Page 42 of Delayed Intention

Purim Party

Sitting among a hundred people in a downtown synagogue for the Megillah reading, I join the crowd in booing the name of our enemy, Haman.

As we listen to the story of Queen Esther, which played out more than two thousand years ago, it is difficult not to feel humbled in comparison.

How many times have I listened to the tale of this brave woman, how she was willing to sacrifice her own life for the sake of saving her people?

She could have hidden away and turned a blind eye, but she stood up and did the opposite.

Throughout my life, I have listened to her story and wondered how I, with all my anxieties and fears, could be from the same tribe as Queen Esther.

This year, the story is hitting me in a new way.

The story is about how Esther showed up when it counted, whether she was terrified at the moment or not.

Since the fall, my life has changed so much, and I can feel pride in my strength as I’ve faced down challenges and worked to turn my life around.

I look to my right as a rattling sound stirs me out of my thoughts.

Abbie is having a blast making all the noise with both her groggers each time the cantor reads Haman’s name.

God, I love her. She’s stood by me and supported me through so many sorrows, and now she gets to walk with me through some joy for a change.

It has been difficult having this distance between us, and I am over the moon that she is here, in the same zip code, by my side.

I realize we’re at the end of the reading, and so we gather up our things to head out from the temple to the outdoor Purim festival.

It will be an hour before either of our dates is due to arrive, and I’m ready for a drink.

Josh will be coming from a clinic in Kearney, which is not too far away.

I don’t want to think about why the idea of Josh joining us is making me nervous.

I have been dying for him and Abbie to meet in person, and now it is going to happen.

I should be thrilled, right? Since he is only my friend, there is no reason to make it weird.

But I feel a telltale pulling in my gut just the same.

It’s an exciting holiday; that’s all this is.

Excitement, not nerves. Josh is not your boyfriend.

Abbie, being the best friend she is, reads my mind.

Or she knows me well enough to see my nerves all over my face.

“We need a drink; let’s go into the closest bar.

” She grabs my arm and deadpans, “This is the holiday we’re supposed to get drunk for, right?

” She grins, knowing full well the answer to that question.

Years ago, when she asked me the meaning of different Jewish holidays, I described Purim as a kind of Mardi Gras and Halloween mash-up with gift baskets you hand out to friends.

She has not missed a Purim party from that day to this one.

“Yes. Let’s get some alcohol in us,” I answer, gesturing between us. “The DJ won’t be starting for another hour, so we’ve got time to kill.” I throw an arm around her. “Did I tell you? I’m so happy you’re here.”

She squeezes my waist to her side. “Me too. Let’s go in there.”

She nods to a nondescript bar without much of a line.

We head in and order two Hamantaschen jello shots with beer chasers, and someone in a pirate costume stamps the inside of both our arms twice.

Turning around, I look to the street to take in the transformation for the festival.

They have blocked the street from car traffic since this afternoon.

For several blocks, there are bars and restaurants on either side setting up velvet ropes to form lines for ordering drinks and nosh.

Some of the places have gone all out, such as one that has an open mini circus tent outside, and the bartenders all appear to be clowns.

Other places appear to have adopted a more pragmatic attitude: if they pour drinks, people will come, whether they are in costumes or not.

Each place has a festival official who stamps your arm for each drink you’re served in the hope that no one gets alcohol poisoning.

The festival will host a few hundred people tonight since the bohemian vibe has attracted many non-Jewish young adults over the years.

In the morning, volunteers will clean all of this up for the family parade, which is much larger.

I have seen smaller ones, but this one is supposed to attract a crowd from several states away.

I already know I can’t go because Nona’s nurse has the day off, and I need to be home with her.

I also opted to take emergency call for the office where I’ve been working.

They closed for the holiday, but someone must be on call, and I needed to be home anyway.

I know Josh’s nieces are coming with a Cinderella theme.

Michelle will be the wicked stepmother, the two older nieces will be the stepsisters, and the toddler will be the title character.

That should be adorable, and I hope I get to see pictures.

For now, though, the area is set up with adults and a nighttime vibe in mind.

Bar tops and small tables painted with a variety of glow-in-the-dark paints line the streets on both sides.

String lights adorn the street signs and lamps in a variety of colors.

In front of a community theater, the organizers have laid out an enormous dance floor on the street with a raised stage for a popular local DJ.

Abbie’s date is a local woman she met online, and they have been chatting for a few weeks now.

What I’ve learned from Abbie is that her date’s name is Dana.

She works as a firefighter here in Lancaster County, and before that, she served in the Army overseas for four years.

Dana has shown her commitment to this date by joining our group costume; I told Abbs that is a good sign—coordinated costumes are like a whole thing for my people.

Each of us is a Charlie’s Angel, and Josh agreed to dress up as our Bosley, which I will believe when I see it.

We went with retro Charlie’s Angels, for which Abbie and I raided a local thrift store the day after she arrived in town.

I am wearing white bell-bottom cords, a wide lapel baby-blue shirt, and a fitted white vest. My hair, which is parted down the middle, was straightened by a professional earlier today.

We each have a walkie-talkie clipped to our belt loop.

Abbie is wearing a blonde Farrah Fawcett wig over her short hair.

She chose a fitted violet-colored turtleneck, flared jeans, and ankle boots with a stacked wooden heel to complete her outfit.

“You and Josh… catch me up on what has happened since your two nights of making out in Estes Park.”

“I told you—we’re friends… with benefits.”

“And I told you, I saw that movie with Mila Kunis and it doesn’t work.”

“We are making it work. Josh doesn’t do relationships, and neither do I. We like being friends. And, it turns out, when snowed in together, we can’t keep our hands off each other.” I grin at her.

“Like I said,” Abbie pauses to polish off her beer, “I’ve never seen it work where people stay friends after benefits get added into the mix.”

Biting my tongue, I leave out that we haven’t done much more than kiss.

He and I haven’t discussed it, but I’ve been thankful we haven’t gone beyond second base.

It has been so long since I’ve done anything like this, and Josh and I seemed to have an unspoken agreement not to take it too far.

At least, I’ve assumed that’s why. And I know it’s not science-based, but I am holding onto the notion that since we did not move past second base, we’ll be able to stay friends.

I know Abbie will poke holes in my logic, so I don’t want to even go there. Besides… TMI.

Abbie starts fidgeting with her walkie-talkie and then uses it to talk to me even though we are on bar stools right next to each other. “What if this chick doesn’t show up? Over.”

I hold the button down the side of my device and reply. “We’ll still get hammered and have a great time. And you’ll still look super-hot. Over.” I set the device down and glance past Abbie, “Speaking of over, I spy a redhead that suspiciously looks like our third Angel, right over your shoulder.”

Abbie lights up and turns around. The lanky redhead in question spots her and grins before placing a black shoulder-length wig on her head.

She chose knee-high tan patent leather boots, burnt-orange culottes, and a white button-down oxford shirt.

Abbie hops off her stool and throws her arms around the woman, kissing her on the cheek.

“Dana—I legit forgot culottes were a thing. You look amazing. Here’s your walkie-talkie. It has a belt clip built in. I am Farrah if that wasn’t obvious. Also, I am a bit drunk already. This is my best friend, Lily.” Abbie is babbling, and it’s adorable.

Dana smiles at me, “Nice to meet you, Lily.” Bringing her focus back to Abbie, she looks her up and down with obvious appreciation. “You look incredible in person. It’s nice to finally meet you for real.”

“You’re aware this is fake hair. A wig.” Abbie smiles, pointing at her head.

“No shit.” Dana laughs. “So, where’s our Bosley?”

I’m about to text Josh when arms encircle me from behind, and I smile. I rotate in his arms and find Josh in a snug navy polyester suit with flared pants, a wide olive-green tie, and brown wing-tip shoes.

I smile. “You look amazing.”

“So do you. Is that your hair?” His right eyebrow rising with the question.

“Don’t get used to it. It took an hour and a half to straighten, and each section has about three pounds of product in it to keep it that way. If you see anyone smoking near me, throw a bucket of water at them.”

“Can I run my fingers through it?” He walks around me to marvel at my head.

“You can, but I would advise against it. It is rather sticky.”

He laughs and then leans forward, whispering against my ear, “You look so fucking sexy right now.”

“Thanks, Bosley.” My blush rises with heat from my collarbone to the tips of my ears.

Josh has been to the Lincoln Purim festival before and explained the flow of the evening to me when we decided to go together.

The DJ’d street party is meant to be a singles mixer but tends to be more of a date night.

Open containers of alcohol are illegal here, but the bars are set up to allow partygoers to go in for a drink before rejoining the party.

Josh spins me around to face Dana and Abbie, who are now hand in hand. “Abbie,” he reaches his hand out to her, “it is great to finally meet you in person.”

She shakes his hand and introduces Dana.

Josh looks at me. “Should we go grab a drink?”

“Abbie and I may need to keep ours non-alcoholic for a bit. We’ve already consumed half the traditional amount of alcohol required for a Purim festival.”

Dana laughs, “We will make your drinks virgins then.”

Dana chooses the next bar stating it has the best cocktails downtown, and she orders four margaritas, two of which are without alcohol.

As we are laughing about why Abbie loves celebrating Purim with her Jewish friends, ‘booze and candy, what’s not to love?

’ the music starts. We finish our drinks and head over to the dance floor.

The last time I danced with Josh, I was so drunk at karaoke night that I have vague memories of it.

The time before that was my Aunt’s wedding in 2005.

I have to say, he has picked up a few moves since then.

We are both less stilted and more natural.

The DJ plays Mahapecha Shel Simcha to get us started, which is a song I love to dance to.

I’ve only danced to this song alone in my apartment before today, which is pathetic.

In contrast, I’m here with my friends, and we’re all dancing and laughing, and I am feeling a pleasant buzz.

Abbie’s wig ends up moving around on her head, blocking her vision, and I start laughing so hard that tears are streaming down my cheeks.

Josh spins me toward him and wipes the tears from my cheeks with the pad of his thumb when his look turns more serious.

I try to think of a way to make him laugh, to lighten the intensity of his gaze.

But then he pulls me close, with one hand gripping the back of my neck and the other drifting down to my lower back.

He looks like he wants to say something, and my heart starts racing under the influence of alcohol and his stare, so I cut him off by kissing him.

He kisses me hard, and it doesn’t feel like a kiss between friends.

My arms encircle his neck as our kiss deepens, and after what seems like an eternity, I come up for air.

As my gaze searches his face, I find concern and what looks like pity— poor Lily , he must think. So I do what I learned to do growing up and deflect.

“I need another drink. I’m going to get water. Do you want one?”

“Lily, we need to talk.”

I laugh an empty laugh and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Was that a yes to the water? Never mind, I will get you one. I’ll be back.” I head over to the nearest bar and order a shot of tequila and two bottles of water. Josh comes up behind me.

“You’re right. Another drink. Good idea.

” Can he be as nervous as I am? What the hell have we done?

While my concerns jumble around in my head, I have to admit that something about being in a costume fortifies me.

I can’t help but notice that it loosens my usual self-restraint.

And the pull of my attraction for Josh feels more powerful now than ever.

Oh my God.

The drink can’t come fast enough.

Josh orders a shot for himself. We clink our shots together before we toss them back and grab our waters. I take a couple of gulps of mine.

“That’s better,” I say.

He finishes his water and tosses the bottle in the recycling bin at the end of the bar. He walks back to me, looping his fingers through my belt loops on either side of my waist.

“We kind of messed this friendship up, didn’t we?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before pulling me flush against him.

“Feels pretty good to me,” I counter, our mouths are so close but not quite touching yet.

“You’re right again,” he replies and proceeds to kiss me in a way that shows his intention to explore the benefits aspect of our situationship, or whatever the hell this is.

I didn’t realize until much later that he never did say what ever it was he wanted to talk about.