“Yes, thanks.” Ethan took a few more slices. Despite being out of practice, his mom was a surprisingly good cook.
Leah counted on her fingers. “What’s the last one?”
“How to break up.”
“What?” Leah and his mother said in unison.
Ethan lowered the gravy boat. “Naomi says breakups are inevitable, and the kindest thing we can do is give people tools to survive them.”
“Well,” said his mother as she wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Naomi certainly sounds fun.”
“I don’t think it’s the worst thing in the world,” Ethan said carefully. “No one ever teaches us how to let go. How to rebuild. How to move on.”
His mom cleared her throat. “No. You’re right.” She tore her challah into pieces as she stared at the mantelpiece. “Though I’m not sure how much it’ll help prepare them.”
Ethan knew without turning that she’d zeroed in on the black-and-white snapshot of his dad, laughing over a tiny fish he’d caught on a family trip to the lake, his head thrown back and his skin tan from days in the sun.
“The tricky thing about grief,” his mom said, “is that even when we know it’s coming, we underestimate our own capacity for suffering.”
Guilt ate away at Ethan’s insides, as corrosive as lighter fluid. He realized that in his mom’s eyes, he’d run to religion the same way Leah had run to adventure. They’d both found places to fill their time that weren’t here, with her.
He’d been relieved that providing service to his community meant carving off parts of himself. The more time he spent thinking about God, the less he spent thinking about what he’d lost.
How could he offer anyone his heart, when already there wasn’t enough of him to go around?
“Mom?” Leah got up and wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders.
“Oh, don’t worry about me.” Renee forced out a laugh as she patted Leah’s hands. “I’ll just pop into Ethan’s seminar. Take a few notes from Naomi Grant.”
“Oh no.” Ethan groaned. “Please don’t.”
“Well,” Leah scolded, “that’s not a very generous attitude. I thought you were trying to appeal to new members.”
Minor disaster, as it turned out, may have been an understatement.
Chapter Five
MODERN INTIMACY—LECTURE 1:
Get out of your own way, asshole
NAOMI NORMALLY DEALTwith imposter syndrome through stoic teeth-grinding and angry-girl music. But standing behind a shoddy lectern on wheels, with the eyes of her first live educational audience upon her, neither of her go-to coping mechanisms was viable. She fought to control her breathing, to make the rise and fall of her chest less obvious. No small task when her chest was one of the most recognizable in the country.
She hadn’t gotten nervous like this in a long time. The buzz of it under her skin, making her a little sick to her stomach, was kind of nice. Like fuel for the weary engine of her heart.
Since she’d visited the synagogue, two weeks had flown by, aided by a packed schedule and a general sense of discomfort over having agreed to this gig. She and Ethan had exchanged a few breezy emails about her proposed syllabus. She’d only found herself lingering over the signature line once before deciding in the end that there really wasn’t much difference betweenHave a good nightandHave a good night!She’d never used a chipper exclamation mark in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now.
Based on his leadership position, and—let’s be honest—the fact thathe was a man, she sort of expected Ethan to have a lot of notes on her outline. But aside from suggesting she incorporate a discussion of values, including but not limited to religious affiliation, into the module about building a future together, he’d given the green light.
He was introducing her now, reciting lines she recognized from her official bio on the Shameless site, her credentials and media awards—she’d made “30 under 30” with only a few days to spare.
Naomi dug her nails into her palms as the crowd gobbled up an embarrassing dad joke. She supposed, scanning the room they’d reserved at the JCC, thatcrowdwas a generous term.
The multipurpose room held six rows of twelve folding chairs each, behind long plastic card tables. Only the back few rows had anyone in them. Naomi did some quick mental math. Fourteen people had shown up expecting a meaningful lecture on modern intimacy. At least she could say there was room for improvement.
“You’re probably wondering why a synagogue is sponsoring a seminar by a sex educator,” Ethan said.
She held her breath. Naomi had wondered if he would address the elephant in the room. These people had come through traditional Jewish channels, and she was far from traditionally Jewish. How long would her tough-girl bravado last if they all decided to get up and walk out?