your own underwear,” Becky had said defiantly. There. That would teach him.
At this time, however, concerns other than her ex-husband’s preference for designer shorts and big-breasted redheads demanded her attention, and she forced her anger aside.
How would she raise this baby alone?
She didn’t want Carter in her life as the father of her child. What kind of parent would he make, spending most of his time gallivanting away from home? She didn’t want him in her life under any circumstance. He’d already walked out on one wife, and Becky had already been there, thank you very much. Not that she expected him to propose once he learned the truth. He was a man who relished his freedom. He went through women the way she went through jobs.
She plodded along aimlessly, snow swirling in front of her eyes as thoughts of Carter swirled in her head. What had she been thinking that night? She knew exactly what she’d been thinking, all right, as they’d faced each other under the wedding canopy. She’d been thinking of his smoky-gray eyes, his lean, sexy body, the way her insides would turn to matzo meal whenever his gaze met hers. But the whole insanity—the whole mishegoss, as Bubbe would say—had started before the family had even left for the synagogue:
Becky had been getting ready for her brother’s wedding, thinking that for the first time in a long while she wasn’t miserable. Here it was already September and she’d been working at the same job for more than a month. She’d even started thinking about getting her own apartment. She couldn’t sponge off her parents forever, not that her mother believed the situation was permanent. “Jordan has lost his senses,” Gertie had kept insisting, “but he’ll come around.” But it had been six months since Jordan had misplaced his senses and he still hadn’t found them. At first Becky thought she’d disintegrate, but a half year later, to her surprise, she discovered she was still in one piece, getting on with her life.
And then her bubble had burst, the day of David’s wedding. She’d stepped outside the house to pick up the mail, expecting letters and cards from the out-of-town relatives who wouldn’t be attending the wedding. Recognizing the court insignia, she’d ripped open the envelope, and the pain she’d felt upon Jordan’s departure immediately resurfaced.
After nearly five years of marriage Mr. and Mrs. Jordan Steinberg had become a statistic. Their marriage was over. Finally, officially and irrevocably over.
Tucking the letter in the pocket of her bathrobe, she’d returned to the house. “You look as wrung out as a shmatte,” Gertie said. “It’s that horrible diner that’s turned you into a rag. I don’t know why you insist on working there—it’s not even kosher. Jordan will soon be a bona fide doctor. How does it look, a doctor’s wife working in a place like that?”
“You know I don’t keep kosher,” Becky reminded her, “and Jordan’s not coming back.”
“If it’s a hobby you need, what’s wrong with canasta? All those germs in that dirty place, no wonder you look the way you do. Stay away from Hannah. A bride doesn’t need to catch something just before her wedding. Is there any mail?”
“Just bills,” Becky replied.
How could she play the role of matron of honor? she’d thought miserably, the idea of matrimony leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. After receiving her final divorce papers, no woman should have to march down the aisle.
Yet in spite of her mood, four hours later she’d found herself smiling as she waited for her cue to walk to the altar. She was filled with happiness for her brother and Hannah. They were a perfect match, even though it had almost taken a bulldozer to get him to the altar. Hannah, his longtime girlfriend, normally quiet and shy, had decided that her biological clock was ticking away and had given him an ultimatum, and David, self-proclaimed bachelor at the ripe old age of thirty-two, after being nagged ad nauseam by Gertie, had finally given in. Mrs. Gertie Roth wanted a grandchild, and since Becky didn’t seem to be in a hurry to provide one, the spotlight had fallen on Hannah.
But everyone knew that David and Hannah belonged together; he’d just needed a little push. David loved her, everyone could see that. Becky could see it in his eyes every time he looked at her. She had no doubt they would have a long, strong marriage, once he got used to the idea.
Why was it that the men who balked most made the best husbands?
Becky walked down the aisle, following her parents and David, and took her place under the chuppah. Carter, David’s best man, was waiting at the other side of the canopy. Becky had almost forgotten how good-looking he was, and now, seeing him standing there, tall and striking in a tuxedo, a red boutonniere on his lapel, she felt a familiar pang.
And then her mood sobered. He was a statistic, just like her. Another marriage gone under. Another example of love gone sour. Maybe it had been better in Bubbe’s day, she thought. A friend or matchmaker introduced you to a suitable partner, and the marriage was based on respect. “We learned to love each other,” Bubbe always said. “Chaim was a good man, may he rest in peace. What was not to love?”
“Hey, stranger,” Carter said quietly. “It’s been a while. I can’t remember the last time I saw you. You’re looking good, princess.”
Aware of his eyes sweeping over her in appreciation, she felt herself blushing. “You’re looking snazzy yourself,” she answered back, and for an instant she was a teenager again, flirting with him, yearning for his attention.
Then came Hannah’s parents, and after that the organist began to play the wedding march. All heads turned toward the double doors. Hannah appeared, exquisite in a gown of satin and tulle, her skirt made up of several layers of the flowing material. As she walked down the aisle, the crystal beads of her bodice glistened in the soft lighting. Bubbe had wanted the bride to walk with her parents, as in a more orthodox ceremony, but David had insisted that his bride share her moment of glory with no one. “We’re Reformed now, Bubbe,” he tried to explain. “We choose the laws and traditions we want to follow.”
Tears welled in Becky’s eyes as she watched Hannah walk down the aisle, tears of happiness for Hannah, tears of sadness for herself. She thought about her own wedding, remembering the promises that were made and then later broken.
At the chuppah David met his bride and put his arm through hers. Becky barely heard the ceremony. Afraid she would break down entirely, she held her head low, looking up only when it was time for her to perform her duty as matron of honor and lift Hannah’s veil.
After the bride and groom each took a sip from the cup of wine, the rabbi wrapped the glass in a cloth and placed it on the floor. “Mazel tov!” the guests cheered after David had stomped on the glass, smashing it to pieces. The tradition of the breaking glass was supposed to be a solemn reminder of the fragility of life, but now that the ceremony was over, all somberness was to be banished.
“On with the festivities!” Aaron called jovially, then led the way to the reception hall.
After the meal, the hall was cleared for dancing. The guests formed a circle around the bride and groom, who were seated on chairs, holding opposite ends of a handkerchief as the custom dictated. “To the king and queen of the night!” someone called out, and when Hannah and David were lifted in their chairs into the air, Becky quietly sneaked away.
She was in no mood for a party, but she could hardly leave her brother’s wedding. She hid out in the bride’s lounge, drinking glass after glass of champagne, emerging every now and then to make a brief appearance, resolving, for Hannah’s sake, not to reveal her misery. All she wanted was to be left alone, and
