.” Although they totally should.

“Three?” Libby’s eyes widen as she glances over her shoulder at me. “Why so many?”

I bite my lower lip, wishing I had kept my mouth shut. The truth is that I was distracted because the voices in my head were holding a staff meeting regarding the Zevi situation. I’m starting to think that Sam and Delilah might be right—Libby is an adult. She doesn’t need anyone to save her.

To pretend I didn’t hear her question, I bury my head in the refrigerator and start putting away the groceries. My mother asks Libby to hand her a spatula and a cup of sugar, and by the time I poke my head out, Libby seems to have moved on.

“What’s next?” I ask, knowing there’s probably a list of chores a mile long. Since there’s no work allowed for the next two days, everything from cooking to laundry, to watering the plants all has to be done before sunset tonight.

“Thanks honey,” my mother says, pouring flour into a measuring cup. “Could you set the table? We’re having twelve people tonight.”

“Paper or real?”

My mother hesitates. Shabbos and holidays are supposed to be celebrated with the finest linens and dishes to distinguish them from regular weekdays, but my mother hates doing the dishes so she sometimes “cheats” by using fancy disposable plates and cups.

“I’ll do the washing for you,” I say after a beat, then telepathically message: Please say paper, please say paper.

“Just use paper,” Libby says. “It’s easier and no one cares. We’ve worked hard enough as it is.”

I couldn’t agree more. Technically speaking, all I did was shop for some ingredients, but still. Did I mention I had to go to three stores?

“Okay, okay. Paper it is.” My mother looks up from the cookbook in her hand and turns to me. “We’ll have three courses, but keep the soup bowls and dessert plates in the kitchen.”

I head to the cabinet at the far end of the room and start pulling out paper plates. “Why is it so quiet? Where are the kids?”

“They’re at the park with Fraydie,” Libby replies. I raise my eyebrows, and Libby responds, “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

I snort. Fraydie is fine handling the kids as long as A)a friend doesn’t call and distract her and B)she doesn’t rear end anyone’s cars, which C)she’s done at least three times now.

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