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“Right now he’s helping his mom kasher the kitchen,” Miriam said. “He tried to go on a whole rant about how obviously none of us considered how much work it would be for Mrs. Matthews to have all the Orthodox cousins here for seder, but Mrs. Matthews told him to shut up and clean something.”
They were preparing for slightly more than one hundred extended Rosensteins to descend on Carrigan’s for the first night of Passover tomorrow. Every corner had been ruthlessly cleaned, the sheets turned down, the mantels dusted. The great room they used as an event space and overflow dining was hung with navy blue bunting, wound through with tiny twinkling gold lights. Ferns draped over the massive curving staircase that led up to a landing, off of which branched the first floor of rooms. Tablecloths in blue, white, and gold had been laid out with the best china, the napkins elaborately folded.
It wasn’t Christmas at Carrigan’s, which was always a spectacle of kitsch. It was, instead, beautifully elegant.
Having the whole family for Passover had, ostensibly, been Hannah’s idea, although it had been planted, fertilized, and watered by many aunts and uncles in the months since New Year’s Eve once it became clear Hannah, Miriam, and Noelle would be able to keep Carrigan’s afloat. The family wanted to celebrate Hannah and Miriam, see their vision for the new Carrigan’s All Year, and be together for the holy days.
There were last-minute details to attend to, but she could do them from her bed, with her door locked against the love of her life. And that’s what she was going to do, as soon as she kicked everyone else out.
She woke up the next morning, having slept only in the most technical definition, with a very specific kind of hangover. The “please knock me unconscious so I can escape my own brain” kind, despite Noelle’s ibuprofen. She was mad at everyone who didn’t have an ice pick piercing their temple.
This day was going to go swimmingly.
A perk of managing an inn with full breakfast service that stocked only pastries from your family’s famous bakery was you could order a perfect latte and bagel delivered to your room every morning. Normally she got a toasted whatever-the-guests-hadn’t-wanted with schmear. This morning, what showed up outside her door was her perfect breakfast, her celebration bagel. Lightly toasted everything, with scallion cream cheese, whisper-thin-sliced onion, fresh tomato, lox, and capers. She burst into tears. Mrs. Matthews loved her so much, even after she’d broken the woman’s oldest son’s heart and driven him across the world.
With breakfast came Kringle. Technically he lived in the carriage house with Miriam and Noelle, because he was A Lot for the guests, but in reality he showed up where he felt he was needed. This morning he curled up with his giant head on her knee while she sat up in bed with her breakfast. She ate it, one slow bite at a time, the salmon melting on her tongue, and let her mind go blank.
He was somewhere outside her door. They needed to have a conversation, at least one, and it was probably going to be the most difficult one of her life. She reminded herself how happy she was now without him. She was doing work that showcased her skills and stretched her talents, kept her on her toes. If she stayed up every night imagining his face, if she couldn’t hear his name without flinching, if some part of her existed only in suspended animation so her heart would not crumble to nothing, well, what of it? People survived heartbreak every day.
When she was as ready as she was going to get, she put on her favorite dress, a green wool wrap that made her feel invincible, and a lot of waterproof mascara. Noelle texted her that the coast was clear because Levi was “apparently on some kind of business call with his agent, which is the most asshole thing I’ve ever heard.”
Knowing he wasn’t in the kitchen, she dropped in to check on Mrs. Matthews, who was prepping enough potato kugel and charoset for an army.
“Just a sec, Ziva,” Mrs. Matthews said into the phone as Hannah walked in. She’d been on the phone with Miriam’s mom for days, trying to decide on recipes, quantities, and seating placements.
Her hand over the receiver, she said to Hannah, “Are you here to take the patented Hannah Rosenstein fine-tooth comb to my spread?”
Hannah knew she was joking, but she winced a little. Sometimes the line between getting everything right and anxious micromanaging blurred.
“You know there’s no one I trust more than you—” she began.
Mrs. Matthews waved her off. “I know you, kiddo. And this is a big night for you! You’re allowed to be anxious. Even without my most troublesome progeny.”
“I’ve just never hosted Passover,” Hannah said, blowing out a breath, her shoulders relaxing a little, “much less for everyone I’m even tangentially related to. My parents used to go to whichever Rosenstein relative invited us when we were in the country.”
“And when Cass was sick, we started making everything smaller,” Mrs. Matthews murmured.
Hannah didn’t say, although Mrs. Matthews knew, that she’d also slowly stopped going any farther afield than Advent because she had panic attacks if she left Carrigan’s for too long.
“Remember last year when Noelle dragged the table all the way up the stairs and we set up seder next to Cass’s bed?” Mrs. Matthews smiled sadly.
“The best seder of my life,” Hannah said. “Cass got drunk on one glass of wine because of her meds and gave an impassioned anti-imperialist rant through her coughs.”
Mrs. Matthews reached over, squeezing her shoulder. “You did good, taking care of her. I know what it cost you.”
Hannah shook her head. “It cost me nothing. It was the greatest honor of my life. I would not have missed it for anything.”
“Let’s do this thing Big in her honor, yes?” Mrs. Matthews said, returning to her phone call.
“Go Big!” Hannah agreed, and left her to her cooking. What Go Big meant was rather than having any old giant seder for a huge extended family that involved Jews from across the religious spectrum, from Modern Orthodox to Reconstructionist, they were turning First Seder into a Matzo Ball. A full fancy-dress event. Throwing events was her job, so she shouldn’t be nervous, but she was.
She was hyperaware that Levi was in the building somewhere; the hairs on her arms rose with the anticipation that he might come around any corner. They hadn’t seen each other since last night. At some point they would have to speaksomewords to each other. In theory, it would be easier before her family got here, but she wasn’t brave enough yet, so she was avoiding him. She didn’t want to keep him from his mom, or vice versa, so she slinked to the great room.
Just as she was pulling the measuring tape out of her work apron to triple-check that the bows she’d hung on the walls were exactly evenly spaced, her family showed up, en masse, loud, enthusiastic, chaotic, and vying for her attention. Having all the Rosensteins in one place for Passover meant, naturally, Hannah’s parents were also going to be there. They’d been here for Cass’s funeral, although Hannah had been so busy with everything else, she’d barely spent time with them. They were good people, who adored her and wanted nothing more than for her to be happy.
And she was mostly not mad at them.
She was mostly not mad about the years she spent traveling and hopping from school to school or being sporadically homeschooled. About how their inability to stay put had left her with an insurmountable need to stay rooted as an adult. If she’d had some roots to start out with, maybe the idea of leaving Carrigan’s for any length of time wouldn’t send her into a panic spiral. She was mostly not mad at her parents about it, because they hadn’t done it on purpose, but shewasa little salty.
