Page 17 of The Hanukkah Hoax
She was spoiled for choice. Truly.
“Maybe the party won’t be that bad?” Marisa said, despite her voice’s upward inflection dragging the needle into the red on her bullshit meter.
Eden pocketed her phone and simply folded her arms. “If you believe that, why is your mother still on mute?”
Marisa narrowed her eyes and mouthed, “I hate you,” before picking up again. “Sorry about that, Ma. It was just my mechanic reminding me I’m due for an oil change.” On a car her mother damn well knew Marisa hadn’t even taken in for a tune-up in three years. Solid.
“Oh, Marisa,” her mother said, letting just enough of her disapproval slip through to keep things interesting. “You were looking up when Hanukkah starts, weren’t you?”
Dammit.
“No! No, I was just . . .”
“Well, it should be easy for you to remember this year, shouldn’t it? Your Aunt Gail and I have decided to throw our annual Hanukkah party on your birthday! Kill two birds with one stone. And who doesn’t love an opportunity for double the festivities?”
“Ma, I’m going to be thirty. I’m kind of past the point of birthday parties, don’t you think?”
“Are you also past the point of spending some holiday time with your family so we all might indulge in a little greasy food and birthday cupcakes together? The latkes alone will have thousands of calories in them. Honestly, Marisa, it would be downright irresponsible not to share them all.”
“I’m not sure I want to have a part in that kind of familial indigestion.”
“Oh, please. Your father will have plenty of antacids on hand. He knows the drill at this point.” The runaway train that was her mother’s enthusiasm would have kept right on running if not for the slight pause that caught Marisa off guard.
Her mother never paused. Like, ever. Even when others were speaking.
A chilly sense of dread crawled up Marisa’s spine.
“Besides,” her mother added matter-of-factly, “your Aunt Gail was just telling me about a neighbor who moved into her complex, and she thinks he might be a nice person to introduce you to.”
Oh, no. Absolutely not. No freaking way.
“Ma, please tell me this person is a woman who has moved through life at the same pace Aunt Gail has moved through life.”
More silence and then, “Now, what do you mean by that?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” Marisa gritted out. “Is Aunt Gail’s new neighbor another one of her retired pickleball cronies?” Please, please let her be a blue-haired retiree who usually snowbirds in Florida but happens to be in Jersey visiting her grandkids for the holidays.
“Now, I don’t think Jules would appreciate being called a crony?—”
At the mention of the name Jules, a coil of tension in Marisa’s stomach began to unravel. “You know what? It’s fine. I’m sure Jules is a lovely?—”
“But I wouldn’t at all be surprised if he does play pickleball. Or maybe one of those more rugged sports. You know, like bowling! The young man does have quite the athletic build, I will say. I can’t speak for his legs, but those arms definitely look like they’ve had experience throwing a bowling ball or two down a lane. Oooh, I bet he can even use one of those sixteen-pounders! Your father tried to use one of those once when the cruise ship we were on had a bowling alley. Poor dear broke two fingernails and got himself a hernia. Then there was that time when he thought he was good enough to join an actual league. . .”
Marisa wanted nothing more than to drop her phone into the nearest garbage can, grab her candy canes, and crawl into a hole. She didn’t need the marked look of sympathy on Eden’s face to know that her family had staged the entire birthday/Hanukkah party affair for one specific reason.
She was turning thirty, and if her loved ones couldn’t convince her to find a career that actually paid her for a change, they could at least try to work on seeing her settled in a relationship more promising than the one she had with the pizzeria she lived above.
The phone in Marisa’s hand might as well have been a boulder for all the weight it carried, which only seemed to increase every time her mother mentioned he’s only thirty-two and doesn’t have family in the area, so he’s looking forward to meeting new people.
Eden mouthed, “Sorry,” and held out what remained of her kettle corn in solidarity, but Marisa couldn’t even bring herself to smile at the unnaturally bright kernels. Colors that had always made her so happy in their vibrancy and cheer during the holidays now felt like foolish anchors tying her to a life that could only exist in her fantastical bubble.
A bubble that wasn’t real. A bubble that saw her fighting for a candy business that she still believed in, even though her family didn’t.
A bubble . . . where she had a fake boyfriend.
Marisa straightened and nearly dropped the phone as the idea hit her. “Actually, you know what, Ma?” Marisa said, cutting off her mother’s spiel about how doughnuts never quite tasted right ever since trans fats had been banned. “I’m looking forward to the party. Can’t wait to see everyone, truly.”
“Oh, really? That’s wonderful! Your aunt will be thrilled. Just thrilled.”
