Dating Kosher (17 page)

“You are one crazy woman, Mother,” I spat out just as the bathroom door opened. My head snapped toward it and my heart leaped into my throat when I saw Susan standing there, biting her lip, nostrils flaring with every breath. She held on to the door, assumedly so she could make a quick escape in case Tippy was feeling frisky enough to attack her.

“I am not a whore, Tziporah,” Susan said, her tone low and dangerous as she glared at my mother.

Mom snorted, folding her arms across her chest. “Like hell, you’re not.”

Susan stepped fully into the bathroom and stood in the center of the room, forming the third point of our triangle of dysfunction. Mirroring my mother, Susan folded her arms. She was furious, her lip twitching. “And I suppose
you
are above reproach?”

“You stole my husband!” Mom spat.

Susan seemed to chew on her words before letting them out. Her tone was low, but her voice wavered as she held back her anger. “Tziporah, we go back a lot of years. You have no right to call me a whore. You have no right to even
consider
admonishing me after what you did to my family.”

My mother’s expression turned from rage to fear as she quickly glanced in my direction before turning back to Susan. “That was three decades ago. Don’t you dare…”

Susan’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You started this. I was willing to leave it all as water under the bridge, but if you want to start casting stones, I’ll bite. You like airing dirty laundry; why don’t you tell your daughter what you did to us?” She jerked her thumb toward me.

In only a few seconds, Mom had lost her upper hand and it showed. Panic colored her face as her eyes darted from Susan to me and back. She suddenly took the few steps to close the gap between us and grabbed my arm, much like I had done to her only moments before. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” She turned toward the door.

But Susan was standing in front of it, her hands on her hips, not moving. “You’re not going anywhere.” She glared down at my mother, having a good two inches on her.

I’d never seen Susan like this. Where my mother had always been outspoken and tenacious, Susan had been demure and quiet. It was a no-brainer to figure out what Dad saw in her: she was the anti-Tippy.

She turned to me, her face softening slightly. “Sorry about this, Shoshanna, but if this doesn’t get hashed out tonight it will go on and I…”

“STOP POISONING HER!” my mother shrieked, digging her acrylic talons into the soft flesh of my forearm, lunging at Susan at the same time.

Before I could do anything to intervene, Susan had put her arms up to block and in doing so had knocked my mother flat on her ass. She landed with a dull thud on the hard, tiled floor.

“Oh my God,” Susan’s hands flew to her mouth.

I bent down to tend to my weeping mother and saw out of the corner of my eye as Susan got bumped in the back by the door as someone tried to get into the bathroom.

It was Dad. “Susan? Tippy? What’s going on in here?”

Susan poked her head around the door, speaking to my dad in an authoritative tone. “I’m handling this, Martin. Go away, we’ll be out in a minute.”

As I helped my mother to her feet, I took the opportunity to whisper in her ear. “Mom, what’s going on? What did you do to Susan?”

“Nothing, Shoshanna. Let go of me.” She wriggled, trying to get out from my grasp, looking like she was going to try to pounce on Susan again. This was turning ridiculous; seriously, my last chick fight in a bar had been less catty than this. I kept my grip tight on her arm.

“Come on, Tziporah, tell her what you did.” Susan was goading my mother. It was a side of my soon-to-be stepmother (if
this
drama ever blew over) that I didn’t love so much, though I could totally see how Mom had pushed her over the edge.

Mom was crying again. “Shut up, Susan and let us out,” she said, sounding more pathetic than authoritative.

It was more than I could handle. “Susan, I don’t think that this is going to solve anything.”

Susan looked at me, blinking. “Your mother started this, Shoshanna. I have put up with her calling me every name in the book, and phoning me almost on a daily basis to do so. I have lost friends because of her and almost lost my fiancé over her because for some reason,” she glared at my mother, “Marty feels responsible for how crazy she is.”

I had to admit, Susan had a pretty compelling case for losing it on my mother.

“He
should
feel responsible,” Mom said, sounding like a five-year-old.

Susan growled, her frustration evident. “I can’t see what my brother ever even saw in you. You always were just a spoiled over-privileged debutante.”

Brother?
This was news; I didn’t even know Susan
had
a brother. Turning to look at my mother, I wondered if she’d had some sort of affair with Susan’s brother after learning about Dad’s marital indiscretion. Mom was clearly on the verge of a breakdown: not a good time to ask.

Susan took a deep breath and continued, her voice slightly calmer. “Listen, Tziporah…Tippy: I’m ready to put this all behind us. I’m beyond tired of this bullshit. I did not steal your husband. Contrary to what you want everyone to think, you and he had already started the divorce before he and I ever got together. I kept my mouth shut all this time, trying to make it easier on you, but I’m done with that now.”

Looking at Mom, I realized that what Susan was saying had to be the truth. Mom was completely deflated, not even bothering to look at Susan anymore. She just stared at the floor, nodding slightly. She was beat and she knew it.

But Susan wasn’t done with her. “I suggest that you get a good shrink and keep him on twenty-four-hour standby.”

Not a bad idea, I thought.

Mom lifted her head but just glared at Susan, her lips pursed tightly together.

“And know this,” Susan continued, her voice lowered to a menacing hiss. “If you so much as set foot in this building tomorrow, I will have you arrested and thrown out on your ass, even if I have to do it myself. Do you understand me?”

A nod was my mother’s only reply.

“And I don’t want any mention of this anymore or I’m getting a restraining order on you. Do you understand?”

Ouch. Mom just kept nodding. I respected Susan so much in that moment—what a badass she was being.

The door opened again and Jen sauntered in, a blank look on her face. It was as though she hadn’t even witnessed the scene back in the ballroom. She stopped and looked at her mother’s strained face. “What is going on in here?”

Are you a moron? I thought, disbelieving that she could be so clueless.

“Nothing, Jennifer. Tippy and I had a conversation but it’s over now. Right Tippy?”

Suddenly Mom’s head snapped up, the corners of her mouth edging outward into a garish smile. “Yes, it is, Susan. We are all done here.”

Jen looked from my mom back to Susan. “Okay, well I gotta pee like nobody’s business.” She pushed past on her way to one of the stalls.

Mom turned toward the mirror and plucked a Kleenex out of the box on the counter, dabbing at her make-up. She opened her purse and pulled out several compacts, her lipstick and a small bottle of perfume, arranging everything on the counter. To the untrained eye, she looked cool and calm, as though she were fixing her make up after a meal. But she was still rattled. I could tell by the way her hand quivered ever so slightly as she applied more mascara, replacing what had come off with the tears.

In the mirror, I watched as Susan, without a word, slipped quietly out of the room.

As I stood amid a cloud of newly spritzed Chanel No. 19, I pondered a new conundrum: should I escort my mother out of the hotel and attempt to calm her down further, or was it my duty to stay behind and rejoin the rehearsal?

I was about to open my mouth to ask my mother if she was okay when I heard a flush and Jen emerged from her stall. She headed over to the sink and looked at my mother in the mirror.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

Uh oh. I stood ready, poised to intervene should I need to. Nothing like adding some fuel to an already roaring bonfire.

Mom held her lipstick away from her face as she turned to regard Jen. She looked the girl up and down before she answered. “Who the
fuck
are you to ask me why I’m here?”

Wow, Mom almost
never
swore. ‘
Ladies
don’t swear, profanity is as distasteful as wearing last year’s fashions’ she always said. I held my breath and looked back at Jen.

She shoved her chin out and threw her shoulders back. “I’m the daughter of the bride, who the FUCK are
you
? The EX-wife of the groom? You have no right to be here. All you’ve done is cause my mother stress and heartache…”

Uh, excuse me?
I couldn’t stand it anymore. “You know, Jennifer, my mother does not have a monopoly on causing heartache. I seem to remember
your
mother calling me up in tears because you told her you weren’t coming to the wedding and that you’d called her a homewrecker. So don’t give us this self-righteous horseshit.”

Jen spun on me. “You shut your fucking mouth, you spoiled bitch.”

I’d been called worse, especially lately, and by way more important people, so the insult slid off my back. “Truth hurts, huh, Jen?” I smirked.

“It’s enough. ENOUGH!” my mother cried, her eyes closed as she shook her head. “She’s right, Shoshanna. I shouldn’t be here.”

I could hardly argue, but didn’t expect the admission from my mother.

She exhaled really loudly and then said, “I’ve really screwed this up. Jennifer, can you give us a moment alone? Please tell your mother I’m leaving in a minute.”

Jen opened her mouth to speak. I shook my head and glared at her until she turned on her heel and left without another word.

Mom stared at the door for a moment after it had closed behind Jen. “Hard to believe she turned into such a little
kurveh
. I changed her diapers, you know.” Despite the fresh application of make-up, my mother looked haggard and utterly exhausted.

She leaned forward and took my hand. “I’m sorry for all of this, Shoshie.” She looked down and seemed to notice the sweat suit for the first time. “Ugh, what am I wearing?” She looked back up at me, wide-eyed. “People will think I’m crazy!”

“If they don’t already,” I said, cracking a smile.

“I’ve handled this so badly.” She squeezed my hand.

“We Rosenblatt ladies are known for our drama.”

She looked at me sideways. “I suppose we are. C’mon, walk me out then you can go back to your dad and Susan. I’m so sorry. I…”

I put my arms around my mother and tried really hard not to cry, but despite my efforts, tears rolled down my face to be absorbed by the blue fleece across my mother’s back. “It’s okay. Thanks for finally getting it, Mom.” My voice cracked.

She squeezed me even tighter. “No, Shoshanna, thank
you
.”

* * *

When I got home from the rehearsal at almost ten, I was completely spent, both physically and emotionally. I practically fell into bed, only taking the time to wipe off my makeup and put on some night cream. Remembering that I had to work in the morning was a rude awakening, but nonetheless, I set my alarm, stripped off my clothes and crawled into bed. Armani followed, jumping on the bed and turning around several times in place before settling on the comforter beside me, his warm back against my leg.

It was only then that I had a moment to think about the evening’s events without any distraction.

Mom had left as promised with no further incident after I had walked her out of the hotel bathroom and through the lobby. Thankfully, Jen, Dad, and Susan had returned to the ballroom and the only person in the lobby connected to the wedding was the coordinator who stood in a corner, talking frantically into her cell phone, her shaking hand evidence of her frazzled nerves.
How can someone so high strung be a wedding coordinator?
I wondered as I escorted Mom toward the front doors. We stepped outside into the warm summer night. A breeze had picked up and swirled my skirt around my legs.

“Have you been drinking?” I asked Mom after she had dispatched the doorman to get her a cab.

She shook her head.

I hated to do it but had to ask. “What about pills?”

She looked up at me, her face drawn, frowning. She had never looked so old.

“No, Shoshanna, I’m this crazy all on my own.”

“That’s not what I meant, Mom.”

Her lips curled into a phony smile. “I know, honey.” She turned away.

“Mom?”

She looked back at me, still with the fake smile pasted to her face, her eyebrows raised.

“What did you do to Susan’s family? I didn’t even know she had a brother.” I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask. She was past the point of freaking out and better to find out now than to wait and ask later, running the risk of creating yet another volatile situation.

Mom shook her head. I was willing to drop it, but then she took a deep breath and started talking, staring at her feet the entire time.

“Susan and I grew up together. We were in USY together, you know, the youth group, and would go to the parties and dances. Her older brother would usually drive us and sometimes he’d go with us. Anyway, he and I, his name was Jacob, got
friendly
and began dating…”

Wow, this is getting interesting, I thought.

She fidgeted, transferring her weight from one foot to the other. “Well, I guess we got engaged…”

Bam. Didn’t see that coming.

“You were
engaged
? To Susan’s brother?” I couldn’t believe I’d never heard about this. I assumed that Dad knew about it, but how could no one have told me?

Mom nodded and continued. “Anyway, Jacob got sick. Really sick. It looked like he wasn’t going to make it.”

“What was wrong with him?”

“Leukemia.” Her voice cracked on the word. She was really having trouble with this.

A cab pulled up, but Mom continued, seeming not to even notice the vehicle at the curb beside her. “When he went into the hospital for the last time, I got on a plane to Europe.” She paused to wipe away a tear. “I ran away, didn’t even tell him or anyone in his family. I just couldn’t handle him dying.”