Page 46 of Best Woman
“Hi, Mom.”
“How are you doing, sweetie? I miss you.”
“I’m OK. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“What do you mean? We’re talking right now.”
“No, I mean, like…have an actual conversation. I’d like to talk to you about something.”
“I don’t know what you mean, honey, we are having a conversation right now.”
“Yes, but I can hear the TV on in the background.”
“Oh, well I just have Bravo on. Don’t worry, I’m listening.”
“Yeah, but—”
“You will not believe what Ramona just said to Luann!”
“I don’t know who those people are. Can you turn the TV off?”
“It’s on the lowest setting! I can’t even hear it.”
“Well,Ican hear it and I’m a thousand miles away. Can you please just turn it off and like, give me your undivided attention?”
“Fine, it’s off. God, you are somoody. Is everything OK? Oh no, is it about that boy, what was his name? David? Daniel?”
“It was a girl. Named Diana. And no, not really. We broke up a few weeks ago.”
“Oh honey, I’m sorry. Well, that’s her loss. She’ll never find another boy as sweet as you.”
“So that’s…actually what I want to talk about.”
Remarkably, Aiden isthe first person I run into. He’s outside the tall, ornately carved doors of the sanctuary, filling a wicker basket with black yarmulkes. I pick one up and look inside, where Aiden and Rachel’s names and the date are stitched in gold.
“I’m so glad I don’t have to wear one of these,” I say. “It would ruin my hair.”
Aiden throws his arms around me. “Oh my god, I’m gettingmarriedtoday.”
“I know,” I say, squeezing him back, letting it sink in for real. My little brother is getting married. Fuck.
I pull back and smile at my brother, who is getting married today. Fuck. “You look great.”
He does, in his dark suit, hair combed back, though he is a little pale, with dark circles under his eyes.
“Can I zhuzh you up a little?” I ask.
He nods frantically. “Please. This week has been so stressfuland on top of it I ran out of my hyaluronic acid serum. Do you have any concealer?”
“Of course. I knew you’d need a touch-up.”
Aiden leads me to the groom’s appointed dressing area, and a bolt of déjà vu hits me as I remember standing in this very room sixteen years ago, fiddling with the tallit my grandmother had made me, going over my haftarah portion one last time. I stumble around giving everyone hugs and complimenting their identical suits. Ben looks especially handsome in his, with his hair tucked behind his ears. He looks very grown-up, but also exactly like the boy I’ve been kissing for the past decade.
“You look amazing,” he says after giving me a tight, warm hug.
“Thanks. You too.”
“Do you guys want the room for a bit?” asks Derek, one of the groomsmen. “We can go find something to do for, hmm, how long do you need, Ben? Six minutes?”
