Page 43 of Alarm Fatigue

“So, you are making more blessings and things I see.” Smooth, Rachel, smooth. What things are you referring to? I bite my tongue before I tell him again not to change his life on my account. The truth is, it may not even be about me, this new keeping kosher and saying some blessings here and there. “So may I ask, what inspired this, keeping kosher and increased observance, if you will forgive the term? Will this extend to Shabbat observance as well?” Great, now you sound like a potential mother-in-law with twenty questions.

“I decided I wanted to try it out, try keeping kosher and adding more observance to my life. It is not that I went to Greece and had a religious experience if that is what you are wondering? I mean it was eye-opening, but not in that way. I did meet with a Rabbi there, however, when I could, as I had questions. There was a Chabad, which was not an unreasonable distance from the camp, and I was able to go there a few times. Of course he was thrilled when I asked him about procuring tefillin for me.” At this I raised my brows, but did not want to interrupt again, lest I make this seem more like a job interview than a date. Mercifully, he answered my unasked question. “I had not put on tefillin since my bar mitzvah and how else could I obtain such an item in Greece? I think I made the rabbi’s year. The truth is, I want you to be comfortable dating me, Rachel, and I feel the need to rise to your level.” He can see I am going to start to interrupt and raises his hands to stop me, “Let me finish, Rachel. I want to try it out. It is a part of your life and I want to be in your life. I cannot promise to be a believer, I am more of a sceptic and a doubter, but I want to try it on, for myself. Okay?”

“That sounds reasonable,” I admit.

The waiter appears with his water and my beer and I gratefully take a swig. “So about what happened with Jacob.”

“That was his name?”

“Yes. He was date number three in my supposed birthday present. Apparently he is the gift that does not stop giving.” I take another swallow of beer. “Apparently when I told the hostess at our last date that he was too drunk to drive—just before I walked out of the restaurant—which was before dessert I might add—he apparently got into it with the staff about not being allowed to have his keys and drive home so he was arrested for being drunk in public. For which he blames me, and the hostess, rather than the fact that he was trying to drive drunk.”

Mark looks taken aback. “Was that your only date with him?”

“Once was certainly enough. I did not even last the whole date. He propositioned me, acted like he was doing me a favor too—he enjoyed pointing out my age as a reason I should be grateful for his attention. He acted like a pig, and he was drunk and I walked out. At the last minute I told the staff they should keep his keys and how many drinks he had had before we had even arrived there for dinner. Anyway, Jacob Gold is not worth wasting any more breath on.” I take another drink of my beer. “I guess what I really want to know is, do you always react that way, with your fist?”

“Rachel.”

“I cannot handle violence, Mark. Please understand this about me. I just cannot. I have had my fill.”

“Rachel, it was just instinct. The truth is I have not been in that position before, ever. It was just a fight reaction. I guess when it comes to you, I felt the need to defend you, strongly. More than I knew.”

“Okay. So what you are telling me is you do not go around getting into bar fights.”

“No, and honestly I am a little surprised at my reaction myself. Listen, I really believe this was a one off—but really, Rachel, I cannot promise not to want to defend you in any way I can. I will try to do what I can to help you feel comfortable. That is the most important thing to me.”

I stay quiet for a few moments, considering what he has said.

“Okay. As long as you do not have some secret fight club life, I think we are okay.”

At that he takes my hands in his. “Rachel, I cannot promise to be the man you deserve, but I promise to try to be the best man I can be. For you. I love you, Rachel. I really do.”

I smile at him. “Well that is good news, because, well… I love you too, as it turns out. So please do not turn out to be a mistake, if you can help it. I am terrified here.”

“The truth is Rachel, I am terrified too. All these years, it was easier, keeping you at a distance, keeping my feelings to myself. I have not really talked about how I felt about you to anyone, except a few of my cousins.”

“How many is a few?”

“About six. No, wait, seven.”

“How many cousins do you have?”

“Twenty-three, but I am only close to about a third of them.”

“Wow, I do not have any cousins. Or at least none that I am aware of. I probably have tons on my mother’s side that I do not even know. Irish families can be like that. I guess I have never really thought about it so much.”

“Have you thought about reaching out to them? Do they even know you exist?”

“Once. I did one of those DNA tests and had a whole bunch of matches pop up in the system, but I kept my profile anonymous and just decided not to take it any further. I just wanted to see what countries my ancestors came from. I was not looking to deal with a bunch of family members that may or may not want me to exist.” I take a bite of my food and chew thoughtfully for a bit. “The truth is, Amalie and her parents are more of a family to me than anyone has been for me since my mother died.”

“Did you ever live with them? Amalie and her parents?”

“Yes, shortly after my mother died, but not soon enough. My mother was killed and about five minutes after the shiva was over, my father made it very clear I was going to be his new emotional and physical punching bag. Before you think it, thank God, there was no sexual assault, but it was as bad as it could be otherwise. I know he was ill, with addiction, but I will never understand him, being a parent myself. He berated me, put me down constantly—the types of things I told you about before. He would poke fun of me, appearing to be good-natured when other people were around, but the moment we were alone, he would just be cruel. He also expected that I would do everything for the house. I was just a kid. Anyway it was about six months after my mom died when a teacher noticed some bruises on my arms when I pulled up my sleeves in the washroom at school. Thank God she did not look away. It was the 1980s. Anything could have happened, especially in a religious community.”

The waiter chooses this moment to reappear, so we order a molten chocolate cake to split for dessert. “Anyway, the easy part turned out to be leaving. He signed over parental rights to Amalie’s parents without any fight whatsoever. The one kind thing he had ever done for me.”

I pause for a drink of water and continue.

“Amalie’s parents live in Sweden most of the time. They have dual citizenship as Ami’s mother was born there. They are very secular but come over for long visits around some of the holidays to celebrate with my children. They gave me so much when I came to live with them—they paid for me to stay in a day school, which is what I wanted. They also paid for my undergraduate college and everything. Ami’s a brain so she ended up being ahead of me in school, but they made just a big of a deal of any of my successes as if I was their second daughter. They are my family more than most of my blood family has ever been. I am so lucky to have had them in my life.”

---