A Year to Remember Read online

After what felt like an eternity, Missy rescued me by discretely passing me a tissue. God, I love that woman. It’s really too bad I’m not a lesbian, because she’s exactly what I’ve been searching for, minus the penis, of course.

  As I dried my tears and removed the source of my discomfort, a clump of mascara, I peered into the sea of guests, who should have been watching Seth and Emily drinking from a cup of wine. To my absolute horror, six hundred eyes focused on me.

  I choked back the urge to run off and check a mirror. I raised an eyebrow at Missy who then pointed to her smile. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Her whole body shook with repressed laughter.

  I leaned over to the bridesmaid standing next to me. “Caitlyn, is there something on my face?”

  She barely glimpsed at me. “No, you look fine.”

  “Mazel Tov!” Seth stepped on the glass, completing the ceremony and kissing his bride.

  The wedding party exited exactly as we rehearsed earlier in the day. As soon as I could, I ran into the bathroom to see what had everyone riveted to my face. Other than smeared makeup, nothing appeared too interesting.

  “Hey, girlfriend! Want a drink?” Missy came into the ladies restroom with two glasses of champagne.

  “Missy, why was everyone staring at me?”

  She put her hand on my shoulder. Oh dear, this couldn’t be good.

  “Everyone thought it was beautiful you were crying at your brother’s wedding.”

  Okay, that didn’t sound too bad. I could live with that. Then, a troubling thought occurred to me.

  “They thought I was crying because I was jealous, didn’t they?”

  Missy grimaced. “I don’t think everyone thought that.”

  “Oh, God.” I took a glass of champagne from her and drank it all without stopping, before snatching her glass and finishing that off, too. “Mmm, this is really good. I never drank Kosher champagne before. Let’s go find some more.”

  Arm in arm, Missy and I went to face the crowd.

  An hour and two more glasses of champagne later, Missy and I listened to Emily’s parents welcome everyone to the wedding. With Missy’s assistance, I finally sat for the first time since getting dressed. She and I sat at the table with both sets of parents and Emily’s brother, Jon, and his wife, Susie.

  I hadn’t eaten anything since the four donuts for breakfast, and the champagne made me feel warm and relaxed. A little bit tipsy, I had no intention of getting up from the table anytime soon. Unfortunately, my brother had other plans for me.

  “Seth’s sister would like to say a few words,” Emily’s father announced over the microphone.

  Horrified, I turned to my mother.

  “I’m sure I told you,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

  No, Mom, you failed to mention I’d have to get up and make an impromptu speech in front of an audience, who believed I cried during the ceremony out of jealousy.

  Missy gave me a light jab on my shoulder. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

  I shot her a dirty look and seized another glass of champagne as I made my way to the stage.

  I should have made it quick and to the point. But the lack of food and the abundance of alcohol surging through my system gave me another idea.

  I grabbed the microphone, pleased to know I didn’t have one ounce of stage fright.

  “Shalom, I’m Sara Friedman, Seth’s sister. I’m really happy to be here today to celebrate this momentous occasion with everyone.” I should have said l’chayim and ended it there. No, I kept on talking.

  “They say we each have a beshert, a soul mate, the person God has chosen for us. We spend our lives searching for it, many of us never finding it, and many of us failing to recognize it when it might be right in front of us. It’s clear to me Seth and Emily are beshert. Not two halves of a whole, but two whole souls that belong together.” So far, so good.

  “You’d think with all the resources at our fingertips these days, it would be easier to find your soul mate. After all, with the Internet we can meet people from all over the world without even leaving our house. Not long ago, we married the person our parents chose for us. Times changed, and with it we earned the right to choose our own mate. No longer requiring our family’s approval, we could get married to whomever we wanted, whenever we wanted. We could run off to Vegas to be married by an Elvis impersonator without even leaving our car.”

  I started to get weepy, a sure sign I’d consumed too much champagne. It was as if I stood outside of myself watching the fiasco unfold and unable to stop it.

  “Today, I turned twenty-nine and I wonder if I’ll ever meet my own beshert. Did we already meet and fail to recognize we belonged together? Did I lose my chance already?”

  I stopped and pondered my own profound musings for a moment, before remembering I still held the microphone. Oh dear, what was I saying? I decided I better wrap it up, since the room started spinning.

  “I’m jealous of my brother.” Crap, did that really just come out of my mouth?

  “I mean, I’m not jealous just because my younger brother got married before me and I’m twenty-nine with no possible prospects in sight,” I stammered.

  The audience giggled, and I wondered if they believed me, because I sure didn’t.

  “I’m happy for my brother, because if he can find his beshert, it gives me hope that someday, I will, too.”

  Before I could stop myself, the words I would live to regret flew out of my mouth. “Even without a significant man in my life at the moment, I promise you by the time I turn thirty, I will be married.”

  Oh my God, did I really just say that? “With that, I’ll end by saying Mazel Tov, Seth and Emily. L’chayim!” I held up my empty glass of champagne.

  Everyone clapped as I returned to my table. I hoped the videographer could edit my speech out of the wedding video, or ’I’d never live it down. My brother would play it at every holiday just to torture me.

  Missy gave me a sympathetic smile. “That was a great speech until you blew it by admitting you were jealous and swore to marry by your thirtieth birthday.”

  I groaned and put my head in my hands, terrified to think the night just started.

  The waiters brought some rolls to the table and I grabbed one, eating greedily to soak up some of the alcohol in my system. After the salad, I began to feel normal again.

  The bandleader asked the bridal party and their partners to join Emily and Seth on the dance floor. I get the privilege of slow dancing with Goldman. This should be fun.

  Since Goldman didn’t bring a date and Emily considered it inappropriate for me to dance with Missy, she requested Goldman and I dance together.

  As we met on the dance floor, the band began massacring the Bangles “Eternal Flame.” Goldman placed both hands on my waist, and I hung my arms limply around his neck.

  He tightened his grip and pulled me closer. My head rested against his chest, just as it had all those years ago. His hand moved up and down my back and I swear he sniffed my hair. I started to get tingly all over as his hard body rubbed up against mine. I cursed myself for letting him affect me that way, when I should have known better.

  Goldman encompassed all my favored physical attributes. Even though my mind understood he was a jerk, my body lusted after his. I wanted to run my fingers through his dark brown wavy hair, stare into those deep chocolate eyes, and strip off his clothes. That’s why I usually stayed at least five feet away from him at all times.

  Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t be able to follow my own rules.

  The longer we danced, the faster my pulse raced. I swore I felt his own heart beating quicker, too, and his breathing seemed deeper, as if he couldn’t get enough air.

  His lips brush my ear. Oh my God, was he going to kiss me?

  “I liked your speech, Sara. All your talk about beshert.”

  I didn’t dare raise my eyes to meet his. Instead, I kept my gaze focused on his chest.

  “Thanks, Goldman. That’s nice of you
to say.”

  “Do you really think you’ll find someone to marry you within the year?”

  I pushed him away from me, angry at myself for believing for one moment there could be anything between us.

  “You are such an asshole, Goldman.”

  For a moment, I thought I saw hurt in his eyes. Then, I reminded myself Goldman would have to have feelings in order for me to hurt him.

  I stormed away from him, intending to return to my table to eat dinner and complain to Missy. Before I managed to leave the dance floor, someone tapped my shoulder.

  I spun around expecting to find Goldman with another one of his so-called compliments.

  “Would you care to dance?” Caleb asked.

  Although I really wanted to eat, I couldn’t turn down a dance with the one handsome eligible bachelor I didn’t hate.

  “Sure, I’d like that,” I said, moving back onto the dance floor.

  He put his left hand on my upper back and his right hand in mine. I felt like Elizabeth dancing with Mr. Darcy.

  “Doesn’t your date mind you dancing with someone else?” Even an overweight, frizzy haired one like me?

  He shook his head and smiled. “Staci and I are just friends. She has family in Detroit. She came with me from New York so I wouldn’t have to go stag to the wedding.”

  Hmm, single and available. Too bad he lived in New York and I lived in Michigan. Or was that a good thing?

  We could have one of those romantic long-distance relationships. One where we talked for hours on the phone, learning each other’s secrets and typed explicit emails about what we planned on doing to each other when we finally reunited. Build up everything, so that when we were together, the reality couldn’t possibly top the fantasies we’d created. Spend lots of money we didn’t have on airfare.

  Okay, maybe a long distance relationship wasn’t such a good idea.

  “You give a good speech by the way. I agree. It isn’t easy finding someone.”

  I waited for the ridicule and the criticism, but it never came. He gave me a compliment!

  “Thank you. I’m sure you don’t have any problem getting a date though, do you?”

  He smiled sheepishly. “No, you’re right, I can get a date whenever I want one. But it’s like you said in your speech. It might be easy to meet a person, but it’s much harder to find the right one.” He stared into my eyes with a look so hot it could melt an iceberg.

  Was he talking about me?

  I tried to think up some clever, witty retort. I drew a blank. Instead, I smiled and nodded.

  “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

  Before the word “yes” left my mouth, I remembered my earlier reservations about dating someone long distance.

  “I’m sorry, but you live in New York, right?”

  “I do, but I’m moving here next month. In fact, I spent this week searching for an apartment, when I wasn’t keeping your brother from freaking out.”

  I laughed at thought of my brother panicking over his impending nuptials. “Yes, I’d love to go out with you sometime. Can I give you my number?”

  He grinned at me as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, hit a couple of buttons and turned it to me. “I already got it from your brother.”

  Caleb walked me back to my seat. Missy stopped talking to my father as we approached, her eyebrows rising telling me she wanted to hear all the juicy details.

  I leaned in and whispered into her ear. “I’ll tell you about it when we leave.”

  Four hours later, I finished dinner, ate a slice of wedding cake, and managed to drink another five glasses of champagne. After dancing to every Motown classic, I wanted to collapse from pure exhaustion. Most of the guests left, but some of my brother’s friends continued to dance and take advantage of the open bar. Missy and I already said our goodbyes to my family.

  “I’m ready to go. Do you want to get our coats from the dressing room?”

  “I’ve got to use the ladies’ room first. Why don’t you get our coats and I’ll meet you in the lobby?”

  “Sounds good to me.” I stumbled my way to our dressing room. Plunged into darkness as the door closed behind me, I couldn’t find the light switch. I hit my knee against a chair and groaned from the pain.

  The door opened and someone entered the room. I assumed it was Missy coming to rescue me once again.

  “I can’t find the light switch, Missy. Do you know where it is?”

  Without warning, someone yanked me tightly against his warm, solid body. I heard his slight intake of breath and then he kissed me.

  I know I should have fought against it, but whoever he was, he kissed sinfully well. At first, his soft lips whispered lightly against my own, seeking permission. When not only didn’t I stop him, but made a little moan of approval, his tongue caressed my lips until I opened my mouth. Only then did he allow his tongue to touch mine, first tentatively exploring the hidden depths of my mouth, and then hard and passionately, as though he’d never get enough of me.

  He tasted like a heavenly combination of whiskey and cake. His tongue teased mine in sweet caresses, heating my blood to a fevered pitch.

  Desperately needing to learn the identity of my mystery man, I lifted my hand to touch his face. He grabbed it away, nibbling on each fingertip then gently brushed his fingers across my cheek. I licked my lips in preparation of more kisses, but instead of kissing me, he spun me around in circles, confusing my sense of balance. As the world tilted on its axis and I tried to regain my bearings, he silently left the room.

  For a few minutes, I stood rooted to the spot, attempting to recover from the encounter and craving more from my mystery kisser. Blushing from my response to him, I knew although I’d never seen his face, I would have made love to him if he’d asked. Before him, no one in twenty-nine years had made my body burn that way.

  Suddenly, I remembered the room’s two floor lamps. I floundered around the room until I smacked into one. After finding our coats, I left the synagogue with Missy.

  Ending the evening of my twenty-ninth birthday with a kiss from my mysterious suitor should have thrilled me. Instead, I wondered why he (as drunk as I was, I was pretty sure I would have noticed if it was a woman) didn’t unmask his identity.

  Was he married?

  Self-conscious?

  Fifteen or eighty-five years old?

  Or even worse, embarrassed to be discovered kissing me?

  Tired of being alone and bringing Missy as my date, I learned one important lesson that night. I ached for what my brother had found with Emily. I yearned for my soul mate.

  How would I find him?

  CHAPTER 2

  FEBRUARY 26, 2012

  DETROIT, MICHIGAN

  WEIGHT: 185 1/2 LBS.

  STATUS: SINGLE

  “Just five minutes more, Mom,” I mumbled, placing the pillow over my head to drown out the sound of the workmen. It didn’t help, since the pounding in my head stayed in tempo with the ones coming from outside my front door. Through my hungover haziness, I realized someone was knocking on my front door.

  “Coming!” I hoarsely yelled, my parched throat begging for a glass of water.

  I tugged on my robe, and then staggered to the door of my condo.

  “Rise and shine! I brought coffee!” Missy gleefully announced from outside.

  I opened the door to glare at my friend.

  “Why are you here? And so early?” I groaned, traipsing back to bed.

  “First of all, it’s not early. It’s nearly noon. Second, I’ve given it a lot of thought and I know how to help you,” she babbled, thrusting one of the coffees my way.

  I needed to drink some coffee before I could figure out what the hell Missy was talking about. Completely lost, I felt as though I came in on the middle of a conversation. After a few cautious sips of my nonfat café latte, I sighed in pleasure. There’s nothing like a little caffeine to perk a girl right up.

  Missy sat on my bed, rumbling thro
ugh a large tie-dye bag.

  “Missy, why are you here?”

  “On the way home, you cried about how you wanted to get married by your thirtieth birthday. I’m here to help you make your dreams come true.”

  Say what? I had no recollection of crying last night.

  I sat there racking my brain, trying to remember what happened to cause me to...Oh God.

  The kiss from my mystery man. Feeling as though I’d never find anyone who would make me feel like he did. Jealous my brother would go on his honeymoon to Hawaii, while I would go home alone to my empty life.

  When Missy drove me home last night, I told her about the kiss. She asked me questions to help me determine his identity, but I couldn’t remember anything other than how good he kissed. His height, build, whether he had facial hair, all the discerning details, gone from my memory, thanks to my two bottles of champagne. Missy pointed out it could have even been a woman, for all I remembered.

  I whined that I was tired of being single. I told her I had to get married by the time I turned thirty. No, I didn’t just tell her. I swore on my Nana’s grave, I would get married within the year, even if I spent my entire life savings.

  “I might have exaggerated somewhat last night. After all, I’d drunk a few glasses of champagne,” I reminded Missy.

  “Are you saying you don’t want to get married by your thirtieth birthday?”

  Did I? Was I ready to share my life with a partner? Did I want someone to stay in bed with on Sunday mornings to read the New York Times, someone to accompany me to family dinners, and someone who would remind me not to drink too much champagne?

  “I do,” I confided to both Missy and myself.

  “Then you need to put yourself out there and jump into the dating pool,” Missy advised, as she pulled out her Dell laptop computer from her bag.

  “Haven’t I been doing that for the last ten years? I’ve been dating since my freshman year of high school, so really, I’ve spent more than half my life already searching for my soul mate. If I haven’t found the one by now, what makes you think this time will be any different?”“