Page 96 of The Photograph

I strip off and dive into the shower, blinking through the streaming water as soap suds and grime circle the plughole. What can I do to rescue the situation here? Staying here and participating in evenings like this lingers like an ache in my bones. How have I been here fortwo years? The rut of living with my parents, of gaining theiracceptance, is so seductive. But Des showed me a glimpse of something different, something shockingly liberating. As I towel off and stare at the brown-haired guy in the mirror, I fiddle with my hair trying to corral it into shape, then I pull a clean shirt out of the closet and decide I need to shave again.

When I come down twenty minutes later, the hall is full of people. Three incredibly shy-looking girls with long dark hair are standing in the hallway next to a beaming Mr. and Mrs. Silverman.

“Leah, Judith, and Amalia,” Mr. Silverman says as they all step forward one by one. To say hello to me. Weird.

Mr. Silverman puts his arms around Amalia’s shoulders. “Amalia’s just won a scholarship to Princeton, to study law!” The pride is oozing from every pore. Amalia smiles at me shyly, so I smile back.

“Congratulations! That’s amazing,” I say.

Everybody beams at me like I’ve done something right for once. As we head into the living room, I find myself next to Amalia, and, as we sit down together, I ask her about why she chose law. She’s quiet and sweet as she talks about her interest in pro bono work and giving everyone equal access to justice. And it’s nice to not be tense and keyed up at dinner for the first time in forever. Even Hannah and Becs are beginning to relax overthe other side of the table with my dad engrossed in work chat with Mr. Silverman.

“So, moving to Princeton?” I say.

She takes the thick locks of her straight black hair and winds them over one shoulder. “It’ll be good to be close to home, but I have to admit to having some worries about finding other Jewish people on campus.” She gestures toward me. “People like us.”

“Like us?”

“Well, you know. I guess you can stand out in more mixed-faith environments.”

I like how honest about her feelings she is. I’m assuming she went to a Jewish faith school like me. And it can be a very closeted environment, but that’s also kind of the point of college. And I remember those nerves, but it feels like a lifetime ago. She’s so young and sheltered from real life. In an office, nobody gives a damn about your background or religion; they just want results. I’m suddenly fiercely glad for my sisters who are terrified of my father but still forging their own way forward without his knowledge. If my dad was a decent guy like Mr. Silverman is, would we all have ended up blindly following him?

She laughs awkwardly and stares down at the half-eaten meal on her plate. A piece of long hair falls forward, and I reach out to rescue it from the food in front of her.

“I must seem so immature to you,” she whispers, almost exactly mirroring my thoughts.

God. I don’t want to make her feel bad. She’s smart and switched on. And it’s not like I don’t know: the not quite fitting in at college, all the drugs and parties that were so alien to me, how everyone else seemed so sophisticated. I’ve felt that all over again with Des—all the experience he has. I swallow, shaking my head.

“We’ve all been there, and I remember it well.” My eyes sweep around the room to find Mrs. Silverman watching me.Jesus.I drop my voice. “I was desperate to escape all the confines, you know?”

She inclines her head, color creeping up her cheeks.

“Confines?”

“It’s a closed world, all this,” I whisper, twitching a finger toward the table.

She purses her lips. “But a good one, I think.”

What do I say to this after everything that’s transpired with my father? After what’s happened with Des? I’ve got nothing against my faith. Most people are kind and good, and I shouldn’t let my dad taint every transaction. But perhaps I’ve found my freedom now, discovered my tribe. Nothing has ever felt like it did the other night in Des’s apartment, the guys rallying around and Des holding my hand to comfort me. When was the last time somebody did that? I was about five years old. And I’ve never met someone who would understand the drama of coming out to a traditional family, but Dimitri did. My cheeks burn with the memory of my first reaction to him in the line at Crush.

And the truth is nothing is that bad or that good: Every tribe has its upsides and downsides and it’s a question of whether you fit into them, if they’re right foryou. The patterned tablecloth and the tureen of roast potatoes swim in front of me:Des is right for me.

Blinking up, I nod and smile. “Yes, definitely. It’s all good.”

She seems to relax when I say this and starts talking about her mother’s preparations for her going to college. When I look up again, Mrs. Silverman is still watching me.

After dinner and when the plates are all piled in the kitchen, everyone insists on taking photographs, like we don’t already have a load all over the walls. Phones are pulled out, and my parents beam as Mr. Silverman herds all the children together and snaps a shot.

When I help Amalia into her coat, I give her my best smile.

“I hope we can be friends from here on out,” she says. “Maybe we can connect on Facebook?”

It was great talking to her. She’s interesting and smart, and I’m not going to let Dad influence who I’m in contact with.

“Of course!”

Later on, when Dad has disappeared into his study and I’m in the kitchen helping Mom do the last bit of clearing up, she corners me.

“Mr. and Mrs. Silverman said she’d give up her place if you were interested.”

---