Page 28 of The Hanukkah Hoax
“Well said, ma’am.” Alec nodded, figuring it better to be agreeable, even though he didn’t understand the argument.
“Oh, please. Call me Bea.” She dismissed the formality as if she were shooing off a bug from her macaroni salad. “The only one who calls me ma’am is the cashier at the grocery store, likely because I’m the sole person who still uses an actual human being to ring up my groceries and he needs to practice talking to somebody. I’ll admit, the moniker does sting a bit, but at least it’s better than bruh. By the way, Marisa, what does that even mean? Is he saying bra, like a brassiere?”
Marisa’s mother looked at her huge shelf of cleavage that her apron was struggling to stretch around, as if the offending answer could be found within the cavernous crease between her breasts.
Alec’s throat chose that moment to wedge a frog in his vocal cords. He was saved, thankfully, when a tall bald man with bits of what looked like icing dappling his mustache joined them and swept Marisa into a hug. “Hi, honey bun. Happy birthday.”
“Hi, Dad. Thanks. This is Alec, by the way.”
“Alec, nice to meet you. Hank.”
“Likewise, sir. And Happy Hanukkah.”
“Oh, damn.” Marisa’s dad swiped a thumb across his mustache to remove the offending evidence of festivities enjoyed too early. “May have gotten into the cupcake cake a bit too early.” Then he shielded his mouth and whispered to Marisa, “Don’t tell your mother.”
Marisa gave him a lopsided smile as she looked over his shoulder. “Too late.”
“Double damn.” The man had the good humor to look appropriately chagrined as he turned to his wife. “Honey, now that Marisa’s here, why don’t we sing ‘Happy birthday’ first, then light the candles?”
The corner of Alec’s mouth quirked up in appreciative fondness. He sure as hell knew that move. Cal had practically perfected the bloody thing with their parents when he and his brother were teenagers.
Nice diversion tactic. Well played, sir. Well played.
Bea’s eyes narrowed into all-knowing slits, the kind of expression that said, I know what you did, but what I’m going to do to you later will be so much worse.
Alec instinctively dropped his fists over his crotch on the elder man’s behalf.
“Fine. Hank, call everyone else into the living room, please.”
While he and Marisa brought up the rear of the processional leaving the kitchen, Alec took the opportunity to steal a quiet word. “Everything all right so far?”
She nodded tightly but still accepted the offer of his folded arm, curling her delicate hands around his bicep. “Sure. Not looking forward to enduring a happy birthday montage usually reserved for little kid parties, but I can deal.”
“Easy now,” he chided. “Some of my favorite people are former little kids. It may not have occurred to you, but I, myself, was once a little kid. Fucking loved birthday parties. Always stole Cal’s portion of cake when he wasn’t looking. Left him the icing, though. Too sweet.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.
Marisa’s harsh chuckle forced the tension from her shoulders, lightening not only her grip on his arm but the grim cast that had prevented her smile from surfacing all evening. It was out now with all its former splendor, and he mentally added one more check mark to his win column.
“You’re too much.” She shook her head.
“Nah. I’m just right, I wager, kind of like the way you were fiddling with my heating vents in the car earlier to position them how you liked. I may need a bit of guidance and direction from you, but I always get to where I need to go.”
Marisa drew them to a stop once they entered the living room, where a crowd of people had begun to gather around a grand piano. “Just remember you said that,” she whispered, then tightened her hold on him and sidled up to her parents.
For the second time that night, Alec’s expectations, a bit muddled though they were, evacuated from the scene posthaste. In their place stood a grand display of what could only be described as a true Festival of Lights.
By that, he meant every single light. All at once. Including things he hadn’t thought should light up in the first place. Did those couch cushions really have light-up letters that said Relax! It’s Hanukkah. Have another doughnut?
A grand chandelier hung from the center of the room just above the piano. On top of the resplendent instrument stood a large silver menorah with glass cups filled with oil and candle wicks, in addition to various gifts.
The feature presentation, most notably, but definitely not the only one.
All around the room’s perimeter were several other menorahs, some holding candles, some electric, but all with different shapes and flows. They were arranged in an elegant, tapered processional that would surely chase away any shadow that had the gall to try and lurk around.
Those were already lit, however, along with all the decorative votives dancing beneath the hanging glittery lanterns that cast light throughout the rooms like disco balls, bouncing off silver candleholders and guests’ crystal wineglasses. The only menorah that wasn’t lit was the main one on the piano, which made sense. There had to be at least a dozen menorahs scattered throughout the space. If Marisa’s family had to light each one all at the same time, they’d never get to the food before it got cold.
And speaking of food, rich and savory aromas perked up Alec’s stomach and yanked his attention toward the source, which was no easy feat given the visual spectacle. Lined up around the adjacent dining room were buffet-style serving dishes and platters, all adorned with neat little note cards declaring their offerings and heaped high with a whole lot of golden, brown, and delicious. Alec had to suck back the puddle of saliva that had formed in his mouth as he squinted, damn near desperate to read each little tented card from where he stood.
There were crisp potato pancakes in russet, sweet potato, and mixed veggie varieties, glistening folds of smoked salmon adorned with red onions and capers, bagels for days, cream cheese and applesauce tubs the size of kiddie pools, sugar-dusted doughnuts, and those were just the things he recognized as symbols of the holiday. All this to say nothing of the cheesy stuffed shells, fried mac and cheese balls served in shot glasses with toothpicks, and a lone platter of what he figured were the obligatory roasted vegetables offered up to the gods of fiber and good colon health. Likewise, the cupcake cake arranged in the shape of a menorah, with a few notable cupcakes missing, sat off to the side, its cheerful Happy birthday, Marisa! capping off the buffet like a prize at the end of the finish line.
