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“First, Noah will light the middle candle, the shamash, and then we recite the blessings. You don’t have to, but if you want to say amen at the end, you can. Then he’ll use the shamash to light the others on the menorah.”
Juna turns to her son. “Chömer?”
He nods and stands before the menorah. When his mouth opens, song comes out. It’s sweet and soft, the high pitch of a boy. “Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Ha'olam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.”
Noah pauses, and everyone says, “Amen.” He draws a breath and glances at his mother before continuing. "Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Ha'olam, she’asah nisim l’avoteinu, b’yamim haheim bazman hazeh.”
There’s another chorus of “amen.”
Carefully, he picks the middle candle out of the menorah and guides it to the closest unlit candle. One by one, he lights the four and then places the shamash back in its place.
“Good job,” his mom calls, and Noah ducks his head, the classic kids’ “aw-shucks.”
Peter speaks next to me. “Normally, we spend time together afterward, opening presents, cooking, trying to avoid technology, but since we are starting late tonight, we will eat first.”
Nora has already retreated to the kitchen, pulls baking trays and casserole dishes out of the oven, and Juna recruits me to help her set the table. We sit down to eat—a simple roasted chicken and vegetables with latkes fried to a crisp golden brown, and afterward exchange gifts.
Nora is in charge. She passes out gifts wrapped in white glossy paper, and there’s even one for me, a small, oval shape she presses into my palm.
“It’s nothing personal,” she clarifies. “After all, we weren’t expecting you. But I won’t have anyone in my house going without tonight.”
“That is so kind,” I tell her. “Thank you.” I wish I had a horde of unopened presents to give out, but I did all my shopping back home.
The gifts have a theme—personal care. My oval is a bar of soap, and the fragrance and label need no translation—it’s rose.
Peter, sitting next to me, has a travel shaving kit, complete with miniature creams and oils. Across from me, Juna has a bar of soap similar to mine.
I yawn for the fifth time, hiding it behind my hand, but Juna catches my eye. “You’ve had a long day. Perhaps you should go to bed. You too, Peter.”
“Mami,” Sylvie says. She asks something in Swiss-German and Juna answers in English.
“We can watch a movie if you and Noah can agree on one.”
The kids run off, and Juna grabs my plate while she stands up. “Papi and I are in charge of dishes. You’re free to run off to bed. We’ll see you in the morning.”
I say thank you and good night to everyone, and Peter follows me up the stairs. He grabs a bag next to the banister at the top and starts to walk back down.
“Good night, Kara,” he says.
“Wait. Where are you sleeping?” The house is small, and I’m pretty sure there’s only one bedroom on the first floor, Nora and Liam’s.
“The couch.”
“What? No. Peter.” I glare at him. “You can’t let me kick you out of your own bed.”
“Technically, my mother kicked me out of my own bed.”
I take two steps down to argue better. “The kids are watching a movie, right? They’ll keep you awake. Plus, how comfortable is that couch?”
“What exactly are you suggesting, Kara? Every bed is spoken for. Even the air mattress goes to Sylvie, and she doesn’t even get to have any privacy.”
“I’ll take the couch.”
“Then you, who can barely keep your eyes open, have to stay up while my sister’s kids watch a movie and have no privacy. I’d rather it be me on the couch.”
I swallow. This is what Peter gets for bringing me.
Unbeknownst to him, I would never be able to sleep with the TV on, no matter how tired I was. Especially if it’s a movie in English because while I can close my eyes, I can’t close my ears.
