Free Dating Kosher by Michaela Greene

and always seemed to have this unidentifiable white goo in the corners of his mouth. He was beyond repulsive. He made Max look like Ryan Gosling.
    “Oh, he’s coming home for the wedding?” Thankfully Jacob was stationed out in Portland, doing research on slugs, or something equally gross, and only came home periodically.
    Susan beamed. “Yes, it will be so nice to see him. He’s been working very hard on his master’s. I’m almost sad that we’re leaving right away on our honeymoon cruise, I’d love to spend some more time with him while he’s here…” She trailed off, sounding wistful.
    Inwardly I began to panic. Only three weeks to go and no prospects. Of all the messages I had left the Sunday previous, only two other than Phil had called back. Sadly, both were married and unwilling to send their wives out of town for the weekend in order to attend the wedding with me (I was knocking on desperation’s front door: I had to ask).
    The thought occurred to me that maybe I should ask Susan if she knew of anyone. I opened my mouth and was about to speak when I realized Susan would suggest Jacob as my date. My jaws clamped shut as though they too objected to the thought of being stuck next to Jacob at a seven-hour event. Worse than being stuck next to him would be the horror of the other guests assuming I was with him. No thanks.
    I would have to find someone on my own. And fast. I spent most of the rest of the meal mentally going through everyone I knew. I’d have to contact a few select people and discreetly let them know I needed a date. It was desperate but had to be done.
    I hate to admit it, but I ate an obscene amount of finger sandwiches while Susan went on and on about the politics of seating people at her wedding reception. For an affair that was supposed to be small and intimate, it had turned into the can’t-miss event of the year. She had brought in Sam Stein to do the catering; Brooklyn’s kosher answer to Wolfgang Puck, a twelve piece Klezmer band for the dancing, and thousands of dollars’ worth of flowers all for three hundred of their best friends, family, and clients. No detail had been overlooked, thanks mostly to Susan’s exorbitantly priced, but worth every penny, I was assured, bridal consultant.
    I was amused but took detailed notes in the back of my head. Someday, God willing, I too would be a bride.
    * * *
    After lunch, we went shopping. She had called ahead to Macy’s and had arranged for her shopper (some shiksa named Lisa who turned out to be almost as good as my own Julio) to pull several dresses out for when we arrived. I hated shopping off the rack anyway, so it worked out nicely, and we had even more time to chat. She was painfully respectful of me, never daring to ask too many personal questions about my parents pre-divorce, which was a relief. And she seemed to take a genuine interest in me as a person, not just her soon-to-be step-daughter.
    “So how do you like your job at the spa? Your dad says you’ve been there a while,” she asked as we got situated in the personal shopping salon. Lisa had disappeared to get our beverages.
    “I love it there,” I answered, smiling because it was true. “Bev got me the job just after I finished school. She’d already been there a while and said Rita, the lady that owns the place, was great. She was right. I like Rita a lot. And I get free services.”
    Susan nodded politely. “Maybe I should try it when I’m in the city. Maybe I could meet up with Jen and we could do a mother-daughter thing.”
    Right. Jen was Susan’s other child. I’d only met Jen a couple of times, but best I could tell, she was Susan’s mini-me in looks only. She wasn’t anywhere near as nice as her mother and had not emerged from her parents’ divorce unscathed. When I met her at some synagogue function that our respective parents had decided was going to be where our families should all meet, she actually referred to me (under her breath and so quietly