Home for the Challah Days
Author
Jennifer Wilck
Reads
16.7K
Chapters
19
Chapter One
Aaron Isaacson had no right to look this sexy.
Sarah’s belly flopped, and she let out a quiet groan as she stood in the mass of people that passed for a line, four customers—or was it twenty?—away from the deli counter that had been in the Isaacson family for three generations. Aaron’s short, reddish-brown hair gleamed beneath the pendulum lights suspended above him. Her fingers twitched, remembering the feel of running through those silky strands back in high school. As employees rushed past him, each waiting on customers who’d packed the store before the High Holiday rush, his close-cropped beard caught her attention.
That was new.
When she and Aaron were together, his face had been smooth, with whiskers barely sprouting along his firm jaw. She remembered the brush of his cheek against hers, the spicy smell of his skin, the way she’d shivered every time she was close to him. Warmth flooded through her. Now, at thirty, the dimple in his chin—the one she’d loved pressing with her finger—was hidden. Was it still a dimple, or had it developed into a cleft?
Why did she care?
The next customer stepped forward.
If she were in charge, there would be clear aisles with lanes for checkout.
Another customer moved to the side.
There really should be a straight shot out the door. It was almost her turn. Her throat dried and her heartbeat increased. She stared at the exit. If she made a run for it now, she’d be gone before he noticed her. She’d tell her mother they’d run out of challah. How important was it for the Rosh Hashanah meal? She straightened, preparing to make a break for it and hoping her mother wouldn’t freak out, when Aaron’s slate blue eyes pierced her.
Too late.
She trembled, and her breath quickened. The noise and bustle around her faded, and her vision tunneled until all she saw was him.
Recognition flashed a split second before he erected a wall—more impenetrable than the mechitza separating the men from the women in Orthodox temples. The woman in front of her moved to the side, and it was Sarah’s turn.
Oh no.
She swallowed. They hadn’t spoken in ten years. Surely enough time had passed, and she could tell him what food she wanted. She might even manage small talk. Or at least a hello. But before she could say the words, Aaron leaned over to a young girl behind the counter and whispered in her ear. The girl nodded, and without another glance in Sarah’s direction, he walked away.
The yeasty smell of fresh baked bread and the pungent odor of pickles and garlic—which had smelled good moments ago—now turned her stomach. Her neck burned with embarrassment. He couldn’t even wait on her?
“May I help you?” The young voice interrupted her musings.
Sarah blinked and called upon the polished demeanor she’d perfected since leaving town. “I’d like to order two large round challahs, one with—and one without—raisins, please.”
She sighed to herself. No Rosh Hashanah dinner was complete without round challah, symbolizing the continuation of life. Since she wasn’t much of a cook or baker and didn’t have time to learn with the demands of her job, her mom assigned the challah purchase to her. Isaacson’s Deli made the best, and she knew if she ordered it today, it would be ready for next week’s dinner.
She should have found another deli.
“Name?”
“Sarah Abrams.”
The girl handed her a receipt.
With Aaron gone and customers jostling behind her, the only place she could go was outside. Dazed, she turned toward the door. She’d thought she was over Aaron. She’d never anticipated her body’s reaction to him. It was muscle memory—or in her case, hormone memory. That was all.
But his cold shoulder? That hurt.
The warm New Jersey air wrapped around her as she stepped onto the sidewalk of Browerville. The small city was bustling. City? Not compared to DC, where she lived and worked. Still, it was more vibrant than she remembered. Between the balmy autumn weather, the updated shopping and business district and the upcoming holidays, it seemed like everyone was out on the street that afternoon.
“Sarah!” A familiar feminine voice called her name.
Turning toward the voice, Sarah found Emily—one of her oldest and best friends from high school. Both grown women now, they’d once known each other as well as they knew themselves. She smiled as Emily approached, noticing how little she’d changed—same glowing taupe-colored skin, same umber eyes that noticed everything, same curly, natural hair she always pushed out of her way. God, she’d missed her. Regret coursed through Sarah as she realized how awful she’d been at keeping in touch. She’d tried for a while but work and Matthew had gotten in the way. She never should have let a boyfriend prevent her from keeping in touch with her friends.
“Emily!” Sarah said, hugging her. “Oh my gosh, what are you doing here? I thought you worked in Philadelphia.”
“I did, until last year. I got a new job in New York, and I commute from here. What are you doing here?”
“I’m home for the High Holidays,” she said, hiding her surprise that Emily would choose such a long commute from their small hometown, rather than moving to a large city like New York.
“They’re not until next week, though,” Emily said.
“I work for a Jewish organization. I get the entire week off. Add to that some vacation time, and I’m here for close to two weeks.”
“Wow, maybe I should get a job with you!”
Sarah laughed. “Are you free at all? I’d love to catch up with you. I’ve been a terrible friend, and I’m sorry.”
Emily glanced at her ruby red phone before looking back at Sarah. Her friend’s penchant for bright colors remained—her nails were as red as her phone, and her bright purple top added a splash of color to her gray, pinstripe pencil skirt.
“You won’t win any friend awards.” Emily’s tone tinged with a cross between anger and hurt. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed us.”
“I’ve missed us, too. Maybe we can try again?” Sarah squeezed her hand into a fist, crumpling the deli receipt she hadn’t yet put away, and digging her pale pink nails into her palms. “I wish I’d handled things differently.”
After a brief pause, Emily’s eyes softened. “I guess I haven’t been much better.”
Sarah pulled a business card out of her bag and handed it to Emily. “Here’s my number. Give me a call, and maybe we can get together. If you have time.”
Emily glanced at the card a long moment before nodding. “I will. I promise.”
Her friend’s hesitancy cut Sarah to the core, but she pulled her into a tight hug and squeezed a little longer than usual. “I hope you will. I’m staying at my parents’ house.”
When they parted, Sarah raced to the metered parking spot down the block, where she’d left her rental car. Now belted into her seat, she gripped the steering wheel and expelled a long breath. Between guilt at losing touch with Emily and the way Aaron blew her off, her stomach tightened and the bitter residue of her morning coffee bit at the back of her throat.
She’d thought she was over Aaron. She’d moved on, anyway—to Matthew Goldberg, the successful political lobbyist in DC who wanted to marry her. As soon as the holidays were over and she returned home, she’d give him an answer. She should’ve answered his proposal before she left, but she needed time to weigh her future with care. He’d been supportive, encouraging her to think before she spoke or acted.
A pang of longing for Matthew struck her. She wished he was beside her now, his arms wrapped around her and reassuring her everything would be okay. She shook her head. No—she had a decision to make, and she needed the separation to make the right one. While she’d known she might run into Aaron, she never anticipated her body’s reaction to him.
And she hadn’t anticipated his cold shoulder.
She threw her car into drive and pulled onto the crowded street, heading toward her parents’ house. She smiled at the polite way other drivers waited when she flipped on her blinker for lane changes, rather than rushing ahead or hogging the lane so she couldn’t get over. That would never happen in DC, which is why she’d sold her car and rode the metro instead.
Her phone rang with ABBA’s “Money, Money, Money.” She smiled, recognizing the ringtone she’d selected for Matthew, and touched the Bluetooth button in her rental car.
“Hi.” She stopped at the stoplight. “It’s so nice to hear from you.”
“How was your drive?”
Sarah’s heartbeat quickened at the sound of his voice. “Uneventful. How’s everything with you?”
“I miss you. How is it being home?”
“Weird,” she said. “But I’m not home yet.”
“Town changed much?” Matthew asked.
She glanced at the midsize buildings surrounding her, the leaves on the trees in the park beginning to turn. Some of the signs had changed—the Italian restaurant where she’d celebrated her sixteenth birthday was now a laundromat, and the stationery store was now a Chinese restaurant—but the look and feel of the place was the same. “Not really.”
“Gotta love small towns—and the people in them.”
She frowned. “Hey, I’m from this town.”
Matthew’s voice usually pleased her, but something about his comment gave her pause. Browerville wasn’t a small town in the middle of nowhere. It was a thriving, diverse place, forty-five minutes outside of New York City. And as much as she once found it stifling, it was her hometown.
“And you’re the best part about it.” His smooth, rich baritone slid around her and filled the lonely cracks.
The light turned green, and she let out a breath before continuing down the street. Maybe she was too sensitive.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said, turning onto her parents’ street.
“Make it tonight. Please.”
Her chest constricted and the air in the car stifled her as she pulled into the driveway. She was pleased he missed her, but what if she didn’t have time? She was supposed to visit with her family—he promised he’d give her space.
“Sarah!” The front door to her childhood home flew open and her parents raced down the steps.
Her father reached her first, pulling open her car door and squeezing her in a hug before she could take off her seat belt. She breathed in his familiar soapy scent before turning and embracing her mother. Her eyes stung with a longing she hadn’t expected at the scent of her mother’s Dior perfume. A tight knot loosened in her chest. She was home.
“I’ve got to go, Matthew,” Sarah said.
“Hi, Matthew!” her mother called out so the car’s Bluetooth would pick up her voice. “Wish you could be here!”
While her father opened the backseat door and pulled out her luggage—his strong arms carrying both suitcases and a small bag with ease—her mother rushed ahead and opened the front door.
“Call me, Sarah,” Matthew said. “I’ll wait.”
He’d said the same thing when he proposed. It had been endearing at the time.
“Okay.” She swallowed and yanked back the car’s parking brake.
“Come inside, Sarah,” her father called. “We’re dying to see you!”
Smiling to herself, Sarah exited the car and shut the door with a gentle slam. Matthew might wait, but her parents wouldn’t.
Her childhood home, a two-story beige colonial, hadn’t changed in as long as she could remember. The glistening windows, bordered by black shutters, still reminded her of eyes with long lashes. The trees in the front yard were well maintained, only taller and fuller than when she’d last visited.
Inside the front hallway, she squinted in the shadows and removed her light jacket. Hanging it on the oak banister like always, she followed her parents’ voices into the sunny kitchen at the back of the house.
“Ah honey, it’s good to see you.” Her mother gave her another bone-crushing hug, then waved a hand at Sarah’s black cotton top and linen pants. “But what’s with all this black?”
Sarah looked down at herself. “What’s wrong with it?” An image of Emily’s brightly colored work outfit flashed through her mind. Her mother would’ve loved it.
“There’s no color.”
“Black is a color.” Sarah sat at the kitchen table and smiled in thanks at her dad as he passed her a cup of tea. Although she didn’t come home often—and never for such an extended time—when she did, this was their ritual. Her dad made the best oolong tea. Sarah inhaled the spicy aroma before taking a sip.
Her mom snorted inelegantly and ran a hand through her tousled salt-and-pepper curls before bringing her own teacup to her lips. “Let me make you something to eat. Pancakes? French toast? A waffle?”
“I’m good, Mom.” Sarah remembered her mother’s cooking—delicious, stick-to-your-ribs food. She couldn’t afford to eat it now if she wanted to keep her slim figure. She’d made a lot of changes, her diet being one of them.
Her mother stared at her over the rim of her teacup. “So, how is your job and apartment? How’s Matthew? I’m sorry he couldn’t join us this year.”
Sarah held back her own snort. Matthew hadn’t ever joined them, despite the fact they’d dated for the past three years. “Matthew has too much work, Mom. Congress is in session, and he has lobbying work to do. Besides, couples need breaks occasionally.”
“Breaks?” Her mother’s eyes widened as though she’d suggested they watch a triple X-rated movie. “What breaks? Your father and I never needed breaks from each other. Is everything okay with you two?”
“Everything is fine. We’re not like you and Daddy.” A trickle of...something...slithered along her spine. Unlike her parents—who were like a matched pair of socks, always doing everything together—she and Mathew didn’t mind doing things apart. And the last thing she wanted was to discuss Matthew or the marriage proposal. Her mother would have opinions with a capital O. “But he says hello. And as for my job, I love it.”
Right, change the subject. If only her mother would bite.
Her father’s eyes gleamed with pride. “You’re making a difference?”
Her mother opened her mouth like she was about to say more, then closed it when her father interrupted with his question. Thank goodness for her father.
With a grateful smile, Sarah answered. “I am.” Her chest expanded. “We’re influential with the senators, and we’re working to get them to back legislation helping women.”
He nodded. “And you can afford all this time off?”
“I took three and a half days, and they give us off between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It’s fine.”
Her mom rose and kissed her cheek. “That’s wonderful, darling. Now all we need is to buy you some colorful pieces of clothing. And convince Matthew he needs to devote more time to you, not less.”
Sarah’s throat burned as she forced down a scalding sip of tea. If she didn’t, she was afraid she’d spit it out. While her father was quiet, her mother was a force of nature, and she never gave up. Try as she might, Sarah rarely won an argument with her. And arguing about colors, or Matthew or discussing the marriage proposal, wasn’t something she was going to do.
Aaron wiped the counter with a rag, scrubbing so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if he wore a hole in the old Formica. Easing the rag away from the superclean area, he placed a piece of wax paper on the counter and grabbed two slices of rye bread. The din of the packed deli faded into the background.
Sarah Abrams.
His stomach clenched. Of all the people to walk into his deli, he’d never expected her. He’d hoped at one time that she’d change her mind and decide this is where she belonged. Dreamed about her for longer than he’d like to admit—how her long, dark hair brushed his chest when she leaned over and kissed him, how her soft lips teased his, how her olive skin slid smoothly beneath his hands. He’d even broken an engagement with another woman because he couldn’t get Sarah out of his head. But expected? It had been ten years.
“I asked for pumpernickel,” the wizened old man complained across the counter.
Aaron looked at the sandwich, swore under his breath and threw the rye slathered in mustard in the trash.
“Gloria!” He shouted down the line toward an older woman with a brown apron covering her T-shirt and jeans. She patted the shoulder of the woman she was speaking to and strode over.
“Yeah?”
His six-foot frame towered over her, and she craned her neck to meet his gaze.
“Can you take over for me? He wants...” He turned to the customer. Age and disappointment conspired to make the old man resemble a shar-pei. Aaron shook his head and ushered Gloria forward. “Sorry, she’ll make your sandwich. And it’s on the house.”
Wiping his hands on his apron, he weaved through the staff behind the counter. When he reached his tiny office tucked in the back, he shut the door and sank into the rickety-wheeled desk chair. He ground his teeth until his jaw ached. Other parts of his body used to ache when he was around Sarah in high school and college. They’d been inseparable. Her smile, with the one tooth a little crooked in the front, brightened any bad day. Her husky voice soothed him. Now, though?
Disappointment simmered. She’d promised him forever and broken his heart, walking away from this town—from him—without a thought for the people she’d left behind. And, when he’d tried to surprise her... It took him years to recover, but with focus and drive, he’d created a life for himself here. A good life, even if he was ultimately alone. He’d stepped up, shouldered the responsibility of this business and taken care of his family and friends. His steady and predictable life gave him purpose and satisfaction. He’d dated other women. He’d stopped looking for her at synagogue on holidays, stopped thinking every ring of the phone was her. He’d stopped waiting for her to walk into his deli and order challah.
Until today, when she’d done just that, acting as if she had every right to be just another customer in line. Her deep brown hair skimmed her shoulders. When they were together, it had been curly. Her chocolate brown eyes were more wary, but still big enough for him to drown in. Her heels made her taller, but he’d bet she’d still fit against his shoulder...
He slammed his hand against the desk, stormed out of his office and up the back stairs to his apartment. She wasn’t the same, even if she was thirty, like him. She’d changed, and he hated change.
His head ached, and his jaw was tight. He needed air. Untying his apron, he reached for his sweatshirt with his youth group logo on the back, the worn fabric soft against his rough hands. At one time, they’d both worn sweatshirts from this youth group, attended events together... He dropped it on the ground and reached for his Giants one instead.
His phone rang, and he answered without looking.
“Hello?”
“Aaron? It’s your mother.”
He rolled his eyes. No matter how many times he told her she was programmed into his phone, that he could see who called when it rang, she insisted on starting her calls this way. Of course, this time he hadn’t looked, so his argument was moot. He wouldn’t tell her, but still.
“How are you, Mom?”
“I’m worried about the catering order for the temple’s Rosh Hashanah meal.”
His deli was catering it, as it had done every year for as long as he could remember. His chest swelled with pride. A long time ago, he and Sarah used to attend the meal together. Would she attend this year? Pride and nostalgia turned to frustration. He shook his head. “Why? We’ve got the same menu as we always do, I’ve ordered everything for delivery, and I’ve got extra help coming in to help us prepare.”
With his mother pulling away from the business to enjoy retirement, catering became another of his responsibilities.
Responsibility. He took it seriously and made sacrifices for it. Something Sarah never seemed to understand. He shook his head as his mother’s words penetrated.
“I know, but I’d feel more comfortable if we could go over it one more time. And maybe you should have Jordan or Gabriel help you.”
This was the first year his mother wasn’t overseeing the event. He rolled his shoulders and tried to release some of the tension in his neck. She wasn’t responsible for Sarah’s return. And just because Sarah decided to pop into the deli unannounced, didn’t mean he could take his frustration out on his mother. “I don’t need their help, Mom. Let them focus on their own lives. How about you and I sit together after closing today to go over everything one more time?”
He could practically hear his mother’s smile beam through the phone. It was his father’s favorite thing—the wattage of her smile. She smiled with her entire being, and it was usually directed at his father. Despite not being able to see it, Aaron warmed knowing it was now directed at him.
“I would appreciate that, honey. Thank you.”
“No problem, Mom. I’ll meet you at the deli at eight.”
He stared out the window of his apartment into the alley below. He wanted to get outside and restore his equilibrium. Clear his ex-girlfriend from his mind. However, he needed to go downstairs, especially if he was to go over the catering order with his mother later. Jogging down the stairs, he returned to the deli and maneuvered behind the counter.
“Aaron!”
Looking into the room full of shoppers, he spotted his best friend, Dave, the man’s bald brown head a beacon in any crowd.
He nodded. “What’s up?”
“Grab a beer tonight?”
He reached behind him for an apron and tied it around his waist while listening to the order of the customer on the other side of the counter. Nodding, he leaned into the case and grabbed the turkey.
“Can’t. Mom wants to go over the catering menu after closing.”
“Again?” His friend leaned against the counter, eyebrow raised.
“It’s the first year she’s not in charge.”
Dave nodded. “Guess she’s having a hard time with the transition?”
“I can’t blame her. It’s our reputation, and she helped build it.” Another thing Sarah never understood. She’d never taken his ties to home seriously, hadn’t seemed to care he couldn’t pick up and follow her to DC. Although he had two brothers who were willing to help if asked. Still, he was the one who’d always loved this place—the smells, the bustle, the satisfaction of providing a good meal. He was the one who wanted to carry it forward.
He slathered Russian dressing on rye, added the turkey and tomato and sliced the sandwich in two, before including a sour pickle with the order.
“What time will you be finished? Want to grab something afterward?”
Aaron eyed his friend. He looked casual enough as he leaned against the counter, but there was an intensity in his gaze that belied his easygoing stance. “I should be finished around nine. Want to meet at the Gold Bar?”
Dave nodded. “I’ll save a bar stool for you.”
On a Tuesday night, Aaron didn’t think the place would be crowded, but he nodded and tried to concentrate on the customers in the store. Except no matter how much he tried to focus on his customers and their orders, three questions replayed in his mind. Why was she here? How long was she staying? And who would pick up the challah she’d ordered?
Matthew’s ringtone that evening sent a surge of pleasure through Sarah as she dried the last of the dinner dishes in her mother’s colorful kitchen. She dried her hands on the red and teal floral dish towel and answered.
“Hi, Matthew.” She walked as far away from the adjoining family room as possible so her parents wouldn’t overhear her conversation.
She was twelve again. Wonderful.
“Hey, sweetheart. I wanted to hear the sound of your voice, so I thought I’d call you.”
His sexy baritone flowed over her. “Working late?”
“As usual. And without the incentive of you to come home to, well...”
An image of their immaculate apartment flashed through her mind, so different from her parents’ lived-in home, filled with photos, knickknacks and half-finished knitting projects her mother was working on. “Guess this will be a very productive time for you.”
“It will, but I’ll miss you. What are you doing tonight?”
She made her way upstairs to her bedroom.
“Sarah, wait a minute?” Her father called from the hallway.
“Matthew, hold on a second.” She held the phone against her chest. “Yes, Dad?”
“I’m supposed to help move the tables at the synagogue tomorrow to set up for Rosh Hashanah lunch, but my back’s bothering me. Would you mind going instead? I hate to ask you, but I also don’t want to leave them shorthanded.”
She nodded. “I wish you’d told me before you carried in my suitcases, though.”
Her dad shrugged. “Those I can handle.” He walked down the steps toward the family room.
When she was sure he’d left, she entered her bedroom. Kicking off her shoes, she settled onto the bed. “Hanging out with my parents and watching TV.” Her parents were big fans of crime shows and challenged each other to figure out who committed the crime and why. Their antics were more entertaining than the show.
“Sounds nice. I almost wish I could have joined you.”
A pang of loneliness pierced Sarah. These ten days would be the longest they’d been away from each other since they’d started dating. She loved being the center of his world, but she also recognized the need for a little space, especially when she had so much to think about.
“You know why I need the time alone, Matthew.”
“Did you tell them yet?”
She closed her eyes. Matthew had surprised her with a marriage proposal. They’d talked about marriage before, but she always thought she had more time. She had a life plan, and while marriage was part of it, she hadn’t expected a proposal quite so soon. She rubbed her stomach. “Not yet. I don’t want their reaction to influence my decision.”
“Maybe they’ll help you make up your mind.”
Matthew was the perfect boyfriend—with a promising political career, a lifestyle she’d grown to love and a habit of showering her with gifts to show his affection. But something had stopped her from giving him an automatic “yes.” She hoped a vacation at home would help her sort out her feelings and be sure of her decision.
“Matthew, if we get married, it’s because it’s what we want, not what others want.” She gripped the phone in her hand until its edges pressed into her palm.
“I know, sweetheart. I just hope you see in us what everyone else does. We’re made for each other, Sarah.”
“Then taking my time over such an important decision won’t change anything. You surprised me. I thought I’d have more time to establish my career before getting married, so I need a little space in order to adjust and make the right decision.” An ache began forming in her temples.
His intake of breath echoed through the phone. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I’m the one who told you to take your time in the first place. Forget I said anything. Take your time and make the right decision, Sarah. I miss you.”
Hanging up the phone, she wondered what his idea of a “right” decision was.
