Bashert (3 page)

Jonah was learning a great deal about Aaron, but not what he was most curious about. They were having dessert, jelly donuts and coffee, and Jonah still didn’t know for sure if the man was straight or gay. He assumed Aaron was straight, and had only invited him because
A
, he was grateful;
B
, he was lonely;
C
, he wanted to bring him back to Judaism; or
D
, all the above.

Then Aaron surprised him by talking about how he’d regained his faith after being an unobservant gay man for several years. Aaron’s story seemed to parallel Jonah’s in many ways. As a young boy, he’d always felt different, and he’d had many of the same doubts as Jonah. In high school, he came out to his parents, but they refused to accept it. They thought he was going through a phase. Confused and angry, Aaron barely spoke to them in the months before he left for college. Shortly after the start of his freshman year, his mother and father were killed in a car crash. Aaron never had a chance to make things right with them, and he lost his faith along with his family.

A cold knot of guilt settled in Jonah’s stomach. It wasn’t too late to make things right with
his
parents. No, they didn’t speak the same language anymore. They’d never accept his new lifestyle.

“…and I was really depressed for a long time.” Aaron’s voice brought him back to the present. “But eventually I met a few Jews on campus. They were straight, but they belonged to a reform synagogue that embraced diversity. I joined the congregation and regained my faith.”

Jonah expected Aaron to invite him to attend this progressive shul, and he was fully prepared to decline, but it didn’t happen.

Aaron wasn’t pushy, and he knew when to stop talking and just listen. Still, the easy way he could converse with Aaron puzzled Jonah. He thought about his meeting with Christian in the bar yesterday. How come he had so much trouble talking to him? It must be because he thought of Christian as a prospective lover, and Aaron…. Well, Aaron was just a stray he’d picked up.

Aaron’s low voice intruded into Jonah’s thoughts again, and he looked up. “Earth to Jonah.” Aaron smiled at him—a big, easy grin that reached his dark eyes and lit up his entire face. Jonah stared. Why had he never noticed how long and black Aaron’s eyelashes were?

“I was just thinking… uh, how good this meal is.

Aaron’s face lit up. “Would you like some more?”

“God, no. I’m stuffed.” Jonah pushed his plate away.

“Then I’ll clear the table. It’s almost time to light the menorah.”

They were facing each other at the tiny table. Aaron made a move to rise, and his knee brushed Jonah’s. Jonah tensed and jumped up so quickly, his chair fell over backward. “Sorry,” Jonah blurted out. He righted the chair, picked up his dishes, and flew into the kitchen.

Aaron gave him a funny look but didn’t say anything. Jonah took a few seconds to calm his racing heart. When he returned to the living area, Aaron was getting out a white plastic menorah. He set it on the windowsill and plugged it in. It was electric and had four branches on each side of an elevated ninth branch. Each held a small flame-shaped lightbulb. Aaron looked at Jonah almost defensively. “It’s all I can afford.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Jonah told him.

Aaron frowned at him. “I’m not. It’s just that it doesn’t feel real to me. Electric menorahs are okay for store displays, or families with small children who are afraid of fire, but Hanukkah lights should be real flames like they were in the Holy Temple.”

“We’ll pretend. It’ll be fine.”

Aaron smiled ruefully. Then he turned and faced the menorah to recite the prayer. “
Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.
”

Jonah said it along with him. In his head. Then he watched as Aaron rotated the little bulbs in their holders, lighting them in order. Jonah admired Aaron for finding his place in the religious community. Such a devout man deserved to have a proper menorah.

Aaron closed his eyes for a moment before saying the prayer in English. “Blessed are You, O Lord Our God, Ruler of the Universe, Who has sanctified us with Your commandments and commanded us to kindle the lights of Hanukkah.”

Staring at the lamp, Jonah felt confused.
Who am I? What am I?
In his parents’ eyes he was disloyal to his faith, but standing beside Aaron, he almost felt like he could reconcile his birth as a Jew and his attraction to men. Almost as if Aaron sensed his turmoil, he took Jonah’s hand. The gesture, meant to be comforting, sparked sexual excitement, and Jonah pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned.

“I should leave.”

Aaron sighed heavily as Jonah picked up his jacket and started for the door.

“Thank you, Aaron. This has been great.”

“Then come back tomorrow. Same time.”

Jonah opened his mouth to say no, but Aaron stopped him. “Please. I don’t like to celebrate alone.”

Jonah nodded reluctantly, and Aaron closed the door between them before Jonah could change his mind. Jonah stared at the door for a long time. These lustful feelings for an observant Jew bothered him, and he tried to conjure up an image of the man he’d met in the bar. Already, Christian’s face was fading from memory. Jonah needed to rekindle his interest in the blond and let go of his desire for Aaron, and what better way than Christmas shopping for Christian? He would buy the blond a belated present, maybe a mistletoe ornament to remind him of their parting kiss. It was stupid, but it would be an icebreaker if Christian decided to call him after the holidays.

T
HE
SMALL
storefront fooled Jonah. When he walked inside the thrift shop, he was instantly transported to another time and place. The dusty interior was crammed full of anything and everything and smelled like his grandma’s attic. He loved it. A guy like him could easily spend an entire day rummaging through the sizeable interior.

Jonah wandered through a decent selection of vintage clothes and found himself in a hodgepodge of glassware, cookie jars, and tools. Two aisles over, he lost himself in an area filled with books and magazines. Finally, he dragged himself away from the comics and toward the back, where he found a veritable treasure trove of Christmas stuff.

Jonah dug through a box of decorations and found several mistletoe ornaments, including one made of silver. Distracted by a glimpse of something down the aisle, he set them aside and walked over to investigate.

A serious treasure sat on the shelf before him—an antique bronze Hanukkah lamp. Jonah couldn’t resist picking it up and inspecting it more closely. The menorah had a back plate decorated with intricate scrolled foliage and clusters of fruit. No electricity needed for this baby. The eight oil pans fitted securely into slots in the back plate. All they needed were oil and wicks.

He remembered another Hanukkah, when he was just a boy. His beloved grandmother had taken ill and was living with them. Every night his father would light her brass oil lamp. Usually Jonah felt like an intruder at the holiday, but that year, the celebration had been a rare and happy occasion. In his bubbe’s eyes, Jonah could do no wrong. If only he could have confided in her, she would have understood, but she died before he had the chance. Thinking about death made him feel guilty again. His parents weren’t getting any younger.

Jonah pulled his thoughts back to the present.
I want this lamp—for Aaron
. The other man would love this. But when he turned over the price tag, it gave him sticker shock. $45.00! It was way more than he’d wanted to spend. He made a move to replace it on the shelf.

“It’s worth much more.” The proprietor smiled at him.

Jonah frowned back at the man and pointed to a slot situated near the top of the menorah. “It’s missing the shamash, the servant pan used to light the others.”

“Which is why it’s so cheap,” the clerk told him. “The ninth holder was lost, but I have a replacement.” He handed Josh an oil pan that was obviously of a more modern vintage. “It fits. See. If you’re buying it to use, you will not have a problem.”

The desire to buy the lamp pulled at Jonah. Do it for Aaron, he told himself. His new friend had given him something he’d hadn’t felt for years—a feeling of belonging. After his grandmother died, he’d always felt so alone and so disconnected from the Hanukkah celebration. This holiday felt different from all the others. In his heart, Jonah thought his feelings might have something to do with who he celebrated with. Observing Hanukkah with another man, a gay man who felt comfortable in his skin and in his faith, made Jonah see the light, no pun intended. Warmed by the radiant glow and Aaron’s presence beside him, Jonah had felt a real appreciation for what the holiday stood for. He imagined them lighting this lamp together. Mistletoe all but forgotten, Jonah reached for his wallet.

J
ONAH
GRIPPED
his bag with one hand and knocked on Aaron’s door with the other. His new friend opened it and greeted him with a smile. Suddenly at a loss, Jonah shoved the bag at Aaron, who looked at it with curiosity. “You didn’t have to bring anything. I have plenty of food.”

“It’s not food.” Jonah felt his face heat. “It’s a gift. For you.”

Aaron’s brows lifted, as if he were surprised.

“It
is
Hanukkah.”

Aaron took the bag, and looked inside. His smile faded.

“If you don’t like it, I can bring it back and get something else.”

Aaron removed the lamp carefully. “It’s a wonderful present, Jonah.” He held it against his heart. “I’m stunned. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You already have. Besides, this is my thank-you to you.”

For an instant, Aaron’s eyes glistened suspiciously, but then he leaned over and planted a kiss on Jonah’s lips. A chaste kiss, but Jonah felt passion and promise behind it. His imagination or wishful thinking? He pushed those thoughts away when Aaron pulled him inside the apartment.

Aaron wasted no time setting the lamp on a front window. “It should be on the windowsill for all to admire as they walk by.”

“The shamash is in the bag,” Jonah called out.

“I’ve got it. Thanks.” Aaron stood in front of the menorah, admiring it. “What do you think?”

“It’s the perfect spot. I know you already have olive oil, and I bought wicks.”

“Wonderful. Let’s eat, and then we’ll light it together at sundown.”

They ate quickly because sundown was fast approaching. After Aaron cleared the table, he turned to Jonah. “I have a present for you too.” He disappeared into the coat closet for a few minutes. When he came back, he handed Jonah a dark-blue crocheted yarmulke. An intricate design was woven through it with metallic silver yarn. “It belonged to my father.”

Jonah felt humbled, but he couldn’t accept it. “It has an important meaning to you. I can’t take it.”

“Please. I have others that belonged to him.”

Jonah hesitated for a few seconds. He felt like a hypocrite. The skullcap didn’t carry the same religious significance for him—not anymore. But he put it on because it had belonged to Aaron’s father, and he knew it would make Aaron happy. “Thank you.” Jonah caught his reflection in the window. The man he saw looking back made his heart ache, and he averted his eyes.

Aaron brought out the oil and prepared the lamp. He recited the prayer, and this time Jonah said it with him. Then in silent congress, they watched the flames dance.

Jonah sneaked a sidelong glance at Aaron. When he saw the small smile playing at Aaron’s lips, he was glad he’d joined in. Glad he’d bought the lamp, just glad to be here with Aaron. Jonah struggled to keep his attention on the candles, but Aaron’s musky scent and the warmth of his body kept intruding. The other man possessed an inherent sexuality that made heat curl in Jonah’s groin. He’d felt that same warmth when he spotted Christian in the bar, but this was turning into so much more. Butterflies took wing, stirring up a hormonal hurricane of epic proportions. Jonah tamped down his growing arousal. This ritual might not mean much to him anymore, but it definitely meant something to Aaron, and he didn’t want to spoil it for the other man.

But Aaron stood close enough for their thighs to touch, and Jonah didn’t shrink back from the contact. A few seconds later, Aaron’s hand brushed his. Jonah accepted the invitation and threaded his fingers with Aaron’s. They held hands in silence. Jonah didn’t know what to make of the contact, but somehow it felt right.

Maybe too right. Aaron’s touch set Jonah’s nerve endings on fire, and made him weak-kneed. Finally good sense prevailed, and Jonah stepped back. “I have to go.” He took the yarmulke off and placed it in his pocket.

Aaron looked disappointed, but he didn’t protest. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

T
HERE
WERE
many tomorrows. Despite his misgivings, Jonah came back each night to celebrate Hanukkah. And each night they spent together brought him and Aaron closer. They talked about everything—classes, professors, family. Jonah’s sexual hunger for Aaron ebbed and flowed and grew stronger. Yes, he wanted a lover—but not Aaron. No way. Jonah did not want to get involved with an observant Jew, and he did not believe his meeting with Aaron was
bashert
.

Their encounter had been purely accidental, and Jonah—being lonely and maybe just a tad homesick, despite being at odds with his parents—had accepted Aaron’s hospitality. That the man was also gay and could relate to Jonah’s problems was just another happy coincidence. But lust wasn’t supposed to enter into it. Those kinds of feelings should be reserved for Christian, or someone like him. Jonah realized with a jolt that he hadn’t thought of the blond in days.

Aaron’s image had imprinted on his mind. Memories of subtle touches and lingering looks fueled Jonah’s daily masturbation sessions and kept him coming back each night to Aaron’s apartment. Aaron had dark intense eyes and a way of looking at Jonah that made his toes curl. His lips had been soft and warm when they kissed, and the friction of his stubbled jaw sent sparks skittering up Jonah’s spine. Aaron had tasted like home—a place of refuge and rest.