Well, it wasn’t a stupid lobby—it was a very nice lobby, which was why Mrs. Ruziak set so many dates there. But Judah had always hated the lack of easy distractions, the way it threw you into the conversational deep end. Still, it was the easiest spot from which to make a quick exit, and so he returned, time and time again.
It was always August for Judah Klein.
As he made his way to the seating area, he thought about the dossier Mrs. Ruziak had given him on his date. Batsheva… something. Rubin, maybe. She was an occupational therapist—very smart, Mrs. Ruziak promised, and very pretty. He had no reason to doubt either one; his favorite thing about Mrs. Ruziak was that unlike so many others, she didn’t dabble in false advertising. Well, nottoomuch, anyway.
Not for the first time, he wondered what she said about him, how she convinced all these smart and pretty girls that single at thirty-two, with zero relationships under his belt and a career that was successful but in no way steady, he was a catch.
He spotted Batsheva immediately; she was the only woman sitting by herself in one of the leaf-patterned armchairs, and she was obviously waiting for someone, scrolling on her phone to kill time. She was so engrossed in whatever she was watching, in fact, that she didn’t notice him approaching until he was standing right across from her, and they both cringed when he realized exactly what she was losing herself in.
Him.
“Sorry about that.” A fervent blush rose to her cheeks as she fumbled with her phone, trying to shut off the video and instead accidentally raising the volume. He politely pretended he didn’t hear his very familiar rendition of “HaMalakh HaGo’el” blaring from the speaker, the very one he used to sing to his little brotherat bedtime when they were kids, and then to his baby half sisters back when his dad still made the time to call.
The one he thought he’d be singing to his own children by now.
It was a good reminder of why he was there, at least.
“Sorry if you’ve been waiting a while,” he said once the phone had blessedly disappeared into her bag, even though he’d been right on time, as he always was. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I’d love a Diet Coke,” she said with a smile. A nice smile. She was indeed pretty, if in an utterly forgettable way, the way they all seemed to be: light skin, dark hair ironed pin-straight, slim figure, a seasonally appropriate sweater-skirt combination with the latter covering the knee, even when seated… God, but he’d had this exact date so many times.
Stompy McGlaremaid’s wild honey-colored curls flashed through his brain. She definitely didn’t seem like the kind of girl who sat primly and patiently in hotel lobbies, and certainly not the kind whose knees were always covered.
She didn’t seem like the kind of girl whose hotel dates would be confined to the lobby, either.
He blinked the unwelcome thought out of his head and ordered a Diet Coke and an herbal tea, then braced himself for the getting-to-know-you conversation. Mrs. Ruziak had already given him the basics—schools, parents, siblings, and so on—but he had never mastered jumping right into discussing things like ideals for raising families. He knew he made an awkward conversation partner, but given her clear fandom of his music, Judah guessed Batsheva would be a little more forgiving on that front.
Or, she might’ve been if they’d ever gotten there. Instead, she jumped right to “You have such an amazing voice. Is it true you’re on Tani Silver’s next album?”
It was, but Judah racked his brain to remember if that was public knowledge yet, then recalled his cousin-slash-assistant, Lev, saying something about social media graphics and sharing theannouncement. “I am, yes. Tani’s a very talented guitarist; it was a lot of fun to work on. We did a duet on a new song of his that I think people are really going to love.”
“I’m sure,” she said, her dark eyes bright. She really was pretty, and he hated how deeply wasted on him it was. He couldseethat she was pretty, knew it intellectually, but it didn’tdoanything for him, didn’t spark a feeling or a curiosity or, well, anything. Mrs. Ruziak had asked him more than once about his “type,” but the truth was, no matter how many different kinds of girls he dated—short or tall, blond or redheaded—he simply didn’t know or care.
He’d assumed that was normal, until he’d made an offhand comment to the friend he learned with every weekday morning, and Nate had looked at him so tragically that he’d kept those thoughts to himself from then on. Chavrusas were for Talmud study, not puzzling out his lacking libido.
But he wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this.
How did you choose someone to spend yourlifewith when everyone felt the same to you? When one after another was perfectly lovely and checked off all the boxes from the shidduch questionnaire, and you still could not bring yourself to care to see a single one a second time?
And yet, he knew he was lucky to have these choices. He was benefiting from not simply his minor level of fame but also the fact that he was in decent shape and had all his hair and owned his own place (albeit a studio) on the Upper East Side. He knew that too.
He just wished there were a questionnaire he could fill out that narrowed his prospects down to Girls He’d Remember Five Minutes After the Date Was Over.
“Do you think you could—I know this is such a weird thing to ask, but is there any way you’d sing for me?”
Judah blinked. He’d almost forgotten Batsheva was sitting across from him. He reached instinctively for his teacup and realized he didn’t even know when it had gotten there. “I don’t thinkthey’d appreciate a performance here,” he said weakly, taking a sip simply to have something to do with his hands.
“Well, the guy who was playing violin over there is on a break, so maybe they’d be okay with a replacement.” She pointed out a small area he hadn’t even noticed, where a hotel employee stood guard over a closed violin case. “You should ask.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’ll ask,” she said before he could reject the idea out of hand. He’d certainly credit her one thing—he wasn’t going to forget this date quite as easily as all the others. Between the bridesmaid and Batsheva, it seemed to be the week for meeting aggressive women. But at least the bridesmaid hadn’t been giving off stalker vibes. It had been almost refreshing to see a woman handle him with an attitude instead of whatever this was.
“She says it’s fine!” Batsheva said with a wide smile, a deep dimple punctuating her cheek. “I told her you’re a well-known wedding singer, and even showed her one of your videos. She loved it!”
Judah blinked again. He’d been so sure the hotel would tell Batsheva to buzz off that he hadn’t actually thought about what to do if that didn’t happen. Not that he got cold feet about performing, but this was… weird. So extremely weird. And it wasn’t like he could just break out with a Jewish wedding song or lullaby; he was pretty sure that other than another obvious shidduch date in the corner, they were the only two people in this room who spoke any Hebrew. “Batsheva, I—”
“Do you take requests?” she asked eagerly.
