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He’d left home to prove himself to everyone, had come back puffed up with his own success, and found none of them cared. They had no evidence that he wasn’t the same old Blue, difficult and ungrateful and surly. He couldn’t break the mold he’d cast for himself all those years ago by simply showing up.
“Why isn’t Grant asking the four questions? Is it because he’s not a Rosenstein?” Levi asked, already angry.
“No,” his brother sighed, “it’s because he’s not the youngest anymore. He did it last year, but you missed it.”
Of course he had.
“You could try apologizing to them, you know,” his mother stage-whispered to him.
“For what?!” he whispered back, and his mom rolled her eyes at him. Was eye-rolling contagious when he was around?
He felt too raw to subject himself to their anger, whatever they were angry about, and not particularly interested in playing martyr.
“For what, Mom?” he repeated. “I left my childhood home to take a job seeing the world, a thing millions of people have done. I asked my fiancée to come with me, and not only did she say no, but she also told me to never come home. Yet somehow I’m the cause of all strife.”
She brushed his bangs out of his eyes and adjusted his yarmulke where it was threatening to go flying. “For not being a very present big brother and letting your drama with Hannah get in the way of your relationship with them?” she asked gently.
His shoulders slumped, the fight going out of him again. He stuffed a spoonful of matzo ball into his mouth. Too fluffy.
At the other end of the table, the girls were telling Esther about their plans for the next couple of months, and he started listening.
“Obviously the Davenport wedding is our biggest event, and all the stuff leading up to that,” Hannah was saying. “We’ll have to hire some outside kitchen help for your mom, because it’s a massive event, and she may have superpowers but—”
“Why would you hire someone? I’ll be here,” Levi cut in.
“Youwon’tbe here,” Hannah said, her voice even. “You’re giving us your shares and then you’re leaving.”
“You’re giving them your shares and leaving?” his dad said, turning away from Grant.
“No, Dad, I’m not going anywhere.” He reached over, squeezing his dad’s hand without taking his eyes off Hannah.
“You’re leaving,” Hannah said, folding her hands with icy calm in front of her.
“You can’t make me.” He mirrored her.
“Why. Won’t. You. Leave?” she asked through her teeth.
“Because. You’re. My. Wife,” he answered, much less calmly.
He heard Noelle gasp and remembered they weren’t actually having this argument alone.
Oops! He’d never been the person who wanted to keep that secret anyway.
“I’m not your wife!” Hannah argued. “Stop saying that! We’re not married!”
“Tell that to the state of New York.”
“There was no rabbi. No chuppah. We signed no ketubah. The state of New York may think we’re married, but we’re not in the eyes of Hashem, which is what matters.”
“We are to me,” Levi said, trying not to let his voice break. “In my heart, we have been married every second since we took those vows, courthouse or not.”
“You’re fucking MARRIED?” Noelle boomed, pushing up from the table and knocking over a wineglass.
They both turned to look at her.
“No,” Hannah said.
At the same time, he said, “Yes.”
