A Year to Remember (20 page)

Not to mention the danger of lifting a bride on a chair six feet in the air. I’ve heard horror stories of brides sliding off of the chairs and breaking their arm in the middle of their wedding reception.

When the band played “
Hava Nagila
,” I tried to leave the room, but some old lady grabbed my arm and forced me on the dance floor.

“I shouldn’t dance. I have a concussion,” I yelled, but the old lady couldn’t hear me over the loud music and clapping.

While I danced, I searched the room for Caleb, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. Then suddenly, my pantyhose started to fall down my legs. I attempted to yank my hands back in order to pull them up, but the old lady and the man on my other side wouldn’t let go. My skirt stopped above the knee and it wouldn’t be more than a few seconds before everyone would notice.

Missy finagled her way between the old lady and me. “Need some assistance?” She giggled.

Missy knew of my aversion to the
Horah
. She did not however, have knowledge of the pantyhose fiasco about to unfold.

“Missy, I need to get off of the dance floor.”

“Follow me!” she screamed and wrenched me away.

We ran out of the ballroom and straight into the bathroom. Jill had also decorated the ladies room in her wedding theme. The girl hadn’t missed a thing. Other than the
Horah
, she really knew how to throw a beautifully elegant wedding.

I took off my pantyhose while Missy laughed at me.

“Thank God you saved me! It’s bad enough people almost saw me with my pantyhose down around my ankles. How about if I tripped and everyone discovered I’m not wearing any underwear?”

Missy just gawked at me before bursting out in hysterics. “The one time ... you don’t ... wear underwear and ...” She couldn’t stop laughing.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Fuzzball!” I muttered, quoting
Star Wars
.

Once she stopped laughing, we returned to the ballroom and discovered the
Horah
had just finished. We sat to eat our dinner, chicken covered in some sort of sauce. At least I hoped it was chicken. I hate fish, although I was so distracted at my
Bat Mitzvah
, it wasn’t until the day after my luncheon I realized I ate fish rather than chicken. This time, I checked before I took the first bite. It wasn’t the greatest chicken in the world, but I was hungry enough that I didn’t care.

Halfway through the meal, I turned to Caleb and whispered, “I’m not wearing any underwear.” I knew he’d be shocked, but I didn’t expect him to choke on his chicken.

Coughing and sputtering, he drank an entire glass of water before regaining the ability to breathe again. I didn’t know whether to feel guilty or flattered.

“Everything all right over there?” Goldman asked from across the table.

“Everything’s fine. Caleb just choked on his chicken.”

For some reason, that made everyone at the table laugh.

Caleb cupped my ear and whispered that choking the chicken was a euphemism for masturbation. Then he lightly nipped my earlobe, which sent a tingly feeling all the way down to my toes and distracted me from feeling embarrassed for my lack of knowledge of masturbatory euphemisms.

“Would you dance with me?” I asked Caleb.

“Of course.” He led me to the dance floor and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight against him. I relaxed against him, all my earlier concerns about our sexual incompatibility forgotten.

“What’s the earliest we can leave without offending the bride?”

“We should at least stay until they cut the cake.” I could always use the excuse I had a concussion, but I didn’t want anyone to know about it. I already had a reputation for being a klutz, but I didn’t need to confirm it.

“Are you really sans underwear right now?” Caleb moved his hand lower and brushed it along my ass. “Yep, no panty lines,” he groaned.

As a new song played, Goldman interrupted our private moment by asking Caleb if he could dance with me. I could tell Caleb wanted to say no, but he’s too much of a gentleman to say. Caleb went to find Missy to ask her to dance while I danced with Goldman.

“Becca seems nice.”

“Yes, she’s very nice.”

“How’d you meet?”

“Sara?”

“Yes, Goldman?”

“Do you really care how I met Becca?” He searched my face for something, but I wasn’t sure of what.

“Of course,” I said, even though I really didn’t. In fact, I had hardly talked to her. She could be the biggest bitch in the world for all I knew.

Goldman chose not to respond to my original question of how he and Becca met. “I see you’re not drinking tonight. Afraid of what you might say this time if you’re drunk?”

I could tell he didn’t mean any harm from his question, but I didn’t feel up to our usual repartee tonight.

“No. My doctor told me not to drink.”

He eyed me suspiciously. “Why? Are you pregnant?” he asked, a little too loudly for my taste.

“No! No! I kind of hit my head and um, I probably have a concussion, so I’m not allowed to drink alcohol.”

Goldman’s demeanor went from playful to serious as he began to check my head for the lump. “How did you manage to bump your head, or do I want to know?”

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” he said with sincerity.

“I tripped and hit my head on the wall.”

“Don’t you think you should have gone to the hospital?”

“That’s what Caleb wanted, but I convinced him to let me call my doctor instead. I didn’t want to miss the wedding.”

Goldman made a noise deep in his throat that sounded almost like a growl. “You wouldn’t have been able to get away with that if you were with me.”

“Excuse me?” This conversation had taken a wrong turn at some point.

“What are you doing with a guy like Caleb?”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with Caleb?”

“Not a thing for most women.” He paused, then put his hand on my cheek. “But you’re not most women.”

“Why is Caleb wrong for me?”

For once Goldman seemed at loss for words. “Because he isn’t Jewish.”

“So?” Not the answer I hoped for, but what else should I have expected?

He didn’t say a word, only held me a little tighter.

The song ended and the bandleader announced Jack and Jill would be cutting the cake. As I pulled out of his embrace, I thought he whispered something along the lines of “because he’s not me,” but I couldn’t be certain. My heart fluttered in my chest, but before I could ask him what he had said, Caleb came over to me to check in on my condition.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m ready to go. Why don’t we say our goodbyes and go home?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He kissed me full on the lips.

Although we should have said our congratulatory farewell to Jack and Jill, they were too busy smashing cake into each other’s faces. We decided they’d never remember if we said goodbye anyway.

I gave hugs to my brother and Missy, careful to ignore Goldman. But I still felt his eyes burning into my back as Caleb and I walked out of the room.

“So, I kind of rest my hand here on my, um, mons ...”

“Mons?”

“Um, yeah. It’s a word that refers to the part right above the, um, pubic bone.”

I had spent an hour thinking and researching about how to instruct Caleb on the way to make me come. The only time I ever heard of a mons was in the historical romance novels I had been reading since the eighth grade, but I came across it in my research and it seemed like an easy way to explain where to rest his hand.

“Okay, mons. Go on.”

“Then from my angle, it’s easiest for me to use my middle finger, but you could use any one that’s comfortable for you. Then I, I mean, you, could kind of move your finger sort of like this. Then, after a couple of minutes, you put your fingers inside of me while you touch my clitoris at the same time.”

His eyes were half closed and he was breathing rather heavy. I guess my friends were right. Guys like women to masturbate in front of them.

“Do you want to try?”

“I can. Or you could keep going.”

If I kept this up for about two minutes, I’d have an orgasm. Then why did I need Caleb? I needed him to make me come. Some may say an orgasm is an orgasm, but I refuse to believe that, even though I’ve never had one from anything other than masturbation.

I often wondered if the problem was with me. Maybe I couldn’t relax enough.

In college, I read everything I could about how to have an orgasm. They all said the same thing. You have to relax and get totally out of your head. Don’t think too much. Easier said than done.

“I’d prefer to have you do it.”

For the next half hour, Caleb did his best, but sadly, it did nothing for me. He did everything I requested of him and more. His touch didn’t set me on fire. He couldn’t even stimulate a spark. That left me with only one solution.

“Oh, Caleb. That’s perfect. Yes, yes, yes!”

I admit it. I faked it. If I told him after thirty minutes of trying he still couldn’t make me come, he’d feel terrible and I’d feel terrible. Clearly, this wasn’t his fault. Why should he feel terrible? This was my problem and I needed to take one for the team. I’m sure over the years I’ll become more relaxed and comfortable. If not, there’s always a vibrator.

I heard the ripping of a condom wrapper and then Caleb entered me. At least I think he did. A few minutes later, he rolled over and fell asleep.

How long did I need to wait to make certain he was asleep before I could finish what I started earlier? Five minutes? Ten? When he snored a few minutes later, I knew it was safe. My fingers find the right spot and five minutes after, I fell asleep wondering if Goldman and Becca were having sex at that very moment.

The next morning Caleb asked me to go with him to visit his family in New Jersey the following weekend. Knowing that meeting the parents was the step before engagement, I happily accepted. We bought the plane tickets and reserved the hotel online before he left to go home.

He wanted to see me during the week but I needed some time to think before we spent an entire weekend together. That was a big step, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I should be ecstatic, but instead, I felt a nagging uneasiness.

The only one who could tell me what to do was Missy. Of course, I called her right away and asked if we could meet for lunch.

I saw my doctor at the Urgent Care Clinic he helped to administer and he confirmed I had a mild concussion. As long as I felt better, I didn’t need any tests. Satisfied with that answer, I left the doctor’s office and went straight to my lunch with Missy.

A warm and sunny day, we met at a bistro that had outside seating. It provided the perfect ambiance for what we needed to discuss.

“Did I miss anything after we left the wedding?” I sipped on my ice tea and fumbled in my purse for my sunglasses. I hadn’t worn them for eight months and they needed to be cleaned, but regardless, I put on my Ray Bans and tipped my face to the sun.